He thumbed through the pages, lingering between each turn to fully assess what she’d captured. Halfway through, the picture she’d stashed of him slipped from between the pages and into his lap.

She tried to reach for it, but he beat her to it and held it well away from her. He studied it and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side. “What have we here?”

Her stomach clenched, and her lungs refused to do their job, the fear squeezing them too powerful to fight. “I...uh...”

What could she say? Not to give him a reason would only make him dig deeper, but to tell him the truth?

Be who you are and let Kir be him. The rest will take care of itself.

Evette’s words. Wisdom earned from someone who’d not only earned the attention of a powerful man like Kir, but seemed beyond happy on the other side. Maybe the truth was the right answer. And if it wasn’t, well wasn’t it better to find out how he reacted now rather than later?

He set the photo aside and faced her, his expression open and not at all suspicious.

She let out a long exhale and swallowed around a sizable knot in her throat. “I was following you.”

“Stalking me?” If the tone of his voice didn’t give away his surprise, the shock on his face did.

She shrugged and eased from beneath his arm. “The stories were slowing down, and my editor had just nudged me for something new a few days before I took that picture.”

Comprehension settled in his features. While there still didn’t seem to be any anger, a healthy amount of caution and consideration settled behind his eyes. “And you thought I’d be able to help you find more.”

“It was a lame move. I knew it when I saw you. Knew I’d treated you poorly.” She nodded to the photo. “I was glad I got the picture, though. Even if it wasn’t very good work.”

Kir’s gaze roamed her face, taking in every detail.

It was too much. Too painful to stomach such suspicious scrutiny after being the focus of his tenderness and appreciation for days.

She ducked her head and toyed with the plush chenille of her robe with her thumb. “I get it. I’d be mad, too. All I can tell you is, I’m sorry.”

She expected him to leave. To stand, quietly dress and walk out the door with the same purposeful determination he’d walked in with the night before.

Instead he cupped the side of her neck and dragged in a long, deep inhalation. A deeply masculine sound that was sexy even in the uncomfortably tense moment. “Look at me, malyshka.”

A command. One uttered in a low and patient voice, but a command, nonetheless.

She lifted her head, and her breath caught.

Never once had she seen such vehemence burning behind his blue eyes. Such unflinching force. This was the man her peers had warned her about. A man capable of as much violence as he was proficient at giving pleasure.