I have run illegal operations across three continents for years. I have never once tried to run or hide from anything in my life. And then this woman walked into my world and turned me into someone who takes the long way around a fucking hallway to avoid her.
Last night I held her in the garden until her breathing evened out and her grip on my shirt finally loosened. I carried her to bed and lay there watching her sleep for longer than I should have. She looked so small. So peaceful. Nothing like the woman who had just cried herself to sleep, and nothing like the woman who, an hour earlier, had been retching in the dark because of something I did. When I left, I told myself I was protecting her by keeping my distance.
I told myself a lot of shit.
The truth is, I can’t believe I told her I loved her.
Out loud.
Three words I have never said to any woman in my life except my mother. And I said them like they had been sitting in my chest for so long, just waiting for her to crack me open. And then I spent the entire next day in my office, staring at my files that I’ve read seventeen times without absorbing a single line, because I didn’t know what a man like me does the morning after saying something like that.
Now I have her pinned against a wall, her back against the concrete, her eyes dark and alive, and every carefully constructed wall I have ever built is rubble at my feet. My pulse is hammering. It couldn’t stay steady since the moment she picked up that gun and shot four fucking holes in a target without flinching, and I realized I was completely, catastrophicallyhead over heelsfor her.
“What else did Mateo teach you?” I whisper after tasting her mouth.
Katarina stares at my eyes, then my lips, before she breathes.
“He taught me how to survive when the gun is taken away, too.” I let out a short, disbelieving huff.
“Combat? You’re telling me you can fight?” In a way, it makes sense; she did survive her kidnappers.
“Try me,” she smirks before reaching out to wrap her hand on my nape.
“You’re still healing. I’m not getting into a ring with you.”
“Stop treating me like I’m breakable,” she counters. “Let me show you I can protect myself, too. I can be useful.”
“No,” I say, leaning in trying to kiss her, but she pulls away.
She tilts her head and whispers, “Are you afraid?”
The mockery hits its mark. I groan, my hand sliding from her neck to her waist, pulling her flush against me until she can feel the frantic rhythm of my heart.
“Fine. The gym. But the second you look like you’re in pain, it’s over.” She grins.
The gym’s lights are bright as we stand in the middle of the mat. I’ve shed all my clothing except my trousers. Katarina has taken off her shirt and pants and is now just wearing a sports bra and cycling shorts. If it were up to me, I’d rather be fucking her on the mat. But I’m quite intrigued.
She bounces on the ball of her feet, her movements fluid and centered, completely locked in. Ready to fight.
“I really don’t want to do this,” I complain, pacing the edge of the mat. “You’re going to get hurt.”
“Stop talking and make a move.”
When I don’t, she moves fast, throwing a jab. I sidestep, avoiding her first strike, but she pivots, and her foot tries to sweep my left leg. She misses, but I’m surprised by her strategic move. Mateo clearly taught her how to fight someone bigger than her.
I hold back, my movements stiff, afraid I’ll hurt her if I so much as throw a fake jab. Every time I reach for her, my body just can’t do it. My eyes keep fixating on her bruised shoulder and jaw. So I stay on the defensive, keeping my hands up to block.
“You’re holding back!” she yells, lunging with a quick jab that I barely catch with my forearm.
“I’m not.” I lie.
And I shouldn’t have, because it pisses her the fuck off.
“Fight me!” her voice echoes in the gym, and itscaresme a little. She’s shouted at me many times, but not like this. She’s clearly trying to prove a point.
Geez.
She comes at me again in a blur of motion. I try to grab her shoulders to pin her, but she twists away. I catch the little wrinkle of her nose as she takes a sharp breath, telling meher shoulder just protested the movement. I stop, my hands hovering mid-air.
