Mikhail is sitting on the window ledge, his arms crossed. But his attention is laser-focused on every inch of my exposed skin. There’s a lot of it, since I couldn’t wear my bra with the strapless wedding dress.
“Sorry,” I mutter, turning away from him.
Goosebumps that have nothing to do with the balmy temperature of the room spread down my arms. I pull the hospital gown on and reach around to find the strings to tie it closed.
“I’m going to kill him,” Mikhail snarls under his breath.
I don’t know what he means until his thumb strokes just above the raw skin around my wrists.
I wince and he drops my arm, but I can feel the warmth of him along my spine. I want to sink against his chest, which is exactly why I force myself to perch on the end of the exam table instead.
“I took your chai
