Her brown eyes meet mine, and I see her weighing how much to reveal. "Nothing, Mr. Sokolov. I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." I lean back in my chair, studying her. "Tell me what's wrong."
Eva's composure cracks slightly. "There's a black car. It's been following me all week. Every day when I leave work, it's there. Last night…" Her voice quavers. "Last night, it followed me to the deli. I was trapped. I didn't know who they were or what they wanted."
Fuck. My security detail terrified her. I should have anticipated this, should have been more subtle. But I needed to know if she was meeting with Abram's people, if she was reporting to someone. I needed proof of her innocence or her guilt.
I got my proof. And I scared the shit out of her in the process.
"The car is mine," I tell her, my voice low. "My security. I had you followed."
The fear in Eva's eyes transforms instantly into fury. She stands, her hands clenched at her sides, and I'm struck again by how beautiful she is. Her cheeks flush with anger, her brown eyes blazing, and my body responds with a hunger that's completely inappropriate, given the circumstances.
"You had me followed?" Her voice shakes with rage. "What right do you have to invade my privacy? To terrorize me?"
I stand as well, moving around my desk with deliberate slowness. Eva doesn't retreat, and I respect that steel in her spine even as I want to bend her over my desk and make her forget why she's angry.
"I needed to verify certain information about your background," I explain, keeping my voice controlled despite the desire heating my blood. "The company that financed your mother's medical debt is connected to a rival organization. A dangerous organization. I had to know if you were being used against me."
I watch her intelligent mind work, see the dots connecting behind her eyes. Her anger shifts, becomes something more complex, fear mixed with understanding mixed with something else I can't quite read.
"Are you involved in something illegal?" she asks quietly.
I don't answer directly. My silence is answer enough.
Eva should run, should quit this job and never look back. Should put as much distance between us as possible. Instead, she asks the question that matters. "Am I in danger?"
"Not from me."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. I'm dangerous, yes. My world is violent and unforgiving. But I would never hurt her. The realization settles in my chest with uncomfortable weight.
The tension in my office shifts, becomes charged with something other than suspicion. I close the distance between us, crowding into her space, and Eva's breath catches. But she doesn't retreat. Her brown eyes meet my blue ones, and I see everything I've been fighting reflected back at me. Fear, yes. But also attraction. Desire. The same pull that's been driving me insane since the moment she walked into my life.
My gaze drops to her mouth, those lips I've imagined kissing a thousand times. Then lower, to where her dress hugs curves thatmake my hands itch to touch. The swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the way her hips flare beneath the tailored fabric. I want to strip away every layer of her professional armor and discover the woman beneath.
Eva's breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling in a way that draws my attention to her breasts again. I imagine cupping them, feeling their weight in my palms, making her gasp my name. The fantasy is so vivid, I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.
"You should run from me, Eva Markova," I say in Russian, my voice rough with need. The language of my childhood, my homeland, feels right for this moment. "But I find I don't want you to."
I reach out, my hand cupping her face with a gentleness that surprises us both. Her skin is soft beneath my callused palm, warm and alive. Her brown eyes widen, her lips parting slightly, and I'm lost.
I claim her mouth with a hunger that's been building for weeks, pouring every suppressed desire into the kiss. She tastes like coffee and something sweeter, something uniquely Eva. For a heartbeat, she's frozen against me, and I think I've miscalculated, pushed too far, too fast.
Then Eva kisses me back.
11
EVA
The kiss consumes me, Roman's mouth demanding and possessive against mine. His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my sleek bun loose with deliberate force, and I gasp against his lips. Blonde strands cascade around my shoulders, freed from their professional prison, and the sensation of his fingers threading through them makes my knees weak.
He tastes like coffee and something darker, dangerous—vodka, maybe, or just the essence of a man who's built an empire on blood and ruthless ambition. I know I should stop this, should push him away, should remember every logical reason this is a catastrophic mistake. But I don't. I can't. I've been fighting my attraction to Roman Sokolov since the moment I met him, and suddenly, all my resistance crumbles like ash.
His other hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard length of his arousal pressing against my stomach. Heat floods my body, pooling low in my belly, making me ache in places I've been trying desperately to ignore. My hands fist in hisshirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screams that I should be running.
"Eva," he growls against my mouth, my name rough with his accent, and the sound goes straight to my core. "Tell me to stop."
But I don't tell him to stop. Instead, I kiss him harder, my tongue sliding against his, tasting him, claiming him as much as he's claiming me. His groan vibrates through my chest, and then his hands are everywhere—sliding down my back, cupping my ass through my dress, lifting me effortlessly onto the edge of his massive desk.
