Mikhail smelled like cigarette smoke, gunpowder, and rain-soaked blood.
The sharp scent clung to him the moment he leaned down, one large hand gripping Regina's jaw while he studied her sprawled on the floor beside the bed. The city lights pouring through the towering windows carved hard shadows over his face, making the bruises on his knuckles look darker, rougher. Tiny droplets of rain still clung to the ends of his damp hair.
Regina's breath hitched instinctively.
Then she caught herself.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You stink."
She slapped his hand away hard enough to make the sound echo faintly through the massive penthouse suite.
Mikhail only stared at her.
Not offended.
Not amused.
Just watching.
His gaze moved over her face slowly, carefully, almost clinically. He was observing her reaction the way one tested the edge of a knife. Looking for fear. Hesitation. Disgust.
Looking to see if she finally understood what kind of man he really was.
