Page 22

ERIK

Igrip the edge of my desk, staring at the security feeds as they cycle through different areas of the compound. No sign of her. The lack of knowing exactly where Katarina is sets my teeth on edge.

My muscles coil tight as another guard passes by my office—the fourth one in ten minutes. Nikolai's doubled security means twice the eyes on her. Twice the men who could...

The pen in my hand snaps, ink bleeding across my palm. I wipe it off with sharp, angry movements.

Two days of this “freedom” arrangement. Two days of catching glimpses of her in hallways, in the gym, in the library. I never know when I'll turn a corner and find her there. The structure of guard rotations in her room gave me control, but now, she roams like a ghost, haunting me.

“Sir, Ms. Lebedev was last seen heading toward the library wing.” One of the new guards stops at my door, delivering his report.

I wave him off without looking up. The library. Of course. She'd gravitate toward books and knowledge, always analyzing, always planning. My body remembers the feel of her against that bathroom door, the way she yielded and fought all at once.

“Fuck.” I slam my fist on the desk. The security feeds blur as I imagine finding her alone between those quiet shelves. One touch, and I'd snap. One look from those defiant eyes, and I'd take her right there against the books.

I need the discipline back. The rigid schedule. This freedom was a mistake—it's destroying my control. But Nikolai insisted. Said keeping her locked up would make her more desperate to escape.

I force myself up from the desk and head to the gym. Working out always helps clear my head. The familiar weight of dumbbells in my hands ground me as I push through set after set of shoulder presses.

Sweat drips down my chest and back as I move to pull-ups. The steady burn in my muscles starts to drown out thoughts of her. Until?—

The door opens.

Katarina stands frozen in the entrance, wearing a black crop top that shows off her toned stomach and those damn yoga pants that hug every curve. Her eyes go wide as they travel across my bare chest, lingering on the Spetsnaz tattoos that mark my skin.

“I—I was going to work out.” Her voice catches, cheeks flushing pink. “I can come back later.”

My hands tighten on the pull-up bar. Every muscle in my body screams to close the distance between us. To press her against the wall and?—

I drop down, grabbing my towel to wipe the sweat from my face, allowing me a moment to lock down the surge of want that hits me at the sight of her. When I look up again, she's still there, gaze tracing the scars that cross my ribs.

The air feels thick, charged with electricity. Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks. We're caught in this moment, both knowing we should walk away, both unable to take that first step.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my control fractures.

“You can stay.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Plenty of room for both of us.”

I grab another towel, dabbing at my neck while she stands frozen in the doorway. The crop top rides up as she shifts her weight, revealing a strip of smooth skin above her waistband.

“Are you sure?” Her fingers play with the hem of her top.

I gesture toward the equipment. “Free gym.”

She hesitates another moment before walking to the stepper machine. Each step makes her hips sway, and I force myself to look away, focusing on setting up the weight bench.

The whir of the machine fills the silence as she starts her workout. I position myself on the bench, but the angle gives me a direct view of her ass in those skin-tight pants. Each step makes the material stretch and pull across her curves.

I grip the barbell harder, trying to focus on my sets. But every movement draws my eyes back to her. Sweat begins to darken the fabric on her back between her shoulder blades. A bead trails down her spine.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, my cock hardening. The thin material does nothing to hide my reaction. I shift, trying to adjust myself without being obvious, but it only makes things worse.

A soft grunt escapes her as she increases the resistance on the machine. The sound is impactful, reminding me of other noises she makes. My dick throbs painfully.

I force myself through another set, but each time I look up, all I see is her ass flexing with each step. Another groan slips out before I can stop it.

Her head turns, catching me staring. Our eyes lock. Her gaze drops to my shorts, and I watch her pupils expand, darkening with recognition. My cock pulses under her attention.

But as if she notices nothing, she turns back to the stepper, arching her back a fraction more than necessary. The move pushes her ass out, accentuating every curve. A bead of sweat rolls down her neck, disappearing beneath her top.