Page 118 of Wicked Proposal

Hands press on my shoulders. I fend them off in a frenzy, like a cornered animal fighting for her life. “Stop!” I gasp, trying to yell and failing. “Don’t touch me! Don’t?—”

“Blyat’,Mia, calm down!”

My eyes snap open.

Yulian.

I take him in piece by piece, through a wall of tears and fog.

Dark hair—check.

GQstubble—check.

Gray eyes—check.

“Help me,” I croak.

Yulian doesn’t make me say it twice. “Follow my lead.”

At times like this, I get why he’s thepakhan.How he can command thousands with a single gesture.

He puts my left hand to his chest, then places my right one on mine. “Breathe,” he instructs. “In, hold, out.”

“I can’t,” I sob. “I can’t, I?—”

“Yes, you can,” he cuts me off. “Now, do as I say.Breathe,Mia.”

Mindlessly, I obey.

I have no idea how long it lasts. How long it takes before the world slowly comes back to me, in bits and pieces.

Smell returns first. Then touch. I feel Yulian’s cologne surrounding me, his arms a wall of protection around me. Comforting, familiar.Warm.

My voice comes back last. “Sorry,” I rasp. “I think I just had a panic attack.”

“No shit, Nurse Winters.”

For some reason, that makes me laugh. “You’ve got an awful bedside manner, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” His lips quirk, that precious dimple appearing just off to the side.

“Really?”

“No. Actually, you’re the first.”

The first.I don’t know why, but those words manage to thaw the last piece of ice in my heart.

“Yeah?” I whisper.

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t happen like in the movies. There’s no montage, no chorus, no soft notes rising through the air. My makeup is smeared, his suit is rumpled. My hair’s a mess and his gun is peeking from under his jacket, ruining the illusion of Prince Charming kneeling at Cinderella’s feet.

And yet, it’s perfect.

This time, he kisses me slowly. Without hunger, without urgency. With all the caring he pretends he doesn’t feel, his ice mask slipping just enough to let me glimpse the warm skin behind it.

He kisses me like he means it.