Page 154 of Fierce Pursuit

“No, not really,” he admitted. “But it was pointed out that in my attempts to keep my wife safe, I forgot to ask her what she wanted. That I never took the time to get to know her well enough to handle things the way she would want them handled.”

A lump formed in my throat. He had been listening.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” I said, even though I already knew.

Kostya held my gaze. “It does. I’m here trying to date my wife. To learn what she loves. And what makes her happy…to get her to choose me.”

Oh.

The realization hit me all at once, slamming into me with the force of everything I had been trying to deny.

I had spent so long fighting, so long running, trapped in the cycle of fear, guilt, and doubt. But the truth had been there all along, waiting for me to accept it.

I loved him.

I wanted him.

And now, I finally knew with every piece of me that he loved me, too.

I smiled, slow and teasing as I leaned forward, reaching across the table to lace my fingers through his.His grip tightened immediately, firm and warm, grounding me in the moment.

“You know,” I mused, letting my voice drop into something softer, more intimate, more certain. “If we count these lunches as dates, then you and I are well past our third.”

Kostya went perfectly still.

I squeezed his hand, my smile turning wicked. “And you know what they say about third dates?—”

His chair scraped back so fast that it clattered to the floor. I gasped, laughter bubbling out of me as he stood, his sharp blue gaze burning into mine with something raw, something desperate, something undeniable.

He didn’t give me time to think.

Didn’t give me time to doubt.

Kostya pulled me to my feet and swept me into his arms. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. But I didn’t care.

I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent, wrapping my arms around him as he carried me straight out of the restaurant.

I leaned close, lips brushing his ear as I whispered the only thing that mattered. "Take me home."

EPILOGUE

VIKTORIA

They came for me in the middle of the night.

My dorm room offered no protection or security.

The moment the door crashed open I slipped my hand under my pillow for the knife I always kept there. But I was no match for them.

Before I could even scream, a blanket was thrown over my head. Still I fought.

A fist slammed into my stomach. I doubled over, gagging, fearing I would vomit.

Large hands grabbed my thrashing arms, twisting them behind my back with such force I felt something pop in my shoulder. White-hot pain radiated down to my fingertips.

I screamed, the sound muffled by the thick wool blanket that scratched against my face, fibers catching in my mouth as I gasped for air.

"Hold her down," a voice growled, oddly familiar yet distorted by my panic and adrenaline.

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