I touched that one. “What happened?”
“A knife.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Did he live?”
“No.”
I looked up.
Vadim’s face didn’t change. No boast. No threat. Just fact.
I should have stepped back.
Instead I flattened my palm against his chest and felt his heart hit hard under my hand.
“You’re not polished under the suit,” I said.
“No.”
“Good.”
His eyes flared.
I pushed the shirt down his arms. He shrugged out of it and let it fall. Then he stood bare-chested in front of me while I unfastened his belt with fingers that shook only a little.
He watched my face.
Not my hands. Not where the robe had fallen off one shoulder. My face.
The belt slid free with a soft rasp of leather.
I dropped it on the floor.
His trousers opened under my fingers.
“Nadia.”
I looked up. “Are you going to tell me to stop?”
“No.”
“Are you going to ask if I’m sure?”
“I’m trying not to ask every ten seconds.”
“Ask once more.”
His eyes held mine. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The word came out steady.
I pushed his trousers and briefs down enough to free him.
