Page 48 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“I’m not asking questions,” she said simply. “I’m just looking.”
The shower was big enough for both of them, though she stayed mostly clothed in her silk slip. She washed his hair with gentle fingers, worked the tension from his shoulders, let the hot water do what words couldn’t. He leaned into her touch like a man dying of thirst.
Afterward, she wrapped him in a towel and led him to bed. He tried to protest when she disappeared into the kitchen,but she ignored him, returning with a sandwich and a glass of whiskey.
“Eat,” she commanded, settling cross-legged beside him on the massive bed.
“I’m not hungry.”
“When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee?”
He considered this, frowning. “Tuesday?”
“It’s Thursday night. Well, Friday morning now.” She pushed the plate toward him. “Eat.”
He took a bite, then another, and she watched some of the gray pallor leave his skin. The whiskey helped too, the amber liquid seeming to warm him from the inside out.
“Better?” she asked.
“Better.” He set the empty glass aside and looked at her, really looked at her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? Taking care of me.”
The question hung between them, heavy with implications. Irina pulled her knees to her chest, suddenly feeling exposed despite being the one still clothed.
“Because you look like you need it,” she said finally. “And because I want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the grandfather clock downstairs marking the passage of time.Matvei’s breathing had evened out, his body finally relaxing into the mattress.
“My sister used to do this,” he said suddenly, voice soft in the darkness.
“Which one?”
“Anka. When I was younger and came home beaten to hell from some fight or another.” His laugh was rough around the edges. “She’d patch me up and lecture me about picking battles I could actually win.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest.” He turned his head to look at her. “She’d like you.”
Something warm unfurled in Irina’s chest at the words. “You think?”
“I know.” His hand found hers in the darkness, fingers intertwining. “She has a thing for stubborn women who don’t know when to back down.”
“I wonder where I picked that up,” Irina said dryly.
“Definitely not from your brothers.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “God, no. They’d have me wrapped in bubble wrap if they could manage it.”
“Can’t say I blame them.” His thumb traced over her knuckles. “You’re precious cargo.”
The words should have annoyed her. Should have triggered her usual rant about being treated like a delicate flower. Instead, they sent warmth spiraling through her chest.
