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With one swift pull, he yanks me into the alley, pressing me up against the cold brick wall.
“You ran from me,” he rasps, his breath warm against my cheek.
I swallow hard, my pulse erratic.
“You were shot,” I whisper, my hands pressing against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his torn dress shirt. “You should be?—”
“Should be what?” His voice is dark, dangerous.
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is, yes, I thought he might be dead. I thought the gunshot gave me enough of a window to escape.
But Mikhail isn’t just any man.
He’s the kind that doesn’t stay down.
His hand lifts to my jaw, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to look at him.
His gray eyes are stormy, his pupils blown wide, his gaze searing into me like he’s memorizing me.
“You think I’d let you go that easily,kiska?” he murmurs, the words like velvet-wrapped steel.
My breath stutters. “I?—”
“I should punish you for this.” His thumb drags along my cheek, slow, deliberate. “For running. For making me chase you.”
The air between us is molten, thick with unspoken things, things I don’t want to feel but can’t stop myself from feeling.
My fingers tremble against his chest. “I had to leave,” I whisper, hating how breathless I sound. “I had to.”
His eyes darken. “Why?”
I part my lips, my lungs burning for air, but I can’t tell him.
I can’t tell him about my mother’s message.
I definitely can’t tell him that I’m pregnant.
Mikhail exhales harshly, his control fraying at the edges. His fingers tighten on my jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who he is.
I should be afraid.
I am afraid.
But not of him.
Not of what he’ll do to me.
I’m afraid of what I’ll let him do.
“You made a mistake,printsessa,” he says darkly, pressing closer, his body pinning mine to the wall. “And now you’re going to learn what happens when you run from me.”
My throat goes dry.
“Mikhail—”
His mouth crashes against mine.