"Okay, seriously—who are you?"
"A businessman." Vague as hell. "Import-export."
"With a sidearm?"
"In my line of work? Standard issue." Then he flipped it back at me. "Where do you live? I'll drop you."
I rattled off my address, then stared out at the city blurring by. My heart was still hammering like a jackrabbit. I'd just survived a full-on firefight, courtesy of this walking red flag who'd pulled me out.
Insane. Straight out of a bad dream—or a damn good one.
The car purred to a stop outside my dump of an apartment building. The Bentley looked ridiculous parked there, like a Bentley in a junkyard. Highlighted just how out of my league this guy was.
"Thanks," I said, hand on the door. "For pulling me out. I owe you."
"Hold up." He fished a card from his inside pocket and passed it over.
Just a name and a number. No last name, no firm, no title.
"Igor," I read aloud.
"Anything you need—anything at all—call me."
I stared at it, then at him. Moonlight carved him up like some ancient god of war. Deadly. Magnetic. Impossible to look away.
"You could come up," I heard myself say. "I got a first-aid kit. Least I can do is patch that arm."
His eyes darkened, heat flickering in those greens like a struck match.
"You sure about that?" His voice dropped an octave. "Elena, if I come up... I might not play nice."
A shiver raced down my spine, straight to places it shouldn't. I knew better. This dude was trouble wrapped in Armani—armed and probably lethal. I should thank him, shut the door, and bolt the locks.
But staring into those eyes, at that jaw, that bloody sleeve... no way I could turn him down.
"Yeah," I whispered. "I'm sure."
His gaze lit up, predatory. "Alright then."
We headed up, my hands shaking so bad I fumbled the key twice. He loomed behind me, close enough I felt his heat, caught the mix of cedar cologne, tobacco, and that faint copper tang of blood.
The door swung open. We stepped in. I didn't even flip the light before he kicked it shut and pinned me against it.
"Igor—"
He kissed me. Hard. Hungry. His tongue claimed my mouth like territory, no room for debate. One hand cradled the back of my head, holding me right where he wanted. His body crushed into mine—solid muscle, all heat and power.
I meant to shove him off. Swear to God. But my hands betrayed me, climbing his shoulders. My lips parted wider, letting him in deeper. I arched against him, soaking up every inch.
"Fuck," he growled against my mouth, voice wrecked. "Elena, you're driving me insane."
His hands roamed—down my sides, gripping my hips, my ass—then he scooped me up like I weighed nothing. My legs hooked around his waist on instinct, and he carried me to the couch.
"Wait," I gasped between kisses. "Your arm—"
"Screw the arm." He dumped me on the cushions and came down on top, caging me in. "Right now? I just want you."
He started tearing at my clothes, rough and urgent.
