Page 29 of Boardroom Ties
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m not, like, a wounded puppy, or whatever.”
Matvei shakes his head. “I don’t look at puppies like this.”
He takes a step closer. Just one. Then he pulls the little wheeled stool out from under the counter, sits down on it, and rolls himself right up to the side of my bed like he’s my goddamn gynecologist.
“Excuse me,” I object. “That’s presumptuous.”
He doesn’t seem to give a shit. Instead, he reaches out and touches the edge of the bandage on my cheek with one reverently gentle finger. “Who did this?” he whispers.
I pull my face away from his touch. “I tripped on the rug and fell.”
It comes out automatic. My neurons doing their little trained-monkey dance.
His eyes go somehow darker. I didn’t think that was possible. “Try again.”
“I tripped. On the rug. And fell.”
“Cassandra.”
“Matvei.”
“Cassandra.”
“That’s my name, yes, you can stop using it every ten seconds?—”
“Who.”
“Nobody.”
“Who.”
“Santa Claus. The Easter Bunny. The ghost of Christmas pa?—”
He reaches out and catches my wrist. Not hard. Not like Raymond. But it’s just forceful enough that I stop, mid-sentence, and feel every finger of his hand where it wraps around me. His thumb sits right where my pulse is.
He’s going to feel it skittering out of control. There’s no way he won’t.
“Don’t do the whole routine on me,” he whispers. “I watched you do it on the paramedics. I’m not as easily fooled.”
“Let go of my wrist.”
My breath catches in my throat when, instead of letting go, he brings my wrist to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to the soft underside there. Only then does he let go.
Damn. I was sort of hoping he wouldn’t.
I tuck my hand back under the blanket like I can hide it from him. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Probably not.”
“Someone will see you.”
“No. They won’t. I’m very good at not being seen when I don’t want to be.”
“Oh, well, how reassuring, Jason Bourne?—”
“Cassandra.”
“What?!”
