Page 19 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

My gaze drifts downward absently—

And against my better judgment, my mind circles back to earlier.

The girl from the bookstore.

Annoying.

Careless.

Infuriating.

I’ve met very few people capable of irritating me within seconds. Fewer still capable of disrupting my concentration afterward. Yet somehow, she managed both.

I replay the moment automatically.

The sudden blur of movement stepping off the pavement. The screech of brakes. Books scattering across wet asphalt. And then—

Those eyes.

Blue.

Clear enough to be distracting.

I exhale once through my nose, now mildly irritated with myself.

I had stepped out of the car, intending to apologize, despite the fact that she was clearly at fault. Then she looked up at me, and something sharp flared unexpectedly beneath my skin. Heat. Instinctive. Immediate enough that my first response was aggression rather than restraint.

Unnecessary.

I don’t lose control easily. Especially not over strangers, andcertainlynot over women. She isn’t even remotely my type.

When I bother involving myself with women at all, I prefer experienced ones. Women who understand exactly what kind of man they are dealing with before getting involved. Women who enjoy danger instead of shrinking away from it.

Not shy girls clutching books to their chest like armor.

The woman from earlier looked painfully innocent.

Soft sweaters. Quiet voice. Intelligent eyes behind obvious discomfort.

She looked like the kind of woman who apologizes when someone else steps on her foot.

A virgin, most likely.

The thought irritates me for reasons I choose not to examine too closely.

Because none of this matters.

She was an accidental inconvenience. Nothing more.

I dismiss the thought completely and refocus on the city below.

Patterns.

Leads.

Karl Jonathan.

That’s what matters.