Shit. A jealous Julian is never a good thing. In fact, it’s a very, very bad thing.

As I rack my brain trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation, Peter rises to his feet. “We can resume this tomorrow if you’d like,” he says calmly, addressing Julian. I can’t help noticing that unlike most on the estate, Peter doesn’t defer to my husband. Instead he speaks to Julian as an equal, his demeanor respectful, yet utterly self-assured. I catch a faint Eastern European accent in his speech, and I wonder where he’s from. Poland? Russia? Ukraine?

“Yes,” Julian says, getting up as well. His expression is still dark, but his voice is now smooth and even. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Peter disappears, leaving us alone, and I slowly rise to my feet, my palms beginning to sweat. I didn’t do anything wrong, but convincing Julian of that won’t be easy. His possessiveness borders on the obsessive; sometimes I’m surprised he doesn’t keep me locked away in his bedroom, so that other men will never see me.

Sure enough, as soon as the door closes behind Peter, Julian steps toward me. “Did you like Peter, my pet?” he says softly, crowding me with his powerful body until I’m forced to back up against the table. “Do you have a thing for Russian men?”

“No.” I shake my head, holding Julian’s gaze. I’m hoping he can see the truth on my face. Peter might be handsome, but he’s also scary—and the only scary man I want is the one glaring at me right now. “Not even a little bit. That’s not why I was looking at him.”

“No?” Julian’s eyes narrow as he grasps my chin. “Why then?”

“He frightened me,” I admit, figuring that honesty is the best policy here. “There’s something about him that I found disturbing.”

Julian studies me intently for a second, then releases my chin and steps back, causing me to let out a relieved breath. Storm averted.

“As insightful as always,” he murmurs, his voice holding a note of rueful amusement. “Yes, you’re right, Nora. There is indeed something disturbing about Peter.”

“What is his deal?” I ask, my curiosity reawakening now that Julian is no longer angry with me. I know Julian doesn’t employ choirboys, but what I sensed in Peter is different, more volatile. “Who is he?”

Julian gives me a small, grim smile and walks over to sit down behind his desk. “He’s former Spetsnaz—Russian Special Forces. He was one of the best until his wife and son were killed. Now he wants revenge, and he came to me hoping that I can help him.”

I feel a flicker of pity. It’s not only rage then; Peter is also filled with grief and pain.

“Help him how?” I ask, leaning back against the table. Julian’s security consultant didn’t strike me as someone who’d need help with many things.

“By using my connections to get him a list of names. Apparently, there were some NATO soldiers involved, and the cover-up is a mile deep.”