Page 71 of Maxim

“You would leave with me?” she asks.

“I would. At least to get you settled. Then I would follow your lead,” I admit.

She lunges forward and throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck and hug her back. Shit, she feels good in my arms. All too soon she pulls back, and it doesn’t escape me when she shivers.

Shit, the wind is starting to pick up, and when I look at the sky, I see some storm clouds gathering in the distance.

“It looks like it might rain. We should head back.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them because of the way her face drops.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she says as she starts to gather everything we brought.

Once everything is tucked safely back in the bag, I grab the blanket, and we stand. As we start to walk back toward the SUV, I fight the urge to reach over and grab her hand. When we step into the clearing that opens up before the parking lot, my skin starts to crawl.

Someone’s watching.

Discreetly I search our surroundings. All too easily I find the source. There is a man sitting in a silver car, not even bothering to hide the fact he’s watching us. Either he’s sloppy or he just doesn’t care.

Interesting.

Did her father send someone to keep tabs on me, or is this guy watching us for an entirely different reason?

“What’s wrong?” Olena asks quietly.

“Don’t look, but there is a guy watching us at our ten o’clock. Just act normal,” I say quietly.

We get a little closer to the SUV, and I have to fight back a chuckle. Poor Olena is trying, I’ll give her that, but it’s obvious that she’s uncomfortable. She has her eyes on the ground at least. To an outsider, she would look like a battered wife. To her father? An obedient toy.

That is until she moves closer to me, seeking my comfort.

Fuck.

She’s giving us away.

When we step up next to the car, instead of grabbing the handle, I decide to take matters into my own hands. If this is her father, he will ask me about it. This cannot look like a date.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Wha—?”

I push her against the SUV as I cup her face and then slam my mouth down against hers.

Strawberries.

She tastes like strawberries.

Nothing about the kiss is soft and sweet. It’s possessive. Claiming.

If there is one thing I’m sure of, it’s that this won’t be the last time my lips claim hers.

All too soon, I pull away. Her lips and the skin around them are red from the claiming and my beard.

God, I can’t wait to see what the redness would look like on her somewhere else.

I rest my lips against her forehead and scan the parking lot. The silver car that was watching is gone, leaving us alone.