Page 9

I resume my position by the door, deliberately keeping my eyes off her. But the mirror on the opposite wall reflects her image. She stretches her arms above her head, arching her back. The shirt rides up again.

Blyad.I'm going to kill Alexi. He knew exactly what he was doing when he picked out these clothes. Probably laughed his ass off while doing it.

The worst part? She'd look just as devastating in a potato sack. Every movement she makes sets my blood on fire. The way she moves, the subtle shift of muscle under the fabric, the graceful line of her neck when she tilts her head to read?—

I grip the knife at my belt, letting the bite of steel against my palm ground me. Seven and a half more hours of this torture to go.

5

KATARINA

Istretch lazily on the couch, making sure to arch my back just enough to draw Erik's attention. His rigid posture hasn't changed in hours, but the bulge in his tactical pants tells a different story. Every slight movement I make has him shifting uncomfortably, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

The door opens, and the chef enters with my dinner tray. For the first time in two hours, Erik's dark gaze locks onto mine. The intensity in those eyes sends a shiver down my spine that I can't fully suppress.

“Your dinner, Miss Lebedev.” The chef places the covered tray on the table.

I rise slowly. “Thank you.” My voice comes out huskier than intended.

Erik's jaw clenches as I bend over the table to lift the silver cover, purposefully giving him a view down my shirt. The sharp intake of breath is deeply satisfying. I'm playing with fire, and I know it—this dangerous man could snap my neck in seconds. But there's something intoxicating about having this level of power over someone so lethal.

I settle back onto the couch with my plate, crossing my legs slowly. Erik adjusts himself again, probably thinking I don't notice. But I notice everything about him: the way his pupils dilate when I lick my fork, how his breathing gets shallow when I stretch, the subtle tremor in his hands when I get too close.

The attraction crackles between us like a live wire. Part of me wants to see what would happen if I pushed him over the edge. But I remind myself this is just a game—he's my captor, nothing more. I'm only trying to break his iron control to prove I can affect him, and perhaps then I can find a way out.

I take another bite, letting out a small moan of appreciation. His knuckles go white where they grip his belt.

“Care to join me?” I pat the space next to me on the couch. “Dinner's much better with company.”

Erik's dark eyes narrow. “No.”

“Not even a little conversation?” I take another bite, letting the fork slide between my lips. “It must be boring standing there watching me eat.”

“I'm not here to entertain you.” His voice comes out rough.

I shift on the couch, tucking my legs under me. “Then what are you here for, Erik? To keep me in line?” I lean forward. “Or is there another reason you got this assignment?”

His fingers twitch near his weapon. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” I tilt my head, studying the tension in his jaw. “I'm just making conversation. Isn't that what normal people do?”

“We're not normal people.”

“No?” I stand, plate in hand, and take a step toward him. “Then what are we?”

Erik's hand shoots up, palm out. “Stay where you are.”

“Or what?” Another step. “You'll hurt me? We both know that's not what you want to do.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly. “Last warning.”

I set my plate down on the side table, never breaking eye contact. “You're not as in control as you pretend to be. I see right through you, Erik Ivanov.”

“You see nothing.” The words come out as a growl.

“I see everything.” I take one more deliberate step. “Every reaction. Every breath. Every time you adjust yourself when you think I'm not looking.”

His eyes flash dangerously. “You're playing games you don't understand.”