“Then I will make you.”
She’s angry, and she doesn’t do a very good job at hiding it. Her cheeks redden, and her jaw tenses so much that her chin sticks out more than normal. Yet somehow, I sense that a part of her is enjoying this little game we’re playing.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do and what not to do.” She closes the gap between us and gets up in my face, reaching on tip-toes to try and square her eyes with mine. “You think I don’t see what’s happening?”
“What’s happening?”
“Everyone is out here treating me like a child. Too weak, thinking I’m an idiot because I’mjusta woman.” She pauses for dramatic effect, and then points a finger right at my face. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m going to find out who killed my mother and you’re not going to stop me.”
Blyad.
She’s really not backing out of this.
I exhale slowly and straighten my back. “You’re looking for answers that will only lead to more questions.”
“Then I’ll keep asking until there are no more questions.”
I waggle my eyebrows. Jesus. I would love to see her go up against Aslanov. Except, no, I wouldn’t. There’s a part of me that would hate to see her dead on the floor. She wouldn’t be much of a looker then.
“Why was Timur at my mother’s murder scene? My father said he was there.”
“Your father, huh?”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Like what?”
“How well do you know my father?” She ignores my question.
I narrow my eyes. This conversation isn’t going anywhere. She won’t leave this alone, and frankly, I’m getting tired of it. If I’m answering one question tonight, it’s the one about Timur.
Time to change my strategy.
“Timur was ordered to oversee a deal between your father and one of our allies. Little did we know, your father brought some friends.”
“Friends? How does that prove Timur’s innocence? That doesn’t explain anything about how my mom died!”
“And Timur’s presence at your mother’s murder scene is enough for you to assume he’s guilty?”
Her mouth opens, then closes. Her shoulders sag, like she’s finally backing down. But then, she lifts her head again and takes a moment to ponder, head veering to the side. Her dark eyebrows knit together as she thinks. It doesn’t take a genius to know that she’s not satisfied with my answer.
But as infuriating as she is, her stubbornness is also entertaining. Even though it shouldn’t be. If this was anybody else, I would be pissed off, but with Lauren, I find myself drawn to her more and more every day. Which is fucking unusual. It’s as though there’s some kind of magnetic pull sticking us together. Partly, that has to do with me stalking her like a fucking creep, but every time we’re face to face, there’s this unspoken energy between us that feels hotter than a wildfire.
There’s something about her that I can’t quite put my finger on.
I have met a lot of women in my life, probably more than the average man, but no female has drawn me in like this before.
Maybe it’s because she’s not made a move.
Maybe I’m enthralled because she hates me.
Because she’s not throwing herself on me like all of the others.
I drop my gaze and look at her chest. It rises and falls quickly, the soft outline of her breasts heaving under the V neck shirt.
Blyad, the things I could do to this woman.
She stares up at me with suspicious eyes. “I don’t trust you. And you don’t get to decide what I do.”
