“I thought you were the top dog.”
I smiled. “I am the top dog.”
“On someone else’s leash,” she said, raising one side of her mouth with a condescending half-frown.
“You really think I’d let just anyone hold my leash?” I corrected automatically, then immediately regretted revealing even that small truth.
Her eyebrows lifted. “No? So who is it you let yourself be yanked around by?” She hesitated. “You’re executing someone else’s command. Isn’t that the definition of being someone’s dog, Ivan Zotov? What is it you want?”
The way she said my name—half challenge, half curiosity—sent an unexpected jolt through me. I leaned closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear.
“That’s the wrong question, Mirabella Salvini,” I whispered. “The question is: what does your sister know that makes her so valuable?”
I felt her tense, confirming my suspicion that there was something more to Isabella than just being a Mafia princess. Something that made her a target.
Before she could respond, the plane lurched with unexpected turbulence, throwing us off balance.
I pressed my body fully against hers, braced one hand against the counter, and cupped the other around the back of her head to keep her from bumping it against the mirror. And then I buried my face in her hair for a single deep inhale.
10
ISABELLA
The plane steadied again, but Zotov didn’t move away. He was basically curved around me. His hand curved protectively around the back of my head, his breath warm against my hair. Every single point where his body touched mine sizzled with awareness—his chest was pressed to mine, and his hips pinned me to the counter while he steadied us against the counter.
I should have pushed him away. Should have made some cutting remark about personal space. Instead, I found myself frozen, unable to breathe, caught in the vortex of his overwhelming presence.
And the strangest thing was, I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t have an ounce of the familiar panic that usually came up when someone came too close or stayed too close for too long.
The scent of him filled my lungs—masculine and something distinctly him that made my heart race traitorously.
His face was so close, I could feel the slight stubble on his jaw brush my cheek. “Wha—” I whispered, not knowingwhat I even wanted to say. I hated how breathless I sounded. Hated even more how my body responded to his proximity and the slow heat building low in my stomach.
What the actual fuck?
This was Ivan Zotov—the man who’d kidnapped me, who was trying to use me against my family. The fact that my pulse quickened when his pinkie brushed—probably accidentally—against my neck was unforgivable. The way I wanted to lean into his touch was beyond dangerous.
I forced myself to remain perfectly still, even as every nerve ending screamed for movement—either to push him away or pull him closer—I wasn’t sure which urge would win, and that terrified me more than the current situation.
His breath hitched slightly when I shifted, and I felt his fingers flex against my scalp.
The small movement sent shivers down my spine, and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound that would betray how affected I was by his touch.
This was beyond crazy and totally unacceptable.
I forced myself to pull my thoughts out of the gutter, steeled my spine, and prepared to give him some serious sass.
The same way I’d dealt with plenty of men before. Because let’s be honest. Zotov was just another man trying to intimidate me with his body, his size, and his strength. But there was one error in his calculation. Because both his size and his strength weren’t much help in the small confines of this parody of a bathroom.
“You can let go now,” I said, proud that my voice came out downright regal despite the chaos inside me.
His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “Can I? What guarantees me you won’t punch me if I do?”
“Keep touching my sister, and I’ll do worse.” The threat came naturally, and the anger at just thinking about him helped push aside the unwanted attraction. Nobody messed with Mira—not on my watch.
His eyes narrowed, studying me with an intensity that made me want to squirm. “Why so protective? I barely touched her hand. And why can’t I talk to her? Is there something you’re hiding, Shorty?”
Everything.
