Page 62 of Fierce Pursuit

My cock throbbed at the loss of her warmth against me as she dove for her cheap jeans, yanking them up with shaking hands. I watched her button and zip them, herfingers clumsy, her movements frantic, as if straightening her clothes would somehow undo the last hour.

I tucked myself away, slowly, deliberately. “Fine,” I said, voice smooth, mocking. “If you must lie to yourself, then tell yourself you just used your body for payment.”

Her hands froze.

“I know you need protection from Solovyov,” I continued, watching her carefully. “He’s hunting you. I can protect you.”

She said nothing.

Just shoved her feet into her sneakers, tying them with jerky movements as she leaned against the cabin wall.

I didn’t even remember when I’d pulled them off. Probably right after I stripped her bare, too caught up in the need to have her, to own her, to ruin her.

I rose from the bed, grabbing my shirt off the floor and pushed my arms through the sleeves. The fabric was warm from the heat of our bodies, from what we’d just done, but I didn’t let myself think about that.

I zipped up my pants, picked up my belt, and snapped it in half with a sharpcrack.

“Tell me what’s in New York,” I demanded again.

Silence.

Marina pressed her back against the far end of the small cabin, sliding along the wall as if she could disappear into it. It wasn’t much of an escape. She was still within arm’s reach.

“You know I’ll punish you again,” I warned.

Her chin lifted, but her voice wavered. “You wouldn’t.”

I smiled, slow and cold. “I think we both know I would. So why not drop the bullshit and tell me what Ineed to know? You know I won’t hurt you—unless I absolutely have to.”

She scoffed, her gaze flickering back to the window, to that damned handprint still stamped in the fogged-up glass. Evidence of what we’d done. Proof that she wanted this just as much as I did.

When she looked back at me, something in her eyes had changed.

“Fine,” she exhaled. “Look, I’m not saying I trust you. Because I don’t. But let’s pretend for a moment that I do.”

I crossed my arms, waiting. “Okay.”

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she hesitated, then finally spoke.

“They’re probably after the money my sister took from him.”

My body went still.

“Before she died, she gave me money. Told me to hold onto it. Two days later, she sent a message saying that if something happened to her, it was because of the money and I needed to run.”

Money. This was all about fucking money?

“How much?” I asked, my voice sharp.

She hesitated again, then said, “Nine hundred seventy-two thousand, three hundred rubles.”

That couldn’t be right.

I stepped closer, my fists clenching at my sides. “Say that number again.”

Her gaze didn’t waver this time. “Nine hundred seventy-two thousand, three hundred rubles.” A definitive answer.

Less than ten grand.

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