Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
And woke up to him laying her on a bed.
Keira reacted without thinking. She flailed out of his arms, managing to punch him in the face in the process, and then drew both legs up and kicked him directly in the chest. Dmitri shot back several steps and hit the big dark wood dresser, making it rattle.
She scrambled back until the headboard stopped her motion, her mind frantically flailing around to catch up with the change in location and circumstance. Dmitri started to take a step forward and seemed to change his mind. “You’re safe, Keira.”
That spawned an ugly laugh. “Not that, Russian. Never that.”
He inclined his head, a king surveying his domain. “Let me rephrase—you’re safe right now, with me. You were tired. I thought it more effective to put you in bed and not interrupt your rest.”
“Your bed.”
“Da. You agreed to it earlier.”
Damn it, she had, hadn’t she? Keira rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Sorry. You’re right—this time.”
He still didn’t move from his position against the dresser. A bright red spot had bloomed under his right cheekbone where she’d hit him. “I won’t move you while you’re sleeping again.” He said it with utter seriousness, not a single mocking word in sight.
“Thank you.” She felt dramatic reacting so strongly. Of course Dmitri would carry her to bed when she passed out on him in the car. She probably drooled on his chest and he just took it, and the way she paid him back was by punching him in the face. Exhaustion pulled at her, and the bed was like sitting on a tempting cloud, but she couldn’t let things stand as they were now. She had fucked up. Not him.
She scooted to the edge of the bed and climbed to the floor. “We’d better get some ice on that cheekbone. My brother Teague taught me that right hook, and even without all my weight behind it, you’ve got a good chance of bruising.”
“That’s not necessary.” There he was, her cold Russian.
Keira almost missed a step. Cold, yes. Not hers. Never hers. She had to remember that. To cover her reaction, she pivoted and headed for the bathroom. If there wasn’t ice, a cold washcloth would work in a pinch. Better to get this taken care of now and move on. The less time she spent staring into Dmitri’s striking gray eyes, the better.
He was still in the same spot when she returned. Keira frowned. “You should sit.” At five seven, she wasn’t exactly short, but he was at least an inch or two over six feet, and it would be easier to get to the bruise if he sat on the bed.
Do not think about Dmitri on the bed. Definitely don’t think about Dmitri on the bed.
He moved to the bed and sat slowly. “I can do it myself.”
“I reacted poorly and attacked you. Just… sit there and shut up and let me take care of you, okay?”
He stared at her long enough that she had to fight not to fidget. Finally, he nodded. “Do your worst.”
“I think I already did that.” She stepped closer, but the length of his legs made it awkward to reach his face.
“Keira.” He said her name almost as a sigh. “Come here.” Dmitri nudged her closer until she stood between his thighs. His fingertips barely touched her hips, but she felt them through her entire body. Or maybe it was his presence overwhelming her by being this close. With him sitting and her standing, it should have put her in the dominant position, but there was no mistaking the fact that Dmitri was perfectly in control of this situation the same way he always seemed to be in control.
She pressed the cold washcloth against his face. “Do you ever just… relax?”
“I was relaxed. And then my wife woke up and reacted poorly to my having moved her.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She glared. “You were not relaxed then, so stop with the bullshit. I bet you’re plotting in your dreams when you sleep, aren’t you? Carrying me to bed wasn’t enough to put you off something you do as second nature.”
“If you already think you know the answer to the question, why ask it?”
Which wasn’t an agreement… but it wasn’t a disagreement, either.
She lifted the washcloth and winced. “This will bruise.”
“It’s an impressive right hook.”
Now was the time to press him about Krav Maga, or to ask one of the half a million questions she had brimming inside her. But Keira found herself hesitant to break the moment. She pressed the cloth back to his face.
“Why did you stop painting?”
The question set her back on her heels. “That’s none of your damn business.” She was not going to think about painting or the whys or what she’d lost.
His big hand covered hers where she held the washcloth. “It’s just a question, Keira.”