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“Is that a promise?” I nip playfully at her earlobe.
She swats my chest. “Behave. Some of us have work to do, you know.”
“In a bit. I'm not done with you yet.” I flip us over, pinning her beneath me as I trail hot kisses down the graceful column of her throat. Quinn sighs in pleasure, hands fisting in my hair.
My mind drifts as I lose myself in her sweet surrender, marveling at the unexpected turn my life has taken. If someone had told me a few months ago that I would fall head over heels for the feisty woman I kidnapped, I would have laughed in their face. But here we are. I've never been happier.
Later that week, I'm in the shower when the door creaks open. Quinn freezes, eyes wide as they rake over my naked form.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize—”
I don't let her finish, reaching out to snag her wrist and tug her under the warm spray with me, designer suit and all. She squeals in surprise, water plastering her hair to her head.
“Mark! What are you doing? I'm fully dressed!”
“Not for long,” I growl, peeling the soaked fabric from her skin. She shivers from the cold, or anticipation—I'm not sure. All I know is I need her, right here, right now.
We make love under the cascading water, desperate and needy. Like we'll never get enough of each other. Maybe we won't. All I know is she has ruined me for anyone else.
That weekend, I find her passed out at her desk, hair mussed and papers strewn everywhere. My workaholic girl. I shake my head with a fond smile, scooping her up and carrying her to bed.
She stirs groggily as I tuck her in. “Mark? What time is it?”
“Late. You need rest.”
The next morning, I surprise her with breakfast in bed. Quinn props herself up on her elbows, taking in the feast with an arched brow. “You cooked? Who are you and what have you done with Mark Zolotov?”
“Don't get used to it,” I grumble, but I'm not really annoyed. I like taking care of her. It feels right, natural.
As she digs in with appreciative moans, I study her, committing every detail to memory: the way the sunlight turns her hair to burnished copper, the fullness of her rose-tinted lips, and those captivating green eyes.
In this moment, it hits me hard. This is it for me. She's it for me. I can't imagine my life without her in it anymore. Thisinfuriating, passionate, brilliant woman has carved out a place for herself in my blackened heart.
And god help anyone who tries to take her from me.
***
I stride into my office, where my brothers are already gathered around the mahogany conference table. Their faces are grim, souring my mood, which has been on a constant happy high by Quinn’s side.
“What’s so urgent?” I demand, taking my seat at the table.
Abram slides a folder my way. “Preliminary intel points to Charlie Letvin. It seems the prick couldn't resist the opportunity to take a swipe at us, and he’s the one who planned the attack against us that night we went back for the shipment the Smirnovs stole from us.”
I flip through the pages, jaw clenching as the evidence mounts. Security camera stills show Charlie's men lurking around our territories. Transcripts of intercepted phone calls show suspicious transactions with men for hire. Financial records show suspicious transactions with men for hire.
“Cocky bastard,” Denis snarls. “Thinks he can fuck with the Zolotovs and walk away unscathed?”
Vladimir, ever the strategist, leans forward. “It's a bold move, even for Letvin. The question is, why now? What's his endgame?”
I steeple my fingers, my mind whirring. Charlie and I have been rivals since our school days, always trying to outdo each other. But this... this crosses a line. He attacked us when we were drawing a boundary with someone who crossed us. Even wars have rules.
“Doesn't matter,” I say decisively. “We’ll send the Letvins a clear message.”
“The thing is,” Abram clears his throat. “The Letvins aren’t the problem.”
“Oh?”
“Charlie acted alone. His clan is in the dark.”