Page 93 of Fierce Pursuit

In the train car, she met me thrust for thrust, hunger for hunger. She came just as hard as I did, her body surrendering to the full experience.

I didn’t live like that. Every move I made was calculated. Every decision, every action, down to the meals I consumed, all serving a purpose. I didn’t drink for pleasure, only to dull the edges of my temper or ease negotiations.

I didn’t chase Marina across continents because I wanted her. Ididwant her, had always wanted her, but that wasn’t why I boarded the plane.

I did it because I had made Veronika a promise.

And yet, sitting across from Marina now, watching her lick a smear of chocolate from her bottom lip, I realized she made me want.

She made me crave things I had long denied myself.

She didn’t overthink. She didn’t hesitate. Maybe she should have, maybe then she wouldn’t have fucking jumped off that train, but I couldn’t fault her for her audacity.

Her voice cut through my thoughts. “Do you regret marrying her?”

CHAPTER 25

KOSTYA

Put me in a room with a dozen armed Russians, all half-drunk and one wrong word away from blowing each other’s heads off, and I was cold as fucking ice.

But put me alone in a room with this woman—this maddening, reckless, mouthy contradiction of a woman—and I was at a fucking loss.

“I find it hard to regret anything that has led me to this moment.”

Marina’s lips curled as she tore off a bite of warm bread, chewing as she considered my words. “What does that mean?”

“It means that if things hadn’t happened exactly as they did, you and I wouldn’t be here right now. With you eating enough food to feed a small army.”

Her bright eyes gleamed. “Are you questioning my room service ordering skills?”

“I’m questioning your nutritional decisions,” I shot back, the attempt at levity feeling foreign, unnatural.

She reached for another piece of bread, breaking it in half, the steam curling between her fingers as she lifted it to my lips. “Eat this.”

“No,” I said, even as my mouth damn near watered. “There’s no value in that. It’s simple carbs.”

Her gaze flicked to mine, challenging. “It’s amazing.”

The smug certainty in her voice had something dark and dangerous coiling in my gut. I leaned in and let my lips brush her fingertips before I bit into the bread.

Goddamn it. She was right. It was good.

A soft sound of triumph left her lips, and I fought the urge to drag her across the table and replace that cocky smirk with a gasp.

Instead, I said the one thing I knew I shouldn’t. “Do you have regrets, Marina?”

I braced myself for the answer I didn’t want to hear.

For her to tell me she regretted fucking me in that train car, and in the shower—though she hadn’t exactly had much of a choice. Or that she regretted not finishing the job when she knocked me unconscious. That she regretted not calling the police, or running further, or a thousand other things she should have done.

But she just shrugged, unconcerned, tearing off another bite of bread. “Life’s too short for regrets.” She licked a crumb from her lower lip, utterly unfazed by the weight of the conversation. “Why waste time on things I can’t change when I could be focused on living in the moment? Enjoying absolutely everything in front of me?”

I leaned in, letting my gaze drop to her mouth before meeting her eyes. “Everything?”

The word sat between us, heavy, charged, thick with meaning.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t look away.

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