Page 33 of Trapped By the Bratva

She shook her head, focused on watching my arm and back. Her hands remained on me, one at my side and the other on my elbow as she guided me to execute a perfect extension intended to strengthen me.

“Is it always the same person?”

What the fuck?I hated playing twenty questions, and it seemed like I couldn’t stop myself with her.

She shrugged.

“Boyfriend?”

Her cheeks turned pink. “If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have kissed you that first day.”

I licked my lips, triumphant when her gaze dropped to my mouth.Do you still think about it, Darling?Because I did. I didn’t want to, but that memory was a fond one I’d never give up.

“Ex-boyfriend?” I guessed next.

She narrowed her eyes, snapping back to the defensiveness I often summoned from her. “It’s none of your business.”

It wasn’t. She had a good point. We were stuck here together in such close proximity that she was creeping into all my thoughts.

And that wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t need her as a complication. I didn’t want her as a distraction.

“Whoa!” She pushed against my elbow as I pulled too hard and lost the correct formation. “Ease up.”

Ease up?Ha. With her, I seemed cursed to want more and more.

11

HANNAH

Dmitri argued with me daily. He resisted taking my advice to slow down or to correct his stance. And he had a natural inclination to push back and nitpick every suggestion I made in terms of his therapy progress.

No wonder I’m the sixth one to try to stick around here.

But I had. He was the most stubborn, grumpiest, pain-in-the-ass man I’d ever tolerated for this long, but I stuck it out.

For ten days, I showed up and did my best.

“See. Your range of motion is already improving.”

He completed a circuit of exercises to strengthen his ankle. “No, it’s not.”

I bit my lip, used to his headstrong mannerisms.

“Oh. Sorry. Did I forget my turn at the reverse psychology spiel?”

He glowered at me. His gaze lingered for just an extra beat, and that was all it took for me to wonder—again—if he was still interested in me in a physical way.

If he wanted to kiss me. Or touch me. Or?—

“What are you thinking about?”

I flinched, unnerved by how observant he was. He couldn’t have been reading my mind, but I bet the slight flush on my cheeks gave away that I was letting my mind wander where it shouldn’t go.

“Your range of motion,” I answered breezily, determined to stick with a proper topic.

Despite his attitude and reluctance to just be a civil human, he was growing on me. I’d picked up plenty about him. Little tidbits of details and discovering his tells. It was easier to intuit when he was pushing too hard in an exercise. I was getting better at reading him, knowing when he was straining to hold in a moan of pleasure when I kneaded around his healing injury sites.

Placing my hands on him was a trial. Half the time, I could stay in a clinical mode. More and more often, though, I was losing my edge. Feeling his taut, smooth skin taunted me. Encountering his hard, hot body was something I couldn’t ignore so well.