Page 71 of Captive Prize

“What you made was really good too,” I admitted.

“Yeah, but you should’ve been a chef.”

His words hit me a lot harder than they should have.

I fought the sting behind my eyes and pushed down the memory of a life I once wanted. A different life. A life where my hands hadn’t been trained to kill, but instead to create.

“In another lifetime, maybe,” I said when I looked up to find him staring at me. Watching me with those dark eyes that saw far more than they should.

Roman set his fork down, his gaze locked on mine.

The shift was subtle but undeniable as he leaned forward.

A pull radiated from him, like he had his own magnetic force. There was an unmistakable weight to the moment, and against my better judgment, against every instinct screaming at me to pull away, I leaned forward too. Just enough. Just barely.

His lips were so close to mine I could taste his breath. I could almost feel him…

Until the moment was shattered in a hail of bullets.

CHAPTER 18

ROMAN

Iknew better.

This was my fault.

A wave of fire surged through my veins, burning away every shred of logic. Guilt knotted in my gut like barbed wire.

I was the one that let my guard down. I got too comfortable, and I didn’t notice the cars coming up the driveway.

She was my captive, not my girlfriend.

Of course her people would come for her. How could I have let myself be so stupid?

The cameras were off, shut down because the sight of Zoya in my T-shirt was for my eyes only.

Worse, I was the one that ordered the other men to leave and, in my arrogance, deactivated every ounce of security including the alarms.

I told myself at the time they weren’t needed. I had Zoya under control, and I didn’t want her vulnerability on display.

Except that wasn’t the true reason.

I sent them away because I didn’t want anyone to catch me being so vulnerable with her.

Like this silly little domestic scene, us cooking together.

I didn’t want anyone else to see that and realize that I had a weakness.

That I had done the unthinkable and caught feelings for our enemy.

Gunfire tore through one of the kitchen windows, glass exploding like shrapnel. Wood splinters rained down in a lethal hailstorm as I grabbed Zoya.

Covering her body with mine, I pressed us both to the kitchen floor.

This was my fault, because I took my eyes off the goal and let my main objective slip. I liked the way she fought me and the way her body felt against mine. I let all of it cloud my judgment and now we were both fucked.

The hail of bullets didn’t let up.

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