His voice sounds just as deep and dangerous, making my heart beat even faster.
“The police is here,” I whisper without preamble.
“Where are you?” he asks, also going straight to the point.
“At work. Rosetti’s.”
He rumbles, “I’m coming.”
Then the line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, my heart racing. What have I done? I shake myself. What I fucking needed to do to survive.
When I emerge from the bathroom, the detectives are still waiting for me. But now there’s some commotion at the entrance. A sleek black SUV is parked outside; three men in dark suits walking into the restaurant. The lethal, handsome giant leading.
And I can’t help but notice he’s even hotter in the daylight, in another dark suit that perfectly hugs his massive body. Hair slicked back, accentuating the sharp angles of his ruggedly handsome face. A beautiful monster. When his eyes find mine across the room, I feel everything inside me stand to attention under the weight of his dark stare.
“I believe you’re harassing my fiancée,” he says without preamble, in his deep baritone.
Detective Martinez whips around. “What? Who are…?” Then recognition passes over her face.
Fuck, how bad is this guy that a homicide detective recognizes him at first glance?
“Zara Thompson is my fiancée,” he continues, pinning them down with his hard eyes as he walks over me to slip an arm around my waist.
And I can’t help but notice how big he is. How tall. How good he smells. The heat from his body… Fuck, I’m in so much trouble!
“So unless you have a warrant, I suggest you leave her alone.”
“We’re conducting a murder investigation, Mr. Maksimov,” Sullivan replies, his jaw tight.
“Then conduct it somewhere else,” myfiancéretorts.
And his grip tightens around my body, warning me.
Martinez looks between us, smoke literally coming out of her ears. “We may have more questions…”
“Then call her lawyer.” He slides a card across the table. “Any further communication goes through him.”
The detectives exchange frustrated glances.
“This isn’t over,” Sullivan grits out as they head for the door.
When they’re gone, he finally releases me. And I stumble a little, my skin tingling where he was holding me.
“We need to talk,” he rasps out.
* * *
The ride to wherever he’s taking me passes in silence. I’m sitting in the back of the SUV, hyperaware of his presence next to me. His woodsy cologne filling the space between us. His muscular thigh brushing mine, sending unwanted sparks through my body.
“Where are we going?” I finally manage to ask, forcing myself to sound calm.
“Somewhere private.”
The somewhere private turns out to be a high-end condo on Russian Hill, the irony, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in San Francisco. With floor-to-ceiling windows, and a stunning view all the way to the bay. The furniture is modern, expensive, and perfectly arranged. And the art on the walls definitely costs more than I make in a year. I’ve never in my life been anywhere like this. And despite my fear, I can’t help but gawk at how the other half lives. Fuck, must be nice.
“Drink?” Maksimov offers, walking to a fully stocked bar.
