Because I could sense him out there, and part of me wanted him to catch me.
The alley forked between two buildings, and I took the narrower path. One more bad decision.
Then I heard it.
The softest scrape against brick.
I turned, barely breathing.
And he was there.
A blur of black came at me so fast I didn’t have time to scream. A hand slammed into my chest, pinning me hard against the wall. My spine hit the bricks with a jarring impact. Air rushed out of my lungs.
“What the hell—” I choked out, clawing at his forearm.
His other tattoo-covered hand curled around my throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he held me firmly enough to freeze me in place.
Then his face emerged from the shadows, pale in the moonlight, eyes like ice, smoke, and fury. The Russian. The stalker. The man I’d been searching for all night. And now he was here, pressed against me.
“You think this city is a fucking playground?” he said in a voice low and lethal. “You think you can walk home, drunk and alone, through Hell’s Kitchen, and no one will touch you?”
My body bucked against his, but he didn’t let me move. His fingers tightened around my throat in warning.
“I’m not scared of you,” I rasped.
“You should be.” He dragged his thumb slowly along my neck, and I could tell the exact moment he felt my pulse hammering beneath his touch, because a cruel little smirk ghosted across his lips. Despite my bravado, I was frightened, and he loved it. “Because you walked into my world, little lamb—and now, I get to decide what happens to you.”
The pressure of his body against mine was overwhelming. The man was solid muscle. Heat radiated through the thin layers of clothing between us, and I struggled again, more out of instinct than intent. My pulse thundered in my ears.
I wanted to hit him.
I wanted to kiss him.
He leaned closer, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“You don’t fucking think,” he growled. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened tonight? You flaunt yourself as if you’re invincible. You assume this city’s full of nice guys who’ll walk you home and tuck you in? No, baby. There are men in this city who sell girls like you by the pound. Men who see a short dress and think it’s permission. You walk home alone like you’re untouchable, like some stupid little girl who doesn’t know she’s prey.”
“I’m not a girl,” I hissed back. “And you’ve been stalking me for days. Who the hell do you think you are?”
He let out a laugh—dark and dangerous—that vibrated against my chest.
“I saw the way you danced with those men in the bar just now. The way you leaned into them, flirted. You let them put their hands on you. Let them think they had a chance. But all the while, your eyes were scanning the room—forme.” His voice dropped an octave. “You wanted my attention. Congratulations. You got it.”
My breath hitched.
“I didn’t—”
“Lie to me again,” he warned, sliding his hand from my throat to the nape of my neck and threading his fingers into my hair. He yanked my head back. “Lie to me again, little lamb. I dare you.”
My heart stuttered, and my mouth parted, but nothing came out. He tightened his grip on my hair. The hard line of his thigh pressed between my legs. His scent—smoke and liquor—was everywhere.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I managed to say, though it came out too soft.
“I know enough.” His hand dropped from my chest to my hip, gripping it hard and pulling my body tighter against him. “I know exactly what you want. You’re not looking for a nice boy to hold your hand. You want to be taken. You want a man who pushes you past the point of no return and doesn’t stop—because he knows you’ll thank him for it. I know you’re tired of playing innocent when there’s nothing innocent about the way you move. And I know”—his lips brushed mine, not quite kissing me—“you were dripping wet for me before I ever laid a hand on you.”
My thighs clenched involuntarily, heat curling between them.
“God, you’re sick,” I muttered, even as my back arched, pressing my breasts into his chest. “Your ego is ridiculously overinflated.”
