Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (11 page)

“Most likely. I’ll be happy to share it with you.” He smoothed sweaty hair off her forehead.

His fingers were cool and soothing which struck her as odd since the rest of him was putting off heat like a bonfire. She resisted the urge to rub against his fingers. The more he touched her, the more she liked it—more than she wanted to admit.

“Now a shot of a pain killer to help cut your pain, yes?” he murmured. Again he might have voiced it as a question, but it came off as an order.

Elana wanted to refuse on principle, to assert some control over what was happening, but the pain had become a ravenous beast threatening to eat away at what little was left of her dignity.

“A mild one, please.” She lifted her head and instantly regretted the motion. The room swirled even though the rest of her was flat on the bed. “So dizzy. Sick to my stomach.”

“Not surprising. You’ve been shot. No real sleep in over a day. You’re most likely dehydrated and hungry.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss over her cold, clammy forehead before she could move away or even protest.

“So, you may use your so-eloquent colloquial Russian on me if I hurt you.” Then he straightened and efficiently gave her a shot in the arm of something he’d pulled from the medical kit. “Medicine for the pain. Tylenol with codeine. It will act faster this way.”

Vanko was driving her crazy with all the touching—now kissing—and then there were the sweet names he called her in Russian. How could she feel an instant attraction for the dominating male? This lust, or whatever it was, had to be something to do with the limbic system and survival of the species; procreation with the strongest, most alpha male trumped higher brain logic every damn time.

Feeling waspish and out of sorts, she sniped, “Do all your injured women do what you tell them?”

“I don’t have any other injured women—just you. In fact, I haven’t had any other woman in my life for over a year. So, you,
goluba moya
—”

My little dove,
she translated.

“—will do as I say, yes?”

Her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest at the way he spoke to her—his tone, soft and loving, the words so direct and, even more, personal. In their short, but intense, acquaintance, he’d called her
zaychik moy
, my little bunny,
devochka
, little girl, and now my little dove. She’d never been on the receiving end of so much sweetness from a man. She didn’t know what to do or how to react. She’d always thought of herself as more of a little mouse…or the cold bitch as one of her former lovers had called her.

She much preferred Vanko’s pet names.

“Elana, answer me. You will do as I say, yes? This is for your health and protection.” His voice had grown stern and his now all-too-serious gaze was fixed on her face as if he’d wait all day for her answer—and it would have to be the answer he wanted to hear.

“Yes.” God, her throat had threatened to close off as she spoke the word. Panic fluttered in her stomach. She’d just given control over her body to this man for the foreseeable future—and somehow it felt right. Was she nuts?

No. You’re healing—finally
.
Learning to trust again.

Maybe, but she wasn’t convinced her usual good sense hadn’t temporarily gone offline. Later, when she wasn’t so dizzy and in pain and could think clearly again, she’d have to examine why this man affected her in ways she’d never experienced before.

“Good.” Vanko turned his attention to her wound and prodded gently around it with gloved fingers.

Angling her head, Elana took in the raw, bleeding flesh. She groaned and closed her eyes as her stomach roiled. Once again she forced back the sickness threatening to come up. She hated being sick and refused to lose any more control over her body than she already had. She concentrated on taking shallow breaths and finally conquered the nausea.

“I hurt you.” He touched his forehead to hers and whispered, his lips a mere breath away from hers. “Sorry,
zaychik moy
. The pain medication should take effect soon.”

“It’s fine.” She spoke through clenched teeth. He was too close.

He grunted and straightened. His lips firmed. “Don’t lie.”

“Okay, it hurts like a bastard.” She snapped out.

Don’t take your messed up emotions out on Vanko. He’s helping you.

Elana consciously forced her voice into a less bitchy tone. “I can handle the pain. Just do what you need to do. The sooner it’s done, the better.” She touched his forearm and rubbed it in an unspoken apology. The touch also served to anchor her in the here and now and not in the past, recent or distant. She needed to keep reminding herself―Vanko was not her enemy.

Vanko inhaled sharply and stared at her hand. His muscles hardened under her fingers. His eyes dilated until all she saw was a thin line of gray-green around the pupils. When his nostrils flared as if he scented something he liked, she pulled her hand away. She opened her mouth to apologize, but stopped at the fire in his eyes.

His smoky gaze traveled over her torso, lingering briefly on her sheerly covered breasts. She blushed at the intensity of his regard. Her nipples budded to the point of pain and practically begged to be noticed. The little hussies.

She chanced a look down his body. Oh my God! He was aroused…hugely so. Her face burned, and she turned her head away unable to look him in the eye. She’d only touched his arm, for chrissakes.

“Look at me, Elana.” His tone was iron swathed in velvet.

She turned and met his all-encompassing assessment.

“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re beautiful.”

“It’s not that—” she fumbled for words that wouldn’t make her sound stupid or worse…naive.

“Then what is it?” Vanko’s tone said he wouldn’t accept silence or obfuscation.

“You’re…um, erect,” she whispered. “I touched your arm. You looked at me and got hard.”

“That happens when I see a beautiful woman.” His lips twisted slightly.

“I’m not beautiful,” Elana stammered.

“To me you are. Besides your quiet beauty, you’re intelligent, brave, and have a sense of humor, all attributes I like in a woman. So, I’ll be hard a lot around you. But,
zaychik moy
, I won’t act on the attraction now for two reasons. One, you’re injured. And two, a man from your past hurt you and you’re scared.”

He said he wouldn’t act on it
now
. Did that mean he’d act on it later? Did she want him to?

Hell, yes.
Her inner self knew what it wanted, but the part of her formed by life experiences was far more cautious.

“You think I’m brave?” she whispered.

“Yes.” A firm, unequivocal response from a man who knew and spoke his mind.

Elana couldn’t wrap her head around his admissions, so she didn’t try. Instead, they stared at each other for several seconds, the quiet filled with so much sexual tension Elana was ready to scream. Finally, Vanko’s heated expression ebbed and grew cooler, and the bulge behind his jeans’ placket subsided.

She let out a raspy breath. Jesus H. Christ, the man had control. He’d promised to protect her, and that seemed to include from himself.

Vanko coughed and caught her attention. She looked up and found a slight smile in the depth of his eyes even though the rest of his demeanor appeared grave. He brushed a finger over her burning cheek as if to apologize for making her blush. “I received the impression earlier you’re more afraid of a third party finding you than the traitor’s hired killers. Is this other man the one from your past?”

He turned away and removed some items from the medical kit, then began to lay them out on the bed on the other side of her legs. “I can find out about your past through SSI’s researchers, but I’d rather you tell me.”

Vanko was once again all business. And it was business she really wished they didn’t have to discuss. But her past was dangerous and could bite them both on their asses if he wasn’t alerted to it.

She sighed. “My full name is Elana Chernov Fabrizzio.” She waited for the name to sink in. It didn’t take long.

Vanko sucked in a breath and then let it out. “Ahh, I see—that Fabrizzio.”

A myriad of emotions swept over his handsome face, too many to classify. But one thing she was sure of—he’d placed her and the event that had changed her life. He would’ve been, she guessed, in his early twenties when her abduction from a busy Moscow street had occurred. He might not have all the details, but he’d know enough to understand why she’d moved away from Russia and lived under an assumed name.

The story of her abduction and murder of her parents by a
mafiya
kingpin had been all over the news. So had the story of her “death” from unnamed injuries suffered during her rescue.

“I know of your uncles.” He unwrapped a prepackaged syringe of what was labeled as a local anesthetic. “I’m happy to see the news of your death was erroneous.”

“My uncles wanted to protect me.”

Vanko nodded and grunted. “As they should.”

“They made it their goal to take down the man who’d kidnapped me and killed my mother, their baby sister. Unfortunately, he is still at-large, so I am not safe.”

“Your uncles will come to the U.S. once they see the news, yes?” Vanko spread a towel on the bed and tucked it gently under her wounded side, the covered it with a sterile drape from the kit.

“They’re probably over the Atlantic now.” She spoke in a tone filled with love for her uncles. “We need to find a way to get them a message I’m safe, or they’ll tear D.C. apart looking for me.”

Through slitted lids, she watched every sure and graceful move Vanko made as he cared for her wound. The man could’ve been a ballet dancer, but she bet his supple grace came from a lifetime of martial arts.

“We’ll track them down when I have you in a more secure place.” Vanko looked her in the eyes. His were filled with concern for her and a fierce protectiveness that warmed her and chased away the frigidity that had encased her for so long. “Okay?”

“Sounds good.” She couldn’t help herself; she touched his arm again, now bared because he’d rolled up his sleeves. His ropy muscles contracted under her fingertips. His tanned skin was hot and the smattering of pale blond hair felt like raw silk. The contact sent a frisson of awareness through her fingers and up her arm.

A muscle in Vanko’s jaw clenched and unclenched. His earlier reaction to her touch wasn’t a fluke. She really did excite him. She pulled her fingers away as if burned. She’d never played with fire before—never wanted to—but now she wanted to learn…but only with this man.

Vanko let out a long soughing breath and closed his eyes. He swallowed hard, his jaw tight with restraint. It was as if he struggled with his reaction to her.

To end the pregnant silence between them she blurted out, “I never thanked you for rescuing me. So…um, thank you.”

Vanko shook his head, his mouth twisted into a slight smile. “You’re welcome. Now, be brave for me,
milaya
, several more sticks coming.”

He numbed the area surrounding the long wound opening with multiple pricks of the needle. It hurt a bit, but was bearable. To distract herself from what came next and because she was curious about Vanko’s background, she asked, “Where did you get your field medic training? The military?”

“No. I was never military. I went from university straight into Interpol—first in drug enforcement and later in sex trafficking.”

A dark look crossed his face, and she realized Vanko had seen some really bad things and hadn’t forgotten any of them.

“SSI has all its operatives obtain military training in basic field medicine.” As he spoke, he plucked large pieces of bloody detritus from the wound with tweezers and deposited them in the basin he’d placed next to her thigh.

Queasy from pain and stress, she took several slow, shallow breaths and then resumed talking. “Like my uncles, you and your SSI teammates are protectors, not just hunters and soldiers. I’ve read some things about SSI—” She gasped and swore under her breath as he flushed the wound with some liquid that hurt like hell. “—online. Um, you do facility…Jesus, that hurts…um, and personal security for other governments and large corporations.”

Elana was babbling and cursing, but even with the pain meds and local anesthetic, the pain was overwhelming.

Better to babble like an idiot than scream.

“It’s okay, Elana. Let it out. I’m sorry I have to cause you more pain.” Vanko removed a glove and stroked along her arm and then up over her shoulder with soft, soothing sweeps of his fingers. “No more stinging fluids, I promise. Such a brave
zaychik
.”

Finally, when she was sure she wouldn’t scream or hurl, she opened her eyes and found his somber gaze on her. “We still have a ways to go,” he said. “You okay for me to finish? I can call 911 this minute and have you taken to an emergency room.”

“No 911. I can handle it.” She was more afraid of the Boss and Demidas than any pain Vanko would have her endure.

“Yes, you can.” There was a look of respect and admiration in his crystalline gaze. Then he frowned. “This next part won’t be nice. You might not want to look. I have to probe. While the wound isn’t too deep, I can’t chance leaving any cloth fragments in the opening.”

“Do your worst. I’ll deal.” She picked a spot over his shoulder and stared at a particularly ugly painting. It looked like something a three-year-old would do with finger paints.

“Let me know if you need more pain meds. No need to hurt more than necessary.”

“I’m fine. The pain from the liquid was unexpected.” She licked her dry lips and attempted to smile, but must have failed abysmally, because a deep furrow formed on Vanko’s forehead. Yeah, he read her far too easily.

He let out a huff. “I won’t be happy if you suffer in silence,
goluba moy
.”

“Just do it. I’ve been through this before.” A long, long time ago.

He hissed out a particularly foul string of Russian swear words. “Was this when you were rescued and supposedly killed?”

“Yes.” She swallowed past the lump the size of a boulder in her throat. “I have a scar on the back of my shoulder. My uncle had to dig a bullet out. We couldn’t chance a hospital then either. My kidnapper had to believe I was dead.”