"Ivan. He challenged my authority." His voice is matter-of-fact, like he's discussing the weather. "I shot him in the leg. He'll live."
"You shot someone." I stop on the landing, turning to look at him. "Just like that."
"Just like that." His gold eyes are hard now, reminding me exactly who he is. What he is. "He needed to learn his place."
The casual brutality should terrify me. Maybe it does. But mixed with the fear is something else. Something that noticed how his shoulders fill out that suit jacket, how his hands were gentle when they took the gun from me, how his first instinct was to make sure I was okay.
I'm so screwed.
We reach my bedroom door, and he follows me inside, closing it behind us. The click of the lock makes my pulse jump for entirely different reasons than fear.
"You shouldn't have come downstairs when you heard the gunshot." He sets the gun on my dresser, then turns to face me. "It was dangerous."
"I thought you might be hurt." The admission slips out before I can stop it.
"And you were going to do what? Shoot whoever hurt me?" His mouth quirks. "The safety was still on."
Heat floods my cheeks. "I forgot about that part."
"Clearly." He moves closer, and I catch the scent of him. Expensive cologne and something darker, more primal. "But the thought is… appreciated."
"Don't let it go to your head." I step back, needing distance. "I was just protecting my investment."
"Your investment." He's definitely smiling now, and it transforms his face from dangerous to devastating. "Is that what I am?"
"You're the one keeping me alive. That makes you valuable."
"Valuable." He tests the word like he's tasting wine. "I'll take it."
The tension between us is thick enough to cut. I'm acutely aware of how close he is, how his eyes keep dropping to my mouth, how my body is responding despite everything my brain is screaming about self-preservation.
"I need to go shopping." The words tumble out, desperate to break whatever spell is weaving between us.
He blinks. "What?"
"Shopping. I need clothes. Personal things." I gesture at my jeans and sweater. "This is literally all I have. Everything else is back at the cabin."
His expression shifts, becomes thoughtful. "That's not safe."
"Nothing about this situation is safe." I cross my arms, which pushes my breasts up in a way his eyes definitely notice. "But I can't live in the same three outfits forever."
"I'll have someone bring things here."
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. "I need to get out of this house. Even for a few hours." I pause, and though it pains me to say it, I do. "Please."
He's quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he's grinding his teeth. Finally, he nods. "Fine. But we do this my way. Driver, bodyguard, and you don't leave my sight."
"Deal."
Two hours later, I'm sitting in the back of a black Mercedes with Aleksandr beside me and a driver whose neck is thicker than my thigh behind the wheel. Another car follows us, presumably full of more muscle.
"This is excessive," I mutter, watching the city slide past the tinted windows.
"This is necessary." Aleksandr's thigh presses against mine in the confined space, and I'm trying very hard not to notice how solid it feels. "You're a target, Lena. Although I've already recalled the hit, it can take a while for everyone to become aware. Anyone could recognize you."
"My hair is different. I look different."
"Not different enough." His hand finds my knee, and the touch sends electricity up my leg. "Humor me."