cunningly you found a way out of your predicament. Although I—”
“He wishes, rightly—” Dmitri cut in, frost turning his eyes into a thundering gray “—that you had not put yourself in such a dangerous situation in the first place.”
“Put myself in that situation? You talk as if this was a game to me. You think I…I wanted to sell myself like that?”
Such a savage growl erupted from Dmitri that it was like seeing a cat transform into a tiger, vicious claws unsheathed. “You don’t want to know how I dare ask that question, yineka mou, not in front of company. That is a discussion you and I will have later, when I’m not in danger of strangling you for the company you keep.”
The silence that followed the softly spoken threat was deafening, the shock on his friends’ faces sending a ripple down Jasmine’s spine.
Jasmine felt as if she had been slapped, as if her shame was written all over her face. There was none of that easy humor, that uncaring attitude that he had worn in the past couple of hours. “I’ve had enough of you and your insulting—”
She had barely turned around when his broad frame, bursting with contained violence, blocked her. “Do not test my patience, Jasmine.”
Something in the glint of his eye warned Jasmine to shut up.
“How bad is that cut?” Stavros intervened as if the room wasn’t crackling with furious energy.
“I can attend to it myself.” Dmitri turned and grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. The transformation from brooding violence to charming rogue was so swift that Jasmine did a double take. “Or Leah can attend to me.”
Jasmine had never seen him smile like that.
Innocence had never been a luxury they had been afforded, and for as long back as she could remember of her childhood, Dmitri had been in it. And not this smiling, outrageous playboy who looked as though nothing touched him…
The expression in his eyes was dazzling, wicked and not…completely real. He knew what his outrageous remark would do and he had used it to deflect attention from him and his wound.
That smile was a practiced facade, she thought with a frown.
Leah shook her head. “Dmitri, stop taunting him. And, Stavros, really, enough with the caveman—”
“Tell your husband that I’m not sixteen anymore and he doesn’t need to patch me up.” This was Dmitri again, winking wickedly at Leah. “I had hoped you would have cured him of all this duty nonsense in your bed, pethi mou.”
A curse flew from the deceptively calm Stavros.
“You’re his wife?” Jasmine said to the blushing Leah, realizing she had spoken out loud when Dmitri looked at her.
“Who did you think she was?”
Challenge. Dare. Belligerence. All of it wrapped in a smooth tone.
With three sets of eyes resting on her, Jasmine flushed but refused to let him embarrass her. She poured defiance into her tone. “Your current squeeze.
“I’m sorry.” She said this to Leah, who was shaking her head at both men.
“Don’t be.” Leah smiled. “Dmitri is being his usual beastly self. I’m Leah Sporades. Giannis, their godfather, was my grandfather.”
Jasmine stood awkwardly as Stavros and Leah argued with Dmitri with an obvious familiarity while he threw outrageous remarks at them.
I knew him before you did.
The errant thought dropped into her head and she sent a startled glance toward Dmitri.
His gaze stayed on her, intense and brooding, as if he would like nothing but to skin her alive with his words. Seconds piled on as that same awareness locked them in their own little world. What would happen when his friends left?
Running a hand over her forehead, she looked away. The faster she got out of here the better.
She grabbed the kit from the unsuspecting Stavros and turned to Dmitri. “Stop with the macho posturing and sit down. The cut is on the far left side and you’re left-handed.”
His grin vanishing, Dmitri looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted two heads.
She sighed. That mutinous, wary expression in his eyes… That she remembered.
“Strip, Dmitri.”
“Usually I’m filled with uncontainable anticipation at that command from a woman,” he said with an exaggerated leer, “but give back the kit to Stavros, Jasmine.”
Unbuttoning his shirt, Dmitri pulled it off his wound. Only a jerk of his mouth betrayed his pain. Ridges of leanly sculpted muscles defined his broad chest, only a smattering of dark hair dotting the olive-toned skin.
Her cheeks instantly tightened, her mouth dry as Jasmine tried to not stare. She took a step toward him, determined to act normal. “I’ll make it fast.”
Dmitri glared at her. “I’d rather you not touch me at all.”
“Why not? I’ve sewed up so many of Andrew’s wounds growing up that I—”
“Like Stavros pointed out so well, we don’t know where you and your hands have been. And yes, you are supertough to have made it all on your own for so many years… But we both know that you are a little fragile right now, ne? You were crawling all over me on the bike and—”
“Because you were driving like a maniac,” she yelled, her face heating up.
“—and a minute ago, you got upset at the sight of the small gash. I’d rather you not look at me with those sad, puppy eyes while you tend to me as if this was some grand reunion that we both have been breathlessly waiting for for years. My generosity toward you is fast disappearing and the cut burns like hell.”
The kit fell from her fingers, thudding like a drum in the silence.
There were so many offensive things in there that for a second, she couldn’t even sift through them all. Only stood weightless while the cruelty in his words carved through her.
Then the slow, merciful burn of humiliation spread across her throat and cheeks, merciful because anything was better than that hollow ache, her ribs squeezing her lungs tighter and tighter.
His words should not have touched her. He was nothing to her. She had hated him for years on principle. And yet his words knocked the breath out of her.
Was it because she had never been so literally saved from a situation before? Because, for most of her life, she had only depended on herself, and seeing a man like Dmitri come to her aid was warping her sense of reality?
Or was she just like her mum after all? One kind word from a man and she was ready to fall over herself and into his arms?
She struggled to hold his gaze but she did, pouring all the hatred, for him and for herself, into
