I want to argue, but I know it’ll be useless. Besides, getting back in bed doesn’t sound all that unappealing.
“All right,” I say. “Thank you for the breakfast.”
Making my way back to the bedroom, I lie down, feeling as exhausted as if I just ran ten kilometers. My head is throbbing again, and my bruises ache. Even my throat is sore, and my skin feels tight and achy all over. On the nightstand next to the bed, I see the pain pills from yesterday, and after a moment of indecision, I reach for the bottle and extract two pills. Picking up a water bottle that someone thoughtfully left on the nightstand, I swallow the pills and wash them down with water before lying back and closing my eyes.
There’s no point in fighting Lucas’s orders today. I need to save my strength for when it matters.
31
Lucas
After being away for several days, I have a shitload of work to catch up on, and I don’t make it home until dinnertime. When I finally walk in, I see Diego watching TV on my couch.
“How is she?” I ask, glancing at the bedroom. “Still sleeping?”
Diego nods, rising to his feet. “Yeah. Like I told you in my texts, she slept through lunch, then woke up for an hour or so, read in bed, and then fell asleep again. I made a sandwich for her, but she left most of it untouched. Oh, and she kept asking to see her brother, but I said you have to authorize that.”
“I see. Thank you for watching her. I’ll let you know if I need you tomorrow.”
Diego grins. “No problem, man.”
He leaves, and I enter the bedroom to check on Yulia. Excessive sleeping is not an uncommon reaction to physical trauma and extreme emotional stress—it’s the body’s way of letting itself heal—but her lack of appetite worries me.
It’s dark in the room, so I make my way over to the bed and turn on a bedside lamp. Yulia doesn’t so much as twitch at the soft light. She’s lying on her back, the blanket pulled up to her chest and her face turned toward me. My chest tightens at the sight of her swollen jaw and darkened eye. With her slender hand lying palm-up on the pillow, she looks achingly young and defenseless, a hurt child instead of a grown woman.
If Kirill is still alive, he’ll wish he were dead ten times over by the time I’m done with him.
This morning, I sent out feelers to all our contacts in Europe and gave our hackers a new assignment: tracking down Kirill Luchenko. I also reached out to Peter Sokolov again to see if he knows anyone in Ukraine who can help. He responded right away, promising to look into it, so now it’s just a matter of time before we locate the fucker.
Assuming he didn’t croak from his wounds, that is. Since Yulia shot his dick off, it might be touch and go for a while.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I reach over and stroke her upturned palm with the tip of my finger, feeling the warm softness of her skin. Like the girl herself, her hand is deceptively delicate, an embodiment of elegant femininity. But I know how dangerous it can be—and now Kirill does too.
The fucking bastard will die a dickless eunuch. I really like that.
Yulia’s fingers curl in response to my touch, and a small moan escapes her throat. She still doesn’t wake up, though, and some instinct makes me reach over and touch her forehead with the back of my hand.
Fuck.
She’s hot—much too hot. Her forehead is burning.
In the next instant, I’m on my feet, pulling out my phone. Goldberg doesn’t pick up at first, so I call him again. Then again.
On the third attempt, he picks up the phone. “What is it?”
“Yulia is sick,” I say without preamble. “Something’s really wrong with her. I need you here. Now.”
“On my way.”
He hangs up, and I sit down on the bed and pick up Yulia’s hand, noticing the dry heat coming off her skin. My heart thuds with a dull, heavy rhythm as I lift her wrist up to my face and press my lips against her palm.
“You’ll be all right,” I whisper, ignoring the sharp fear clawing at my insides. “You’ll be all right, baby. You have to be.”
* * *
“Looks like a type of flu,” Goldberg says after examining Yulia. “It hit her hard, probably because her immune system was already under stress from her injuries and everything. I’ll get her started on an antiviral and give her Tylenol to bring down the fever. Other than that, you just keep her comfortable and make sure she gets enough fluids.”
As he speaks, Yulia’s eyelids flutter open, and she stares at me in confusion. “Lucas?” Her voice is weak and raspy as she rolls over onto her side. “What—”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re just feverish from the flu,” I say, sitting down on the bed next to her. Picking up the water bottle from the nightstand, I slide my arm under her upper back and help her sit up, propping her up on the pillows. Handing her the bottle and the pills Goldberg gives me, I murmur, “Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
I can feel the doctor’s amused gaze on me as he packs his bag, but I no longer give a fuck what he thinks or whom he tells about my weakness for Yulia.
She’s mine, and it’s time everyone knew that fact.
Yulia obediently swallows the pills and washes them down with all the water remaining in the bottle. “Where’s Misha?” she asks when she’s done, and I sigh, realizing this is going to be an ongoing battle.
“Your brother had a very nice day with Eduardo,” I say, putting the empty bottle back on the nightstand as Goldberg discreetly slips out of the room. “They had a lengthy workout session where Michael worked off quite a bit of his aggression toward the guard, and now they’re eating dinner, I believe—which is what we should be doing. Are you hungry? I can heat up some chicken noodle soup. It’s canned, but—”
“I’m not hungry,” she says, shaking her head. “I just want to see Misha.”
“How about this: you take a shower, eat a little soup and drink some tea, and I’ll see what I can do about getting Misha over here again?” I want her to eat so she can recover, and this seems like the best way to go about it.
“Okay.” Yulia pushes the blanket off her legs and starts to get up, but I catch her and lift her against my chest before she can do more than take a couple of shaky steps. She gives me a startled look, but winds her arms around my neck, holding on to me as I carry her to the bathroom.
When I reach my destination, I carefully lower Yulia to her feet and begin to undress her, pulling off her T-shirt and shorts while she stands there mutely, her eyes glazed with fever. For some reason, I’m reminded of when she was first brought here, bedraggled and malnourished after the Russian prison. It seems impossible that only a month has passed since then—that I met her just three months ago.
It feels like I’ve been obsessed with my captive for a lifetime.
“Do you need a moment?” I ask, and Yulia nods, the unbruised parts of her face reddening with a flush.
“Okay. I’ll be right outside. Call out if you feel dizzy or anything.”
I step out to let her use the restroom, and when I hear the shower turn on, I come back in. She’s already standing inside the glass stall, her hand shaking as she reaches for shampoo.
“Here, let me help you,” I say, swiftly stripping off my own clothes and joining her in the shower. “I don’t want you to strain yourself.”
“I’m okay,” she protests, but I take the shampoo from her hand and pour a small amount into my palm, then step under the spray to keep the water from hitting her in the face. As I lather her hair, she leans against me, closing her eyes, and I suppress a groan as her firm, curvy ass presses against my groin, taking me from semi-erect state to full-blown hardness. Up until then, I’d managed to keep my eyes off her naked body, my libido taking a back seat to my concern for her health, but this is too much.
Even sick and hurt, she turns me on unbearably.
Down. Fucking go down, I will my cock. My blood feels like molten lava in my veins as I turn Yulia toward the spray and rinse the shampoo from her hair before applying conditioner to the long blond strands.
“Lucas…” Her voice is a shaky whisper as she turns to face me, her fever-bright eyes locking on my face. Water droplets cling to her brown lashes, emphasizing their length, and my lungs feel like I can’t get enough air as she reaches for me, her hand brushing over my abs before traveling downward to curl around my hard, aching cock.
It takes all my strength to step out of her reach. “What are you doing?” I ask hoarsely, my stiff cock bobbing up to my navel as the water spray hits her in the chest. “You have the fucking flu.”
She follows me, blinking the water out of her eyes. “Let me take care of you, at least like this.” Her fingers brush against my erection again, but I catch her wrist before she can wrap her hand around the shaft.
“What the fuck, Yulia?” I stare down at her in disbelief, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the unnatural pallor of her skin. She’s about to collapse, and she wants to give me a handjob?
At my rejection, Yulia’s lips tremble, and she drops her gaze, her wrist going limp in my grasp. She looks utterly dejected, and as I stare at her bent head, a dark possibility occurs to me.