"What if he kills Andrei before you can stop him?"
"Then I have to make sure I get there first."
I feel gut sick. He's talking about walking into a gunfight, putting himself between Ruslan and his target, and risking his life to catch a traitor. The cut on his side from Petr is barely healed. And if I lose him I'll…
I stand up and move around to face him, kneeling down so we're at eye level. "You could get hurt."
"I've been hurt before."
"You could get killed." Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back.
"That's always a possibility in my line of work."
He reaches up to touch my face more gently than his mood indicates he will, but I lean into it. " I can't lose you, Vadim."
"Danica—"
"Your job's so dangerous." I don't want to make him feel bad but I'm scared for him. "Every time you leave, I don't know if you're coming back."
He reaches out and takes my face in his hands. "I'm always careful."
"Careful doesn't matter if you're outnumbered." I wish he would listen to me and understand what I mean, what I'm trying to say to him.
"What do you want me to do? Walk away from this? Let Ruslan kill Andrei and cover up the conspiracy?"
"I want you to be safe." My eyes are burning now and I hate it. I hate feeling this vulnerable and scared. "I want you to come home every night. I want to stop worrying that every goodbye might be the last one… Because I need you—" I choke out, "and the idea that you could be injured or killed doing this job is unacceptable to me. I'm your wife, and I don't want to be a widow."
He goes very still, his hands still cupping my face, his eyes searching mine. "What do you mean?"
I have had a lot of time to think this through and I'm done waiting for him to make a move. He's too busy ending conspiracies and hunting his prey to think about me, and I need security.
"Ask me." I grab his wrists, keeping his hands on my face.
"As you what?" he says softly.
"Ask me to move to Russia with you."
"I don't understand what that has to do with?—"
"Just ask me," I snap, and he stops short, looking puzzled.
Then he carefully says, "Will you move to Russia with me when this is over?"
"Yes. I'll move anywhere with you at any time." I take a shaky breath. "But only if you can promise me something." I'm trembling, clinging to his hand that cradles my face like it might be the last time I ever get to touch him.
"What?"
"Promise me we'll be around long enough to grow old together and that you won't die on me in one of your dangerous jobs. Promise me that twenty years from now, we'll still be having this conversation."
"God, woman, I can't promise you anything except that I want you." He looks angry, with stormy eyes and a clenched jaw again, but he leans forward and kisses me, and I kiss him back.
His mouth is demanding against mine and I open for him, tasting the vodka on his tongue. His hands move from my face to my hair, tangling in it, pulling just hard enough to make me gasp. The anger is still there but it's transforming into something hungry and desperate.
"I want you too," I whisper against his lips. "Right now."
He stands and pulls me up with him, his hands already reaching for the hem of my shirt. I lift my arms and he strips it off, tossing it aside before his mouth finds my collarbone and his teeth start grazing the sensitive skin there. I shiver as my hands shoot to his belt.
"Wait," he says, catching my wrists. "Let me taste you first."
