Page 76 of Savage Don

“Thank you.”

When the door closes behind him, the room becomes too quiet. The silence presses in around me, thick and humiliating.

I kissed him.

I press both hands over my face. “Shit,” I whisper. My body, traitorous and unhelpful, doesn’t regret it.

That’s the worst part.

My brain is mortified. My common sense has packed a suitcase and left the country. But my body keeps remembering the way he held me, the way his mouth changed from restrained to hungry, the way his hand slid down my back and over my thigh as if he was one poor decision away from laying me flat beneath him.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Absolutely not.

I am not doing this.

I am not sitting in a billionaire’s guest bedroom, recovering from nearly drowning, thinking about his tongue in my mouth.

A knock comes at the door.

“Yes?” I say, hoping Nikolai is back.

Galina enters with a stack of clothes, two folded blankets, and a tray balanced so neatly it looks staged for a magazine.

For a second, we just look at each other.

I have not known what to make of her since I arrived. She has been polite, efficient, and cold in the exact way expensive houses are cold. Beautiful to look at, impossible to relax inside.

But now there is something different in her face. Less judgment, maybe. Or maybe I am concussed and projecting warmth onto the nearest person with soup.

“I brought dry clothes,” she says. “And more blankets.”

I glance at the already excessive pile on the bed. “I think I might get stuffed in there,” I say jokingly.

A small smile appears. It changes her whole face. “You need warmth,” she says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier. I was out of the house.” She sets the clothes on the bed beside me. Soft pajamas, thick socks, a robe that feels like it was made from a cloud, and underwear in my size.

Again.

I decide not to ask how they keep getting that right.

Then she places the tray on the bedside table. Soup. Bread. Tea. A small bowl of sliced fruit. My stomach gives an embarrassing little twist of interest.

“Dr. Levin said warm fluids,” Galina says.

“Dr. Levin is suddenly my favorite person.”

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“I am, unfortunately, always hungry when someone feeds me.”

She adjusts the tray, then stills. For the first time since I’ve known her, she looks uncertain. “I owe you an apology,” she says.

I look up.

Galina’s hands fold in front of her, fingers tight. “I have not been welcoming to you.”

“You’ve been…” I try to find a polite word and fail. “Formal.”