Then the frown of murderous wrath was back, even blacker. “Are the faint scars on your abdomen Medvedev’s stabs?”
The noose of agonizing memories choked her again as she nodded, averting her gaze so she could tell the half-truth. “They were aesthetically revised during my other surgeries.”
“Tell me he died in horrific pain.”
At his vicious growl, she attempted a shrug. “Probably. I was too busy with my own pain and peril to notice his.”
His fingers sank into her shoulders again. “Why didn’t you call me? For God’s sake, Scarlett, did you think I wouldn’t save you?”
His rage at the long-dead Medvedev was palpable. But it was his frustration with her, for not seeking his protection at first, then his help later that he seemed unable to handle. For a man like him, one who took charge and resolved problems, feeling helpless must be the worst thing that could happen to him. He must feel the same now, being unable to change the past.
“I told you what I thought,” she murmured. “Contacting you again under any circumstances wasn’t even an option.”
“Even if you thought you were dying?”
“Especially then. I left to protect you. I would never have considered dragging you to a crime scene, risking your reputation and putting you under the law’s scrutiny.”
Her rationalizations seemed about to cause him an apoplectic fit. He seemed to vibrate as he struggled with bringing the tirades storming inside him under control.
Then he attacked on a different front, bombarding her with questions. “What were your injuries exactly? How long did it take you to heal? Do you suffer from any lasting damage or ongoing pain?”
I suffer both, she wanted to whimper.
But this was the one thing she wouldn’t tell him. This was her loss and she couldn’t let him share it.
But he would ask and push until he left her no place to hide any secrets. And she had to keep this one.
To shut him up, divert him, and because she couldn’t bear wasting one more moment with him, she clung to him, her hands digging into his luxurious hair, tugging him closer. “No more questions, Raiden. I want you right this second.”
He bared his teeth on a silent growl, his body lurching, tensing as if at the shock of a lash.
Peeling her hands off him with his own trembling ones, he held out a warning finger. “Don’t, Scarlett. I’m not in control of myself. I was never in this condition.”
Disregarding his warning, she lunged at him, tore his shirt out of his pants, attacked his zipper. “I want you out of control. I want you savage and rough and unable to stop. Take me hard and fast and now, Raiden. I can’t wait. I can’t.”
His harsh intakes of breath confessed his pleasure at her frenzy, but he ended it, capturing her feverish hands. When she writhed against him, raining bites and kisses anywhere she could reach, the last of his restraint crumbled, and she finally made him do what she wanted him to. He hauled her up in his arms and hurtled with her to his bed.
Once there, he flung her down onto her stomach, then launched himself over her, covering her with his great body. It was as if he was shielding her, hiding her, and poignancy welled out of her depths on a keen. Rumbling incessantly, he sounded like a beast, one protecting his mate, maddened and heartbroken he hadn’t been able to prevent her injury before he got to her.