“Couldn’t what?”
“Couldn’t let anyone else take care of you.” His voice was low, almost reluctant. “Not after seeing what Grey did to you.”
Something in his tone made me turn my head slightly, trying to see his face. “Why do you care what happens to me? I was just a means to an end, wasn’t I?”
His eyes met mine, and the intensity in them stole my breath. “I wish you still were,” he admitted. “It would be simpler that way.”
The honesty in his voice undid me. All the walls I’d built, all the defenses I’d maintained, crumbled in that instant. To my horror, tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over before I could stop them.
“Hey,” Ivan said, alarm evident in his voice. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
I shook my head, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. How could I explain that his simple kindness had broken through barriers I’d maintained for years? That this moment of vulnerability with him felt more intimate than any physical act could have been?
The tears came faster now, hot tracks down my cheeks as silent sobs shook my body. Ivan’s arms tightened around me, his one hand coming up to stroke my wet hair.
“Shh,” he soothed, his lips close to my ear. He murmured something in Russian. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but his tone was unmistakably tender.
I turned in his arms, burying my face against his chest as days, weeks, years of carefully controlled emotions burst free. I cried for the little girl who’d experienced horrors no child should be exposed to. For the woman who’d built walls so high, she’d forgotten what it felt like to let someone completely see her. For all the times I’d been strong when I wanted to be weak, wanted someone to take care of me for once.
Ivan held me through it all, his arms a safe harbor in the storm of my emotions. One hand stroked my back in slow, soothing circles while the other cradled my head against him. He continued to murmur in Russian, the foreign words somehow more comforting than any English platitude could have been.
When the storm finally passed, leaving me drained but oddly lighter, I remained in his arms, unwilling to move from this unexpected sanctuary.
“Don’t ever cry by yourself,” Ivan said suddenly, his voice rough with emotion. “Don’t cry when I’m not there or know you’re crying. You’re only allowed to cry when I can see you, when I’m around, when I can hold you through it. Understood?”
The possessiveness in his voice, the way he commanded it, should have angered me. Instead, it sent a shiver of something entirely different through my body. I lifted my head and met his gaze directly.
“Why?” I whispered.
His eyes darkened, pupils wide as he looked at me. “Because I need to know when you’re hurting. I need to be able to fix it.”
Something shifted inside me then—a final acceptance of what I’d been fighting against for days—this pull between us, this connection that defied logic or reason. I’d been resisting it since the moment he caught me at the fence, but I didn’t want to fight it anymore.
Without allowing myself to overthink, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.
Ivan went perfectly still, his body tensing beneath mine. For one terrible moment, I thought I’d misread everything. Then his hand came up to cradle my neck. He pulled me even closer and kissed me back with a gentleness I hadn’t expected him to possess.
His lips moved against mine, careful and controlled, as if he was afraid I might shatter. It was nothing like the angryclash of our first kiss. There was no battle for dominance, no power play—just a tender exploration of two people who had found something unexpected in each other.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing harder than the gentle kiss warranted.
Ivan rested his lips against my forehead and sighed. “We shouldn’t,” he murmured though his hand still cradled my head, his fingers spread beneath my hair.
“I know,” I whispered back.
“You’re vulnerable right now. The drugs?—”
“Are still in my system,” I finished for him. “But that’s not why I kissed you.”
His thumb traced my jawbone, a touch so light, it might have been imagined. “Why did you?”
I met his gaze directly, letting him see the truth that I was done hiding, even from myself. “Because I wanted to. Because I’ve wanted to kiss you again.”
Something flared in his eyes—hunger, yes, but also a fierce protectiveness that made my heart race. “Isabella,” he said my full name, which sounded completely wrong.
I kissed him again, harder this time, my hands coming up to tangle in his damp hair. This wasn’t about vulnerability or gratitude or anything else. This was about choice—my choice to cross the wobbly line drawn between us.
Ivan responded instantly, his arms tightened around me as his mouth claimed mine with growing hunger. He deepened the kiss—traced the seam of my lips with his tongue in a silent request I granted immediately.
