Page 76 of Fierce Pursuit

Kostya exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine.”

And then he reached for the remaining buttons on his shirt.

One by one, they slipped free, until he shrugged off the ruined fabric, letting it drop to the floor. His broad, powerful shoulders rolled as he stripped down with zero hesitation.

He turned his back to me as he continued undressing,and I caught myself staring at the broad expanse of his back, at the play of muscles beneath his skin. The mud had somehow enhanced, rather than diminished, his raw masculinity, highlighting the contours of his body.

My mouth went dry.

He made quick work of his belt, tugging it free with a sharp snap before unfastening his pants while kicking off his shoes. The pants hit the floor in a heap.

I stood there, frozen, as he stood before me in nothing but black boxer briefs that rode low on his hips. His body was all sharp lines, dark ink, and hard muscle, every ridge defined, every inch of him carved as if he were sculpted from stone.

He cocked his head. “Suit yourself.”

I barely had a second to react before he moved.

A startled yelp tore from my lips as he grabbed me, again, and threw me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing.

“Put me down!” I shrieked, shoving at his back. My fists pounded uselessly against him, but he didn’t so much as flinch as he stormed across the suite.

He kicked the bathroom door closed behind him, the heavy thud sending a shiver through my torso. The space was instantly smaller, the walls lined with sleek marble.

Still carrying me like a sack of flour, Kostya reached for the shower knobs. The pipes groaned before a rush of steaming water poured from the rainfall showerhead. He adjusted the temperature with practiced ease while still holding me effortlessly against him.

I struggled harder, my movements more desperate.My hands scrambled against his back, nails digging in, anything to gain leverage.

His skin was warm under my fingertips. His grip was iron, unyielding, locked tight around the backs of my thighs like a vice.

“Put me down!” I demanded again, kicking uselessly.

He sighed, as if I were nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

Then, without a single ounce of warning?—

He yanked off my shoes.

First one, then the other.

Before I could even process what was happening, he stepped forward, right into the shower, and dumped me under the spray, fully clothed. A gasp tore from my throat as the hot water slammed against me, drenching my clothes in an instant, making them cling to every inch of my body. The thin fabric of my sweater molded to my skin, outlining the curve of my breasts, the peaks of my nipples, stiffening under the sudden heat.

Kostya’s gaze dropped, just for a fraction of a second, before he jerked his head away with a sharp curse.

His hands flexed at his sides, as if physically restraining himself. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed. “Fuck.” His voice was hoarse, rough. His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply.

A slow, unbearable silence stretched between us, filled only by the rush of water cascading down our bodies.

Heat licked up my spine, but it wasn’t from the steam.

I was very aware of the fact that he was standing right there, nearly naked, water dripping down his chest, his broad shoulders rigid with tension.

And he was very aware of me.

The air between us was thick and heavy.

Unable to take the tension for another second, I shifted to escape.

He blocked my path with his body, a wall of muscle and heat, cutting off any chance of escape.

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