I stare at the men. I almost feel bad for them.
But I was almost killed…or possibly worse.
"Take care of it," Sergei says.
He puts his gun back in the holster he often wears when he’sworking.
Then he turns back to me. “With me.”
Normally, I would have something to say about him ordering me around.
I walk to him. His arm slides around my waist.
“Handle this,” he growls at Kirill.
“On it.”
“And tell Nelson he’ll be living here now.”
“Will do.”
Sergei walks me out of the alcove and then stops when we’re out of sight. I’m about to tell him I’m okay when he bends forward and scoops me into his arms.
“Sergei!”
He says nothing as he carries me down the hall and up the stairs to his room.
Our room.
He carries me into the bathroom and deposits me on the vanity.
And then he stands in front of me and simply stares.
"Your cheek," he says.
"It's fine."
"It's not fine." He reaches up and his fingers are very careful along the edge of the swelling, checking, not pressing. "Anything else?"
"My head hit the wall. I'm not concussed."
“That will never happen again.”
“If you keep shooting your guards, you’re going to run out of security.”
“I’ll never run out.”
I meant it as a joke, which he is clearly not interested in.
He steps away and turns on the shower, using the digital keypad to adjust the temperature.
And then he’s back.
He says nothing as he undresses me. His eyes inspect every inch of my naked body. I would normally feel self-conscious, but not with him.
“Shower,” he says. “I need to take care of a few things. I’ll be back.”
“Wait.”