Page 29 of Falling for the Enemy

Refusing to hear of the concern Casper is about to lend his voice to, I lift a hand, silencing him. “But do me a favor, da?” I continue, attention focused on the man who’s as much my enemy as Stefano. Even if at times, such as now, it doesn’t seem so. “Bring this supposed gift with you.” I cluck my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “For your sake, I hope it’s a good one. If not...”

I turn, intent on heading into the mansion, but before I make my exit, I offer my unexpected guest a smile. Dark and devious, it drips with both caution and the promise of retribution.

One wrong step and you die.

The durak simply smiles in reply.

* * *

Patience is a virtue I do not possess.

The reminder rings true as I stand before the desk in my study, a heavy blanket of silence cocooning me, waiting for my guest to speak. If his inviting lips don’t soon move, I’ll be forced to make them.

By any means necessary.

Beneath the closed door, I see Casper’s shadow flitting from side to side as he paces the hall, his temples likely throbbing with fury after I ordered him to remain outside with Nikolai, giving Alejandro and me the privacy I desire.

A move I hope doesn’t prove to be a fatal mistake.

“Do you plan to speak?” I finally ask, having had my fill of the quiet. “And where is my gift?” I make a show of looking around the sun-filled room, visually inspecting each of its bookcase-lined walls and aged hardwood floors. “If you lied simply to gain entrance to my home, then you’ve made a fatal—”

“You let him touch you.”

I blink, unsure I heard him correctly. “Pardon?”

His shoulders tense, and like Casper, he begins to pace, each of his movements mimicking those of a caged predator. The sight would elicit fear in many.

I am not one of many.

“You let him touch you,” he repeats, stopping and turning to face me, a dangerous edge to his features. “It was his fucking hand that touched you, but it’s me who wears the blood of the man that tried to kill you.”

I get no chance to reply or process the words he’s just spoken before he storms forward, erasing the fifteen feet of space separating us. Reacting as one would expect when faced with such lunacy, I take a retreating step back and snatch a metal letter opener from atop the desk. Encircling it in my palm, I ready myself for a physical altercation.

If he wants a fight, I’ll give him one.

And with it, he will greet his death.

In warning, I press the pointed edge to his throat as he reaches me, his broad chest nearly colliding with my face. Brand new and yet to be dulled by use, the tip of my weapon is sharp enough to puncture his carotid artery or pierce his windpipe.

Personally, I prefer the latter.

Less of a mess to clean up that way.

Ignoring my silent threat, he sinks his strong hand into the hair at my nape. Fisting my blonde locks, he yanks down, forcing my neck to arch and my back to bend over the desk’s wooden edge.

This is the moment I should kill him.

Or at the very least, scream for my men.

But for a reason I can’t grasp, I don’t.

Instead, I remain still, my lips parting on their own volition once more as I breathe in his signature scent of peppery cigar smoke and cologne that I now recognize as Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino.

He smells as edible as he looks.

Unfortunately, he isn’t mine to taste.

“If you wish to leave this room with your neck and balls remaining intact...” Static fills my head, the sharp but quietly spoken words tumbling off my tongue as I focus on his crazed eyes, reading him the best I can in anticipation of his next move. “Then I suggest you release me.”

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