Page 27 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Her eyes never leave mine, and her lips part slightly.

Jesus Christ.

From the satisfaction in her eyes, she knows exactly what that does to me.

She's weaponizing everything. The dress, the touches, that voice that could make angels fall.

"Which part?" I manage, forcing my hands to stay still. "The part where you mentioned needing someone with particular skills, or the part where we almost got shot at by unfriendly people with terrible timing?"

"The part where you said we work well together."

Her voice drops to that register that bypasses my brain entirely. My cock twitches against my jeans, and I shift in the booth, trying to find a position that doesn't broadcast how affected I am.

Everything. I'd burn everything for you, and that should terrify me.

"I meant it."

"Even if it means getting your hands dirty?"

Another lean forward. This time I catch black lace beneath red silk, and every coherent thought evacuates. My fingers drum the Fibonacci sequence against my thigh—anything to keep from reaching across the table.

"Depends how dirty we're talking."

The words come out low and rough, and I watch her pupils dilate slightly.

Good. I'm not the only one affected.

She slides closer in the booth, her thigh pressing against mine under the table. The contact burns through my jeans, and I have to grip my scotch glass to keep from grabbing her.

"Tell me what you know about Alexei Petrov."

The name means nothing to me, but the way she says it—like tasting poison—makes me want to hunt the bastard down and introduce him to creative interpretations of suffering.

"Who is he?"

"The man who destroyed everything I loved when I was sixteen."

Her accent thickens with emotion, Russian bleeding through. Rage explodes in my chest at the thought of anyone hurting her. My hand moves without permission, covering hers on the table.

"Tell me."

"He was Uncle Alexei until he wasn't." Her fingers turn under mine, interlacing. The contact makes my pulse spike. "Trusted family friend who taught me that trust is a luxury children believe in."

Jesus, the things I want to do to whoever taught her that.

"What did he do?"

"What men like him always do. Took what he wanted and destroyed what he couldn't have." Her thumb traces my knuckles, the gentle touch at odds with the violence in her words. "My parents thought he was a friend. They were wrong."

She doesn't say the words, but I hear them anyway. He killed them. This bastard killed her parents.

"And now you're hunting him."

"Now I'm going to destroy him." Her eyes meet mine, and the cold fury there makes my breath catch. "Piece by piece. Connection by connection. Until he has nothing left but the knowledge that I took it all."

The promise of violence shouldn't make me this hard. My cock strains against my zipper, and I shift again, trying to adjust without being obvious.

I think you're the most beautiful predator I've ever seen, and I want to be caught.