"No," Liam repeated more quietly. "I want to see it."
Arik's eyes searched his face.
Liam hated that he had to add, "Not the portrait."
The tension in Arik eased by a fraction.
"I'm going to behave," Liam said, with the dignity of a man deeply offended by having to reassure armed people that he understood basic survival.
Then he walked backwards a strategic distance from the desk, the photographs, the covered portrait, and Arik's increasingly intense need to stand between him and every object Felix had ever owned.
Unfortunately, strategic distance required spatial awareness.
Liam's back hit the wall.
Something sharp pricked his finger.
He hissed.
Arik moved.
One second he was near the desk, the next he had Liam's hand in his, gold eyes fixed on the small bead of blood rising from Liam's fingertip.
Mezos abandoned the black case as if it had become less interesting than Liam's pulse, which was honestly flattering and irritating in equal measure.
