Page 47 of Fierce Pursuit

Fidgeting.

Searching.

Studying every single person who came anywhere near her.

She was looking for me.

I nearly laughed.

She was searching all the wrong faces.

Her wary gaze flicked from one man to another, looking at builds, scanning for dark Russian features, when all she had to do was look up in the right direction.

She would have seen me clear as day.

Watching her.

Maybe then she would have realized there was no escape.

That this was happening, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.

The only thing I didn’t understand was why the fuck she was going back to New York.

It made no sense.

If she wanted to hide, why go back to a city with one of the largest Russian mafia presences?

She would never be safe there.

Not from me.

Not from Solovyov.

She had a reason to go back, and I suspected it was to retrieve whatever Veronika had stolen. It was the only thing that made sense.

I watched her every nervous movement, every time she flinched at the smallest noise.

Trying to see it.

Trying to understand her.

Nothing this girl did ever made sense.

I understood why she ran from me.

What I didn’t understand was why she was running toward something else.

People had told me many times that I was intimidating.

That my presence alone could make men sweat, that my gaze could make them weak.

And yet, if my little rabbit was so afraid of me, why did her body respond to me so wantonly?

She had struck me. She had run.

But before that? She had kissed me back.

I hadn’t imagined her response. I had felt it in my fucking bones. She had melted into me. I knew she had been hot and wet for me.

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