Let Me In-Dragan's Tale: The Mikhailov Brothers by Amanda Hough Page A

minutes after Evie and I poured our first glass of wine for the evening, the doorbell rang signaling that the remaining guests had arrived.
    Dragan and I were left alone in the kitchen while everyone else went to welcome the rest of the dinner party.
    “Antonina,” he said low. I noticed his hand rested on my waist again . The fingers gently tracing back and forth below my ribcage. How odd that a man so cold could make me feel so warm. I resisted the urge to lean into him. The irascibility that typically laced his tone, gone. Instead he sounded defeated.
    I focused on the feel of his touch. I wanted his hands on me more than I wanted to admit. I knew, in the pit of my stomach, that behind the glacial stares, the disinterested reserve, there was a fire . Maybe not for me. But a fire.
    “Antonina?” he said again. This time with impatience.
    “What?” I grumbled. “What now? What grievous sin have I committed now?” I was getting angry, which was good. I needed to be on my toes around this man. One touch and I was undone. Stop thinking about him naked and get a grip , I thought. Taking a breath, I pushed his hand from my side and turned to face him.
    He cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology,” he started. “Never, never in my life have I laid my hands on a woman like I did you the other night.” My eyes narrowed and he misinterpreted the action. “At the club, in the alley, “he stumbled.
    “Yeah,” I replied with acid. “I remember.”
    “Evie and I spoke today. I’m ashamed to say I misunderstood you. I made assumptions and I shouldn’t have.”
    “Why were you and Evie discussing me? If you have a question about me, I suggest you ask me.” I spat the last words out at him and started to walk away. He blocked my progress and I s ubconsciously rubbed my forearm.
    He looked down and saw the evidence of his frustration on my arm. He’d left bruises.
    “Christ, I did that?” he asked. He started to touch me and I stepped back. Not out of fear. Well, maybe panic that instead of focusing on my task to uncover his motives, I would end up dry humping his leg. His presence unnerved me.
    “It’s fine.” I glanced around his shoulder. We were still alone. When I turned back to face Dragan again he was wat ching me, his eyes studying me.
    Frowning he said, “You’re scared to be alone with me,” he concluded. With a shake of his head, he started to roll his sleeves down to cover the tattoos. His fingers making their way to the front of his shirt. I watched him cover himself. He couldn’t hide the scary snake tattoo across his throat but the golf ball sized diamond drawn on his suprasternal notch was covered by his collar. That sexy little notch at the bottom of the neck. Cover his history. A rock settled in my stomach, low and heavy. Why was communicating with this man such a clusterfuck?
    “Dragan.” I laughed with resignation. I reached up and pulled his fingers from his collar, and then moving to his sleeves, I unbuttoned the cuffs and folded the material back up his arms. First the right. Then the left. Exposing the blue and red ink. Begrudgingly I confessed, “You scare me but not for the reasons you think.” I sighed. The deliberation of his gaze was unnerving and personal. He was studying me like I’d seen him study others. “Stop looking at me like that,” I grumbled. “If you two are sleeping together, fine. It’s not my business. But I’ve known Rosa for a long time. She’s not acting like herself. I think you are the reason why.” I sighed. I was tired. “Look, I don’t want to argue anymore. You don’t like me. I get that. But if you are fucking with Rosa, I will find a way to stop you. She’s had so much shit in her life. She deserves some good.”
    He put his hand up and shook his head. “You think I’m hurting her? What the hell do you think is going on?”
    “I think she’s lonely. Don’t take advantage of that. She may not see you for what you are, but I do,” I