Page 15 of The Contract

If this is the moment the brutish beast sears a possessive kiss to my lips.

If it’ll be tender? Gentle?

Or take-no-prisoners rough? So much so, that I’ll have no choice but to crumble in his arms like a warm snickerdoodle?

And what about tongue?

Jesus, will I kiss him back?

My spiraling isn’t allowed to swirl for long.

Rather than cradle my cheeks and lock his thick Russian lips to mine, my body is hoisted up in the air and thrown over his shoulder like a hiker’s rucksack.

“Ahh! What are you doing?”

“Like I said. Taking you somewhere private.”

“Where? To your cave?”

“Something like that.”

CHAPTER 5

Riley

The Russian doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t pause to check a direction, second-guess a turn, or wonder if dragging me through back alleys is maybe a felony.

He moves. Long, deliberate strides, carving through the night with the brutal elegance of a panther.

And let’s be clear—I’m no pixie surviving on pumpkin seeds and tofu.

I’ve got curves, hips, and breasts that are perpetually one pizza away from taking someone’s eye out.

Seriously, these babies have a mind of their own. Strapped down for your protection.

The fact that he carries me like I weigh nothing?

Frankly, it’s a little impressive.

And a whole lot infuriating.

I squirm in that awkward, clumsy, worm-on-a-hook kind of way.

“Put me down.”

He ignores me, strolling with the relaxed confidence of a man who sleeps like a baby after burying his latest secret six feet underground.

Nervous energy bubbles up my throat, building, buzzing—until my mouth blurts out whatever my brain lands on.

“Put. Me. Down. I’m too heavy.”

Classic.

Nothing says “help, I’m being kidnapped” like body image issues.

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