Page 64 of Vienna Bargain

“What?” Alexander fell back a step. “We did nothing of the—”

He stopped with an “oof” of exhaled air as she threw herself against his chest.

She’d done it in response to the red sniper’s dot that had appeared on his shirt.

He’d said people were looking for her.

She’d hoped to have more time.

“Alexander, listen to me.”

Behind him, the villa glass shattered and men appeared, some vaulting over the railing of the balcony, some emerging from the villa through the empty window frames. They wore black riot gear, held massive guns, and were all heading towards her.

Alexander wrapped his arms around her, as if to protect her.

She was the one who needed to protect him.

“Your curator,” she frantically. “Absolon Blanchar is an art thief and he’s using your company to smuggle stolen artifacts out of the Middle East and into Europe.”

A black-clad man grabbed her by the arms, yanking her away from Alexander, who swung at the man. Two more grabbed him, and Alena’s heart clenched as they forced him to his knees.

“Don’t fight,” she called out.

“Get your hands off of her,” Alexander snarled, first in English, then again in German.

The man who’d pulled her back had already released her. A team of four was guarding Alexander. They forced him to put his hands on his head, and she was glad they hadn’t cuffed him.

“Alexander,” she stepped closer, brain scrambling to figure out what she needed to tell him. What, of all the things there hadn’t been time to say, was the most important.

“Ms. Moreau,” a male voice said from within the villa.

Alena glanced up, did a quick double-take at the sight of the man who walked out onto the patio.

Damn it, she should have seen that coming.

“Alexander, listen to me—there are two things I have to tell you.”

“Ms. Moreau!” The newcomer started walking faster. “Do not say anything more until we have a chance—”

“First. I love you.”

Alexander’s whole body jerked as if she’d pinched him, and then he smiled. It was an amazing, sexy, happy smile.

“Second…” Damn it, he was going to stop smiling, but she was out of time and he deserved to hear this from her.

“Ms. Moreau, please refrain—”

She took a deep breath, steeled herself to deal with the fallout from what she was about to do, no matter what that fallout was.

“I love you,” she said again. “And I don’t just consult for Beijing Guardian.”

The newcomer stormed up beside her, his blue windbreaker with bold white lettering across the back flapping he was moving so fast.

Alena glanced back to Alexander, winced apologetically, and said, “I also work for Interpol.”

The story continues in Vienna Bliss.

There were few times in his adult life that Alexander had felt vulnerable. As a child, awkward and stuttering, unsure where to seek comfort—his parents or his nanny—it had been a different story. Then he’d felt vulnerable because he’d felt inadequate. For him the self-assurance of youth had faded when, around age ten, he’d realized what would be expected of him.

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