Page 16 of Precious Hazard

I seize her chin once more, holding her head in place as I clean the blood off her smooth skin.

The woman glares at me the entire time I carefully swipe the wet tissue over the right side of her face and around those luminous, green eyes. I work slowly, lingering as I gently wipe her chin, nose, the shell of her ear… everywhere, even after all traces of blood have been removed.

Tara says nothing, just continues to stare at me. She stays motionless, but the air around her is constantly shifting. It’s almost as if a skittish, feral cat is frozen in place in front of me. Tiny goose bumps have broken out across her arms, making the fine hairs there stand on end. Just like a cat’s fur tends to do moments before the creature pounces.

“You cold?”

“Yes.”

I discard the soiled tissue and shrug out of my suit jacket. “Here. Put this on. I’ll turn up the heat.”

A look that’s part disgust, part longing crosses her face as she glances at the jacket in my hand. She flattens her lips, then snatches the garment and puts it on.

“Better?”

“A little,” she says, turning away. “Why do you care if I’m cold?”

“I don’t. But you ending up sick and bedridden doesn’t work with my plans.”

Tara hums and wraps the jacket tighter around herself.

The rest of our drive passes in silence. Popov’s place is outside the city, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The air around us remains charged.

“I’ve got a few business things I need to handle in the next couple of days,” I say as we’re nearing the Serb’s compound. “But I’m free on Tuesday. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What for?”

The BMW stops at the massive gate blocking the entrance to the grounds. I lower the privacy partition and let Riggo know that I’ll handle getting us in.

A security guy approaches, but before he can knock on the driver’s window, I slide mine down and catch the man’s attention.

“Ms. Popov had a slight car problem tonight, so I’m dropping her off.”

The guy glances at Tara, then gives me a nod and yells something over his shoulder in Serbian.

“Why would you be picking me up, Satan?” Tara asks again once the car advances past the guardhouse.

“Dinner.”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.”

“Of course you are. Otherwise, Drago might get suspicious when, in about a month, we tell him we’re getting married. As it stands, our secondary meet-cute sparkedundeniable attraction between us, and we’re eager to see where it leads.”

“Do you really think that my brother will believe that crap?”

“He will. Because, let’s be honest, you’re not exactly known for your thought-out decisions, Tara. Trust me. The background we have on you is very thorough.”

The car slows down and stops in a circular driveway in front of a four-story mansion. I get out and come around to open Tara’s door. Ignoring my outstretched hand, and with her lips tightly pressed together, she all but sprints out of the vehicle toward the house. At some point during our tussle, her hair must have come undone. Or maybe she yanked the tie out herself. However it happened, her dark strands are now whipped up in a blustering gust of wind.

Just before she reaches the front door, she stops and turns on her heel. The coldness of the glare she directs at me easily rivals tonight’s breeze. Standing there, essentially drowning in the too-big jacket, bathed in the warm glow of the windows on either side of the main door, her scowling expression gets kinda spoiled. But my balls still ache at the resultant view.

She’s beautiful.

A vengeful she-cat, bearing her canines and sharp claws.

“Mark my words, Arturo DeVille.” Her vitriol carries on the wind while she points her finger at me. At least, that’s what I imagine she’s doing. It’s hard to tell with the sleeves of my jacket swallowing her entire hand. “I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“Of that,gattina, I don’t have the slightest doubt.”