Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
We moan in sync when I yank him forward so fast the inches hidden by his seated position notch inside me.
Panic about how close I came to losing him smashes into me when I spot the cause of the gritty texture. Maksim’s body has a number of scars and welts from the years he protected his mother from a monster, but this scar is new.
Numerous sutures are closing a fresh wound high in his gluteus medius muscle. The edges of the skin closed together with perfect butterfly stitches is singed and has a blast-like appearance. Whatever caused the puncture wound was hot and fast moving—most likely a bullet.
I missed it during my assessment because I only removed Maksim’s shirt, and it sits around half an inch lower than the waistband of his trousers.
It also explains why Maksim only ever showered this week once I fell asleep.
Nothing but despair echoes in my tone when I ask, “What happened? Were you shot? Did someone shoot you?”
“It’s nothing.”
I never thought violence would be my go-to coping mechanism, but it takes everything I have not to bang my fists on his chest until it reddens from more than sexual exertion.
“That isn’t nothing. You were hurt. Someone shot you. That isn’t nothing!”
Anger overrides some of my fear when he throws his head back and laughs. He howls like a wolf staring at a full moon, reminding me that he is both alive and not a man who could be easily taken down.
The remembrance eases my hesitation by a smidge.
After a beat, Maksim murmurs, “You are so sexy when you’re jealous.”
“How am I jealous? I am mad.” And scared. “So very mad.”
“Still a shit fucking liar, Doc.” He rocks his hips upward, securing the devotion of my eyes before saying, “But there is a way you can guarantee no one will ever have their hands on my ass again.” Now I’m jealous. I didn’t consider the fact he couldn’t have been administered stitches where they are unless his backside was hanging out for the world to see, but I store my frustration for a better time when he says, “Come work for me.”
I sound more curious than confused when I reply, “I’m studying to become a surgeon.”
“And?”
After promising never to use clauses to encourage dialogue, I say, “What use would Ivanov Industries have with a surgeon?”
I realize this isn’t solely about the real estate mecca he’s forming when he answers, “Heaps of shit. Suturing. Medical procedures. Digging bullets out of backsides.”
I don’t pay the humor in his tone any attention. I only hear his admission that he was shot.
“Who shot you?” I’m not asking because I’m a nosy Nancy. I am asking because I need the name of the person who better have been issued a death certificate by now. “Is he dead?”
With my tone taking on a serious note, so does Maksim’s expression. “I don’t know.” My pledge for revenge takes a back seat when Maksim responds in a way I never anticipated. “I was more concerned about getting back to you before you heard the rumors than getting immediate revenge.”
“Rumors?” The anger in his eyes answers my question on his behalf. “They thought they’d taken you down?”
He jerks up his chin before brushing off an attempt at his life with humor. “They could never be so lucky.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “And neither could you.”
“This isn’t funny, Maksim. I could have lost you.”
His eyes spark with so much love it makes it hard to breathe. “You didn’t.”
“But I could have.”
My teeth grit when he says, “But you didn’t.”
Frustrated, I attempt to dismount him.
He refuses to let me go. He tugs me back onto him, forcing a moan to ripple between my lips.
He gives me a minute for my head and heart to reprimand my body for how easily it gives in to him before he aligns our eyes. “You didn’t come close to losing me, and you never will if you take Eva’s place on my team.” My confusion is only seen for two seconds before he tries to smother it. “You thought she was just an intern?” He smirks like he thinks my lack of smarts is cute. “She is almost as brilliant as you, Doc.” Before jealousy can engulf me, he adds, “And just as fucking stubborn. She wants to go home. She’s missing her family, and she is willing to do anything to get back to them.” My heart pains for Maksim’s team during his following sentence. “But she goes where my team goes, and my team goes where you go. For now, that place is Myasnikov. But it doesn’t have to be for Eva if you take her place. She can go home, back to her family.”
I’m being hammered with a heap of emotions I don’t know how to handle, so I shouldn’t be surprised by my next question. “You know this is emotional blackmail, right?”