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Not just settle.

Dimitry’s eyes pin me in place as effectively as if he loomed over me. Dark, cavernous, and infinitely dangerous, his gazerakes my skin with such savage intensity I can barely catch my breath.

There’s something about seeing him here, at night, that is utterly different to any time I’ve seen him before. This isn’t the laughing, teasing Dimitry who came into the café every morning with Roman. Nor is it the slightly disheveled version who came to collect me after my shifts at the café, nor even the man who has stripped me naked and known every inch of my body.

This Dimitry is thedangerous peoplehe mentioned back on that beach. It’s the man I know has more than one gun beneath his jacket and a willingness to get violent at the slightest sign of trouble.

And I should really hate that. I should want to be far away from it.

Instead, I’ve never wanted him more.

The desire is hot and fierce, a sudden, urgent need that has nothing to do with rationality. It’s primal, raw, and suddenly, utterly undeniable.

The feeling settles over me as his eyes do. It’s a moment of realization that takes only seconds, but feels as if a lifetime just shifted. In the time it takes for him to look me up and down, I somehow move a world away from the person I was before he walked in here.

I’m already out of the bar before I know what I’m doing. I’m already crossing the floor toward him, ready to throw my arms around his neck and damn the consequences, when a shout comes from behind me.

I turn, but even as I do, I have the horrible slow-motion feeling of impending disaster.

The bachelor’s party has suddenly erupted in a tangled mess of limbs and drunken violence, fists flying in all directions. I can hear Gregor roaring at me to move, but my legsfeel clumsy and slow. I stumble, scrambling to get out of the way before they crash into me.

Then hard arms come around me, and Dimitry is there, thrusting me behind him, against the wall. He turns his shoulder into the oncoming rush of men, brutally breaking them apart as if they were a wave crashing upon a rock. He plucks one from the center of the group and throws him bodily into the air, sending him crashing through the exit onto the street. He spins and takes the next one, punching him hard enough he drops to the floor like a lead weight. Then, as Gregor and the other men rush to help, he’s a whirlwind of lethal efficiency, dispatching one after another of the inebriated men, so quickly that the entire thing is virtually over before most of the bar has even realized what is happening.

“Get them out of here,” Dimitry growls to his men as he kicks another one out the door. “Make it quick.” The brawlers, bewildered and bleeding, are dumped unceremoniously outside, where they stare dazedly up at him from the ground.

“Oi,” one of them says with injured pride. “What did you do that for, mate? We was just having a good time.”

“Have it somewhere fucking else,” Dimitry snarls, kicking the man’s legs out of the way of the door. “And learn how to drink first. If you can’t do that, at least learn how to fucking fight.” He slams the door in their faces, then turns and strides straight to me, the crowd parting before him.

“Abby.” His hands rest on either side of my face, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of my body. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” I cover his hands with my own, feeling absurdly tearful as I shake my head. “No, Dimitry. I’m fine.”

“Thank God.” Pulling me against him, one large hand holding my head against his chest, he gives a series of rapid orders, which send the group of men with him scurrying hastily upstairs. “I brought ten men with me, and there’s moreon the way,” he tells Gregor. “Think you can hold it from here?”

“Absolutely,” Gregor says. “Thanks, brother.”

“I need to get Abby out of here,” Dimitry says curtly. “Any more trouble, Bryce is upstairs. He can handle it.”

“Got it.”

I feel Dimitry reach out to grip Gregor’s shoulder, though the hand cradling my head doesn’t move. Then he’s half walking, half carrying me across the floor, my feet barely touching the ground.

“Are you going to throw me over your shoulder again?” I say against his chest when we hit the sidewalk.

“Don’t tempt me.” His laugh rumbles against my cheek, and I cling to him, inhaling his smoky, spicy scent like it’s life. “What were you doing, working tonight?” Stepping back from me, still cradling my face in his hands, he studies me, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “I thought it was your night off.”

I put my hands on his chest, needing to touch him, to reassure myself that he’s really here. “I only came in because I thought I might see you,” I say shakily. “Lucia told me you’d be here tonight.”

“Christ.” He shakes his head. “I nearly wasn’t here at all. I don’t even want to think of what would have happened...”

“It’s okay.” Moving in close, I reach up and kiss his cheek, my lips lingering against the rough hint of stubble on his skin. “You were here. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“Is it, Skip?” He stares down at me, his eyes dark as the sea. “Are you sure?”

I nod slowly. “I’m sure. God, Dimitry, I’m so sure.” My eyes settle on the open V at the top of his shirt, then drop to the hard expanse leading down to the thin suit belt. “Take me home,” I whisper, desire ripping through me so powerfully it leaves me breathless. “Please.”

He spins me around, his lips, pressed to my neck, turning me to liquid heat. “You don’t have to tell me twice, Skip.” He walks me across the road to his Range Rover, his hands roaming all over me from behind until I’m moaning. He opens the door for me and lifts me bodily into the car, his hand up my skirt and between my thighs as he takes my mouth, kissing me so fiercely people in the car park start to hoot-whistle.