Page 140 of Wicked Proposal
My thoughts are a mangled mess. Nothing like the cold lucidity of thepakhanI should be. I told myself I didn’t care about this woman, that I could use her as a human shield and feel nothing. That I could dangle her in front of my enemies and not give a shit if they managed to sink their teeth into her.
All lies.
Mia’s in danger,my instincts are screaming, raw, animal. She’s hurt. She’s scared.
She needs me.
Before my heartbeat evens, I’m out the fucking door.
43
YULIAN
Kallie meets me in front of the ER doors. “She’s in there,” she says, nodding towards the ladies’ changing room.
Smart girl. I can see why Maksim likes her. She must have guessed I’d start barking orders the second I came through those doors, demanding to be taken to Mia. It wouldn’t have been pretty.
However, those thoughts end up buried deep under the urgency that moves me.
Nothing else matters. Nothing but Mia.
I find her huddled with a blanket around her shoulders and a young man handing her tea. He takes one look at me, wolf-whistles, and says to Mia, “Girl, you weren’t kidding. I’d grate all sorts of dairy products on that washboard.”
She chokes on her tea. “Thanks, Reese,” she coughs, half sincere, halfI’m going to murder you later for that. It will not be quick. It will not be painless.“You should go. I don’t want to get you into trouble with Gwen, and?—”
“And I’m one wheel too many,” he finishes for her. “Got it, babycakes. But if I see you back out there wearing purple again, I swear to God, I’ll file a sexual harassment complaint against you and get you sent home the hard way.”
Far from feeling threatened, Mia squeezes his hand. “Thank you,” she whispers, this time genuine. “Seriously.”
“Treat her well, Mr. Hunk,” he tells me as he passes by, making anI see yougesture. “If you don’t, I’ll know.”
Then we’re alone.
Mia’s blue eyes peer up at me. They’re rimmed with red, puffy from crying. She takes in my sweaty appearance, the gym clothes and ruffled hair, and guilt immediately blooms on her face.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have called you, you were busy, I?—”
“You did exactly as you were supposed to do.”
I kneel next to her. It’s a new thing, even for me, with all I’ve seen and done. Apakhandoesn’t kneel—ever. It’s too close to a show of weakness. Submission. Everything I am not.
But today, for Mia, I do.
She won’t look at me now. Her fingers tighten around the cup, shoulders curling inward like she wants to disappear into the blanket wrapped around her.
I fucking hate it.
“Mia.”
She still won’t meet my gaze. Her eyes fall to her wrist, and I follow them reflexively.
A sharp exhale escapes me. “He hurt you.”
“It’s nothing?—”
“It’s not fucking nothing.” I reach for her hand, take it in mine, turn it over to examine the purpling bruise around her wrist. Her pulse is erratic under my thumb, rabbit-quick. Like she’s preparing to bolt any second now. Her old defense mechanism, roaring back to life. “He hurt you.”
Her breath shudders. “It’s not that bad. He just?—”
