“Stay still,” he ordered, held my eyes, and waited. The way he was locked in, the way he had me by the jugular, the way his grip revealed nothing of his real strength—it all screamed controlled violence. He could kill me just like this. End it with just one quick squeeze.
I sucked in air, then leaned forward again. “Why even bother?” I muttered.
He cocked his head slightly; there was no smile, no sign of victory, just a slight twitch of a muscle in his jaw. He juststared at me with a blank expression, not conveying any of his thoughts.
After what felt like an eternity, he let go of my throat but remained right there between my legs.
He put on gloves with a snap, then pulled out antiseptic wipes and butterfly bandages. His face was inches from mine as he examined the cut on my temple, his expression clinical and focused.
“Has anyone ever told you that your bedside manner sucks?” I hissed when he dabbed the antiseptic against my wound. The sting made my eyes water, but I’d rather die than let him see me cry, so I closed them, which made me even more aware of how close he was.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the worst patient ever?” He pressed his other hand against my uninjured cheek to hold me steady, his touch warm and firm. “Stop. Moving.”
I deliberately jerked my head away. “Again, why should I follow your orders?” I opened my eyes again and glared at him.
His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching along his cheek.
My finger itched to touch him there.
“I can always make you.”
“Well then, tough guy, make me.”
He sighed, and his whole face suddenly relaxed and seemed almost soft. “If you don’t stay still and let me at least do this much, this will scar.”
“A scar isn’t so bad. Makes me badass.”
“Trust me, you don’t need a scar for that.” The words slipped out, and for a split second, something almost like surprise crossed his face before his expression hardened again. “Now hold still or I’ll strap you down.”
“Kinky. Is that what you’re into, Zotov?”
The flash of irritation in his eyes made me smirk.
He grabbed my chin, fingers firm but not painful. “What I’m into is not having to explain to your brother why his baby sister has a permanent reminder of today on her face.”
I was twenty-three, for God’s sake. Hardly a baby. But wasn’t it interesting how he cared more about my brother’s reaction than anything else? I batted my eyelashes at him. “Aww, afraid of big, bad Vincenzo Salvini?”
Zotov leaned closer, his breath fanning across my face as he let go of my chin and applied the first steri-strip. “The only thing I’m afraid of is your inability to follow simple instructions. Especially if they’re in your best interest.”
“I’ve never been good at following orders, especially from people who don’t have my best interest in mind,” I said, wincing as he applied the second strip. “Just ask my father. Oh wait, you can’t—he’s dead.”
His hands paused for a fraction of a second, and he stared deep into my eyes as if he was gauging how that news affected me before he continued to work. “I’m sorry.”
Was he apologizing to me? He probably didn’t know I’d never had a real connection, a real relationship with my father. Not the way it should be. I’d never experienced fatherly love, or even respect. But how would he know? He probably thought I would be sad, a grieving daughter.
“Did you kill him?” The question slipped out before I could stop it even though it didn’t really matter.
“No.” His eyes met mine, steady and unflinching. “But I didn’t stop your brother either.”
My brother? Which brother?
I watched Zotov while he finished taping the last butterfly bandage with meticulous precision. His fingers and the way he held me in place were surprisingly gentle for someone so lethal, which only made me more confused about how to feel about him. What was it about this man? How could he switch from being a dangerous, bossy asshole to being gentle and caring so seamlessly?
He stepped back from between my legs, pulled out a couple of alcoholic pads from the kit, and held them up. “Can you clean your feet yourself, or do you need me to do it?”
I glared at him and ripped them out of his hand.
He shook his head and sighed. “So stubborn.”
