Page 61 of Shadows of the Past
While so many people died, they sat with a bottle of whiskey nearby and watched the footage.
When Ivan's gaze settles on Maksim, their typical nonverbal communication takes place. Even I can see the pride in the monster's eyes when he realizeshis heirhas done his duty.
"Someone marked the eyes of the soldiers in front of the house with an X. Any idea who it might be?" Maksim asks, and I watch him analyze every feature of Ivan's face.
I look at the old man's face for a few seconds, but I see nothing. No reaction. No emotion. But when I look at Max, I see something on his face. It's the way the corner of his mouth turns slightly upward for a fraction of a second. He saw something I missed.
"With as many enemies as we have, Maksim, it's like asking me to find a needle in a haystack," he finally answers, and it's obvious he knows who's behind the attack but doesn't want to say.
After we escort Ivan to his bedroom and make sure there are no more intruders on the property, I lean against the wall of our bedroom and take my first normal breath in the last hour.
An avalanche of emotions weighs on my chest after today, and all I hope is that Akim managed to get those children off the property.
We erased the surveillance camera recordings, using the excuse that the intruders cut all connections, so no onesuspected anything. With all the soldiers drawn to the house by the sound of gunfire, no one had been monitoring that exit.
My eyelids feel heavy, and I could fall asleep on this floor by the time Maksim enters the room. Today seems to weigh on him too, because his eyes are a stormy gray and filled with emotion.
"Akim?" I ask softly.
He just nods, and I can't help but smile. We succeeded.
"Ilya will take care of the rest," he tells me, and I sense he wants to say more.
But I don't want to hear anything else. Not when he might take back the kiss, the words, and with them, the small hope that has grown in my soul.
"Let's shower," I say and reach out my hand to him.
It takes him a few seconds to come to me, and I try not to get discouraged at his hesitation. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, he takes two steps toward me and takes my hand.
In the bathroom, I turn on the shower, and I know he probably wants to ask what the hell I'm doing, but I don't give him time to think too much as I take off my clothes and step into the stall.
It's the first time I’ve been completely naked in front of him, and I wish I could see his face now, but again, I'm terrified to see rejection. To see that he regrets everything that happened earlier.
"Julia." My name said with so much yearning makes me close my eyes as the warm water washes away the day's emotions.
I let every anxiety and moment of fear go when I feel his presence behind me.
I want to beg him to put his hands on me. I want to beg him to lift me up like he did earlier. I want...
"I'm afraid I'll hearhimwhen I should hearyou. I'm afraid I'll seehimwhen I should only seeyou. I'm afraid I'll never be able to touchyoulike this because my mind is so broken that it associates intimacy withhim," he says quietly, and I hear him inhale.
I bite my lip, trying to stop the tears from falling, because I understand him perfectly. There were months when I believed Martin had broken me for good, months spent wondering if I’d ever want to give myself to another man, months convinced no one could ever stir this longing inside me again.
"The desire to put my hands on you is killing me, but knowing I could fall into the black hole in my head and hurt you destroys me."
"Then hurt me," I say and turn to face him. "You hurt me more by denying me this."
I'm not prepared for this image, and I know I'm staring rudely at him, but he's perfect. His body is sculpted from hundreds of missions and thousands of constant training sessions. He has tattoos on his arms and abdomen, and unable to help myself, the tip of my finger traces the ink on his stomach.
I feel his entire body tense, but that Celtic pattern fascinates me. I think I've seen it explained somewhere as representing the cycle of life.
I withdraw my hand, but he grabs my wrist and brings my fingers back.
"Keep touching me," he whispers, and I notice his eyes are fixed on my face.
A blush covers my cheeks because he's the first man I've touched so freely. The first I've seen completely naked before me.
My fingers continue to trace lines on each of his tattoos while a wave of warmth engulfs my chest and belly.
