When I finally step under the hot spray, I know full well the invitation I’ve made by not closing or locking the door.
And I don’t know if I want him to take the bait—or not.
22
NIK
Decisions,decisions, decisions.
What Ishouldbe doing is texting Dominic to let him know that divine intervention just handed me a miracle. Because somehow, Leanna Campisi, the precious, untouchable daughter of Don Campisi, is asleep in my bed like some raven-haired goddess dropped straight from the heavens.
Magically, the woman I literally intend to kidnap is already in my grasp.
Apparently, though, God’s got a twisted sense of humor. Because while He’s gifted me this perfect setup, He’s also made damn sure I’m completely, hopelessly fucked in the head about it.
Because this is Ana.
MyAna.
The woman who haunts my dreams.
The woman I’ve tasted. Felt beneath my hands. Heard moan my name, felt her quiver at my touch. Every inch of her has alreadybeen etched into my memory, and yet… standing here, naked, in front of me, she’s more than I imagined.
Those long, lean legs. The perfect curve of her breasts. Supple lips.
That thick, dark hair cascading down her back. My restraint falters even as I tell myself to stay composed.
I knew she would be beautiful. Hell, I didn’t even care if she was, because the feel of her, the taste of her, was enough.
But she is perfection.
And those eyes. They are striking. Hazel, I think, is almost yellow. I’d give just about anything to see them up close, to count the colors swirling in them.
Every instinct I have screams to reach out—to claim, to protect, to tear down every wall I’ve ever built between us. But that’s the torture, isn’t it? She’s mine in memory, mine in the ways that matter, and yet right now she’s completely untouchable.
I actually chuckle out loud because what are the odds that I’m stuck sharing a room with my enemy’s daughter… and I’m standing here, hard as a fucking teenager, like some idiot caught between lust and logic.
She left the door wide open. That scrap of silk she was wearing lies in a puddle of molten silver on the floor. She’s stepped into the shower now, and I’m frozen like a trapped animal.
Isthis a trap?
But I think I hear…humming?
This is the way sailors die at the hands of sirens.
But fuck it.
I need to shower anyway.
I believe her, I think, when she says she didn’t know who I was.
I don’t think she was a plant by the Campisi organization. I’m not stupid enough to believe the organization doesn’t know about Ahren, that it’s Barkov-owned. But Idobelieve they don’t know I’m the owner. I keep that very discreet, even among the staff.
And if she were a plant, she’d have had any number of opportunities to make a move against me.
She was, oris, kind of innocent. She seemed earnest in her desire to get to know me, to share herself with me. That’s what makes this all feel… different.
Still, it seems impossible that this is all a coincidence. That she just happened to walk in on me that night at Ahren. That she just happened to come back week after week. The Campisi heir, just waltzing into a Russian club on a dare, just happened upon the Barkov heir in a vulnerable position.
