He ignores me and reaches for the antiseptic spray. Oh, for God’s sake, he is so bloody stubborn. I place my hand over his and press my other hand to his chest. Slowly, I trace the letters on his chest with the tip of my finger.
P-L-E-A-S-E
He watches my finger, then meets my eyes and there is this look on his face . . . I can’t quite define it, but it seems vulnerable.
“Okay,” he says, and grabbing me around the waist, he lifts me to sit on the countertop.
For a few moments he just stands there—his hands gripping the edge of the counter on either side of me, his body leaning forward, and his jaw is set in a hard line. Our faces are so close, I can feel his breath on my skin while the deep blue of his eye watches me closely.
“It’s not a pretty sight, Bianca,” Mikhail says in an e
