Page 62 of Forced Bratva Hostage

She splashes at me and ducks beneath the surface, swimming away from me.

I watch the water shimmer over her body.

***

Every moment of every day, she has kept me on my toes.

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much or danced this much, or tried so many different flavors before. She wants to touch and taste everything. She wants to explore every little shop, visit every corner of the island, and swim in every part of the ocean.

She is a breath of fresh air and a wild adventure herself.

And she’s driving me crazy.

It’s becoming impossible to keep my hands to myself.

Tia is a temptress, and she knows it. Her dresses are getting shorter, and she’s even started bending down in front of me, being blatant about it, but feigning innocence when she sees me watching.

I’ve taken to slapping her ass cheek whenever she does it. The red handprint it leaves on her skin is satisfying in ways I couldn’t imagine. It’s like I’ve marked her as my own.

With each passing day, I’m getting more attached to her. Something deeper is growing between us, and it scares me and excites me at the same time.

“What’s that?” she says loudly, pointing out of the restaurant window to the street below.

I peer over the edge to see what she’s looking at.

“It looks like street racing,” I say.

“Oh my word, it’s been so long since I did that,” she says, muttering to herself.

“Sorry—what?” I say, wondering if I heard her correctly.

“I said it’s been ages since I raced.”

“A car?”

She throws me an annoyed look. “No, wheelbarrows. Yes, a car. What else?”

“You used to watch them race?”

She folds her arms across her chest and looks cheekily at me. “No, I used to drive.”

“Bullshit.” I shake my head.

“I used to win, too,” she sasses. “I snuck out whenever I could get away from Boris and would race for an hour or two and sneak back in.”

With my eyes narrowed at her, I can’t figure out if she’s teasing me or not.

“Prove it,” I challenge her.

“Fine. Let’s go,” she says, standing up.

In disbelief, I rush to settle the check and then follow her down to the street.

Her tight red dress has my full attention as she walks boldly over to the guy managing the racers. “I’d like to enter,” she tells him.

He asks her a few questions, which she seems to answer to his satisfaction.

She takes the keys to the Mustang from me with a smile on her face that could shatter hearts.