Mikhail was sure it was love when he didn’t recover six days later.

From the time he opened his eyes in the morning, to the time he closed them at night, all he could see was Kamar’s heart breaking in front of him. Mikhail would forever remember the shattered look Kamar gave him before he left him.

Not even the usual tasks of business or the extra duties of contacting his brother in Djanna and connecting him to General Ishmael could distract Mikhail.

Sitting up in bed, he massaged his heart, his gaze falling over the bandage on his arm. He had been so busy, he hadn’t followed his routine to clean the wound and re-bandage it. Since he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep for the next couple hours before dawn, Mikhail gave up. Drawing his legs over the side of the bed, he stood and strode to the adjacent bathroom.

He winced. The bandage caught his arm hairs as he pulled it back to study the scar tissue it covered.

As he went about the task of retrieving fresh gauze and the medicinal supplies he’d hoarded from Djanna, Mikhail heard a knock on the door of his room. He stared out the bathroom, unsure of what he heard, when the knock sounded again.

“Coming,” he told whoever it was this early. Wondering if he’d forgotten to pay the innkeeper, a friendly older woman who had grown more familiar with him as Mikhail called the inn his temporary home; he smeared the healing ointment over the clean scar and wrapped new gauze over the area.

Since the knock hadn’t sounded again, Mikhail began to question whether he’d heard it in the first place. The inn’s rooms were all close together. It could easily be possible he was hearing the echo of another guest’s early-morning visitor.

Opening the door, he regarded the person on the other side with the force of surprise that knocked into him. Mikhail’s hand tightened over the doorknob, his mouth parting for the apology he had readied days ago. Six days to be exact.

“We need to talk.”

Those four dreaded words.

Instead of focusing on all the tough topics they had to broach, Mikhail concentrated on Kamar himself.

Kamar was dressed in Western clothing; a white blazer over a simple black shirt and dark wash jeans. He had his hands tucked in the back pockets of those jeans, one of his wrists decorated with a thong of leather.

For someone who was out and about so early, he looked refreshing. As Mikhail dumbly stepped back to let him through, he noted Kamar’s hair was combed back, slick with gel of some sort. He smelled good too. Soapy, Mikhail thought, clean…and that had him picturing Kamar soaking in a tub.

Now that they were closed in his tiny room, Mikhail realized this was happening. Kamar had stopped by, unexpectedly, and so damn early.

He wanted to talk. You’re forgetting that part.

“I would have called,” Kamar said, and his voice, though soft and cognizant of the rest of the still sleeping world, seemed to boom in the silence. “But I wasn’t sure who to ask for. Malik or Mikhail?”

Heart thudding, Mikhail licked his dry lips, knowing he deserved that and letting it go. If this was what it would take to get back in Kamar’s good graces, then so be it.

Kamar wandered over to his open window, to the blue-gray light of dawn, where he became a shadow far from Mikhail’s reach. The distance between them might as well have stayed the same. Even though he was standing in the same room, Mikhail could sense the arm’s length Kamar wanted to keep between them.

And all because a fire like theirs couldn’t be smothered out quickly enough. In a way, it’s like they’d never parted.

Mikhail burned to touch him. His heart knocked harder, and he was shaking as he fought to stay put. It was harder than faking his death and leaving Djanna. Harder than running into his brother, or nursing the dagger wound on his arm from a suspicious border agent.

Love conquered all those moments.

His love for Kamar.

Mikhail stood his ground, facing it, hoping he could still save both their hearts.

Once again he tried opening his mouth, but Kamar beat him to it.

“Jibril’s home.” Kamar nodded, his gaze focused on the world outside. “General Ishmael found him, and he pulled him out. Jibril’s wife reached out to Suleiman and Asha, and they contacted me.”

Kamar looked his way, his eyes too dark to read in the shadows that separated them. “Now I’m contacting you.”

“I’m happy to hear it worked. Happy that your friend is back home with family once more.” Mikhail moved to his bed, but when he got there, he didn’t think he could sit. It took a second to force himself down.

Maybe with his back facing Kamar, he could get the nerve to tell him.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Mikhail hoped it wasn’t. Suddenly fearing it might be, he blurted. “Kamar, I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Don’t,” Kamar whispered.

“Please, just listen.” Mikhail ignored him. He had to get this out. He had to tell him how he felt. It was going to kill him at this rate.

“I should have said something,” Mikhail heard the growl in his voice. He had to unlock his tightly clenched jaw to get the words out. They hurt as much as the anticipation of rejection. “I should have told you.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Kamar’s dry tone didn’t bode well.

Mikhail pushed on. He kept his head down, his gaze locked onto the worn carpet of his room, his fidgety hands clasped together between his legs. “It was harder than it looked. I didn’t know how much you’d come to mean to me.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kamar’s voice followed his steps. He was heading toward the door, his steps clipped.

Mikhail lunged off the bed to grab him. “Stay,” he begged, his voice hoarse, his body trembling with the encroaching loneliness. God, how couldn’t he see it before? How couldn’t he know how lonely he was?

“Please,” Mikhail begged.

“Let go.” Kamar tugged his wrist. “I don’t have anything more to say to you.”

“But I do!” Mikhail cursed then, throwing everything to the wind. He gave Kamar a sharp tug and stepped forward, stepped into the embrace he locked his rebel in. Mikhail hugged him, squeezed him for all he was worth. He rested his chin on Kamar’s shoulder. “Please, stay.”

Kamar was so still.

Then the shuddering started, and Mikhail moved back, keeping a grip on Kamar’s shoulders. He peered into the younger man’s face, expecting to see tears. Instead, he watched Kamar’s gaze soften.

Surprising him, Kamar reached for his face, holding his cheek. It wasn’t until he touched a tear on Mikhail’s face did Mikhail realize he was the one crying.

Blinking, and freeing more tears, Mikhail confessed, “I love you.”

If Kamar heard, he didn’t indicate it. With great care, his rebel lover wiped Mikhail’s face, and then they stared at each other. Mikhail’s hands still on his shoulders, but their grip loosening now. The fight was gone. If Kamar wanted to leave, he could. Mikhail wouldn’t stop him.

“You’re right. We have to talk,” Kamar said at last.

Mikhail smiled, his tears tickling his upper lip where they gathered. When Kamar returned a small smile, Mikhail had a feeling they would be all right.

And to think most men dreaded those four words.