Page 48 of No Longer Mine (Rags & Riches #2)

Chapter Forty

Scarlett

Dimitri didn’t leave, but he didn’t speak again. He just watched. His grandmothers worked—well, Nana worked, and Grandmother tried to pry every secret from me with nothing more than a scolding gaze.

Pain radiated through my body, sharp and unrelenting. I needed painkillers—hell, maybe even a blood transfusion. If I called Oliver, he’d demand I go to a hospital. But Sinclair was probably already scanning every ER from here to Canada.

I couldn't risk it.

I hissed as Nana finished covering the wound. Dimitri’s jaw flexed, but he stayed where he was, arms crossed, unreadable.

“You’ve got too much blood on your hands, love,” Grandmother murmured, watching me with eyes that saw too much. “Some of it yours, some of it not.”

I forced out a breath. Another day, another time, I would have stewed on her words, but I was in too much pain to really dive into it. “Occupational hazard.”

She hummed like that answer didn't quite satisfy her.

Nana, unfazed by our exchange, gave a satisfied nod. “You’ll live. But no sudden movements, no fights, no?—”

“No fun?” I tried to joke. It fell flat.

Dimitri only clenched his jaw and looked at the ceiling. “Thank you both for coming and taking care of her.”

Nana shoved a few items back in her bag. “She’s going to need strong painkillers.”

“I have some in the medicine cabinet.” I let out weakly.

“She really needs a hospital. Thankfully, it wasn’t too deep. She will need someone to help her get around.” Nana’s silver brows shot up as she spoke to Dimitri. “You’re going to have to be here for her, if she doesn’t want to be seen injured.”

She was right. I thought I was ready to fight Dimitri when he said something about his father, but now, there was no fight left. I’d never hurt so badly in my entire life. Thankfully, I hadn’t gotten rid of the painkillers from when I’d had my wisdom teeth removed a few years prior.

“She has friends,” Dimitri bit out.

His words hurt almost as much as the bullet wound did. I couldn’t tell them about this. Oliver would never let me out of the house, and Cleo would probably agree with him.

Grandmother’s cane shot out, and she hit him in the chest with it. “She’s going to at least need help tonight. Don’t get the wound wet but help her get the blood off of her body, at least.”

Nana patted my hand one last time before she set out with Grandmother on her heels.

They were an interesting duo, and I wasn’t sure what I thought about them, but I was thankful for their help.

I would have to ask Dimitri what kind of gift I could send them that would be meaningful and show my appreciation.

Though I wasn’t even sure of what I could say, thank you for saving my life.

I opened my mouth to speak as the door clicked shut behind Nana and Grandmother, but Dimitri beat me to it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I braced myself to stand, but before I could even attempt it, his arms swept around me. In one effortless motion, he lifted me off the couch like I weighed nothing.

“Tell me where to go.”

I blinked up at him, my heart doing something strange and unwelcome. He was taking me to my bedroom. Any other time, I’d be a mess of nerves, but now? Now, I was just uneasy about having him in my space when I was too weak to fight back.

I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. But still…

“Third floor.” Heat rushed to my cheeks as I imagined him carrying me up all those stairs. “I’m sorry. Maybe you could just set me up in a guest room?—”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound curling around my spine. “Absolutely not.”

Something flipped in my stomach at his words, and I told myself it was just the bullet wound. Nothing else.

He didn’t even break a sweat as he took the stairs two at a time, his grip secure, his scent—clean, sharp, utterly distracting—filling my senses. By the second floor, he let out a low whistle.

“You live in luxury, huh?”

I pressed my lips together, unsure how to respond. “Uh… thank you?”

“It fits you.” He glanced around as if committing it all to memory. “I’ll want the full tour another day—when you’re not bleeding all over me.” His lips quirked, and then he winked.

That flutter deep in my stomach came back with a vengeance.

Who was this man? And why the hell was this starting to feel dangerous for reasons that had nothing to do with my injury?

I shifted against him, trying to wiggle free. “You can put me down. I can walk.”

He snorted, his grip tightening like steel. “No chance.”

When we finally reached the third floor, his gaze swept over everything—the oversized bed, the sleek furniture, the set of doors leading to the terrace. His expression gave nothing away, but I could tell he was taking mental notes, cataloging every detail like it might matter later.

His eyes flicked to the terrace doors. Too cold now, I almost said, but stopped myself. In the summer, I practically lived out there, searching for something to hold my interest.

The truth was, I didn’t have just one hobby. I had all the hobbies, cycling through them like a gambler chasing luck. Painting, photography, baking, archery—nothing ever stuck. Nothing ever felt like mine.

But standing here, held against Dimitri’s chest, I had a different problem. One that had nothing to do with hobbies and everything to do with the way my pulse refused to settle.

“Let’s get you some meds in your system. We’ll worry about everything else after that,” he said, raising a brow.

I barely processed his words, too focused on the heat of his body against mine, the strength in his arms, the way his heartbeat was steady while mine was a chaotic mess.

I blinked. “What?”

His eyes widened, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of unease cross his face. “Where’s your medicine cabinet and bathroom?”

Oh. He thought I was slow to respond because of the pain and blood loss—which, to be fair, was probably true. But also… not.

I lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the right set of doors.

He moved quickly, carrying me into the bathroom before setting me down in the vanity chair.

Without hesitation, he dug through the cabinets, his movements precise and efficient, until he pulled out an orange prescription bottle.

He inspected the label, then grabbed the clean mouthwash cup from beside the sink.

Turning on the faucet, he filled it and handed both to me.

“Take them,” he ordered, his voice softer now.

I stared at him for a beat longer than I should have, then swallowed the pills, ignoring the way my fingers trembled as I handed the cup back.

With a soft click, he flicked open a knife. My pulse skittered.

“I hate to do this, but I don’t think you can raise your arms enough to take the shirt off yourself.”

I hadn’t thought that far. My brain short-circuited. Wait.

He was going to undress me? Dimitri Cristof was about to undress me.

I should’ve called Cleo.

All I could do was stare at him like a dumb idiot while he reached forward, blade glinting.

“Okay,” he murmured, like he was reassuring me. Like I needed to be reassured.

The knife slid up the center of my uniform, cutting through fabric like butter. I was in full stealth mode, which meant I wasn’t wearing anything remotely sexy underneath. Just plain black undergarments and a few hidden weapons—not exactly the kind of undressing that led anywhere interesting.

And yet, my body had other ideas.

Something hit the floor with a dull thud. Then the sharp clatter of metal against tile.

Sinclair’s leather notebook. The flash drives.

I froze.

My eyes snapped to Dimitri’s face, but he didn’t react. Either he was too focused on what he was doing—or he didn’t care.

In any other instance, I would have bolted. But we were also in my home…

“Are you ready?”

“Hmmm?”

His shoulders dropped in a sigh, and before I could process it, the knife slid up the center of my sports bra. The fabric gave way, and my breasts spilled free—right in his face.

Any other man would have reacted. A smirk, a glance, something.

Dimitri didn’t. His jaw clenched, his focus stayed anywhere but on me as he helped ease the ruined garment off my arms.

He really did hate me.

“I’m going to stand you up now,” he said, voice still carefully measured.

I nodded. The moment he lifted me, pain lanced through my side, pulling at my stitches. A sharp gasp escaped before I could stop it.

His head dipped immediately, scanning my face. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed hard and nodded again.

This time, when his hands slid to my hips and pushed my panties down over my thighs, I knew I was a mess.

But still, his gaze never dropped.

And somehow, that made it worse. The pain was just a dull throb now, which meant I was definitely high, and all I could think about was Dimitri taking off my panties. He gripped my hands in his and led me to the big walk-in shower. All I wanted was for him to strip down and help himself.

No matter how much I could fantasize about it in my hazy, drug-induced mind, it wouldn’t happen.

He led me to the bench that ran along the back wall and turned the two knobs on the wall.

Three shower heads and a handheld on the wall immediately sprayed out hot water, but nowhere near us.

I looked down at his bare feet and frowned.

My eyes tracked up over his now bare calves, and my eyes widened.

Had my fantasy really come to life?

My gaze traveled slowly, taking its time. Over powerful calves, thick, muscular thighs—only to stop at the one thing that had been haunting my dreams. Unfortunately, the massive cock that now kept me up at night was hidden behind a pair of tight black boxer briefs.

Was he hard? Or was he always that big soft?

“You shouldn’t stare,” Dimitri grumbled, grabbing the handheld shower nozzle off the wall and bringing it closer to the bench.

“Why are you half-naked?”

His body was too impressive not to look at. My gaze snagged on a deep purple scar just above the waistband of his briefs. Circular. Small. The same size as—my bullet wound?

“I can’t help you get clean if I’m fully dressed,” he said, adjusting the water temperature. “Besides, I’m sure the press would love to see me leaving here half-naked and soaking wet. I need to be dry when I go.”

My lips pulled into a pout before I could stop them. “You have to leave?”

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then he motioned for me to turn around. I obeyed, too hazy to argue, and the moment hot water hit the back of my head, I moaned.

Dimitri stiffened beside me.

But his hands were steady as he washed me, dragging the spray down my spine, across my shoulders. He set the shower-head back on its mount, and before I could process what was happening, his fingers slid into my hair, working shampoo through my scalp.

I blinked rapidly as emotions swelled within me, thick and unwelcome.

It had to be the painkillers because I didn’t get emotional over things like this.

My head fell forward as he continued to wash my body.

When the water shut off, I let out a displeased sound as I wasn’t ready for it to be over.

My eyes and body felt heavier than they had before, and I didn’t know if I could stand on my own.

I swayed on the bench for a moment before Dimitri let out a curse and rushed forward. I must have been close to face-planting because one minute I was up-right and the next I was falling into his rather large arms. I let out a squeak.

“What are you doing to me, Little Fox?” He whispered against my wet hair as he carried me from the shower.

He placed me on the fuzzy rug in front of the tub and quickly ran for towels.

He didn’t bother with wrapping one around his waist before he covered me in two.

I blinked up at him from the floor, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Pajamas?”

What did he say?

I shrugged. “Side table drawer?”

He frowned down at me. “Are you sure?”

I blinked some more. “Huh?”

“Oh, man.” He let out before he exited back to my bedroom.