Page 25 of Brazen King

And if I’m not careful, she very easily could be the death of me.

A thrill of excitement races through me. I love it when the stakes are high. Especially when the rewards are equally as elevated.

My mouth waters just thinking of what my victory will mean.

The hint of cinnamon and amber tickles my nose, and I know she’s near, though the room’s too dark to see her clearly.

And crackling energy buzzes across my skin as the cool edge of a blade finds my throat.

That’s when I pounce.

Snatching her wrists, I pull them down until her hands are pinned against my chest. Try as she might to cut me, she won’t get more than the nick she gave me last night.

And Natasha gasps as I use the momentum to pull her over my body and onto the mattress. Rolling on top of her, I trap her hands against the bed in one fluid motion.

“So, it looks like you’re ready for another night of passion, eh?” I tease.

“Otyebis ot menya, svoloch!” she hisses, and while I don’t quite grasp that first part, the fact that she called me a bastard makes me laugh. “Get off of me!” she snarls in English when I don’t follow her Russian command. “I’m not done trying to kill you.”

Squirming ferociously beneath me, Natasha does her best to throw me off. But she’s too light, and it’s far too easy to hold her down with my considerable advantage in size.

“I don’t think you have much choice, love,” I tease quietly, peering down at her in the moonlight with newfound appreciation.

She’s dressed in another of her skintight bodysuits, her mask covering her hair, nose, and mouth. But her eyes are nearly silver in the dark. And it’s a wonder I could have mistaken her for a man even momentarily last night.

Just goes to show how male-dominant our world truly is that I could automatically assume Boris’s assassin would be a man. Because Natasha’s captivating gaze is framed by thick, dark lashes that are so long they brush her cheeks every time she blinks. And their almond shape is so strikingly feminine, it makes my blood pump thick and hot, like lava, through my veins.

Growling in frustration, Natasha bucks her hips with such force, she actually manages to move me. And with impressivedexterity, she uses my bodyweight against me to roll us until she’s straddling me.

But I’m not letting go of her wrists—no matter how slippery her bodysuit might be.

The blade bites into my skin, raising a droplet of blood on my chest. And though it’s an artificial wound, I know I need to get the knife out of her hand before she finds a more effective way to use it against me.

Taking her hand that doesn’t have a knife, I drag it down my body, releasing a wave of anticipation in my chest just from feeling her touch. And as soon as her wrist is down by our hips, I roll us once more. Releasing her hand just before my weight comes down on top of her, I effectively trap her arm between us.

And with one fluid motion, I reach up to guide her other wrist toward the headboard.

My handcuffs are already there waiting for me. And I close the fur-lined metal around her wrist before she realizes what I’m doing.

“Blyat!” she hisses, releasing another frustrated growl. She twists her hand, trying to free herself from the restraint. But there’s no way in hell she’s going to slip loose—especially if she wants to keep holding that knife.

“Are you done?” I tease, breathing heavily as I keep her pinned beneath me.

“Not even close,” she snarls, and because her suit is so slick, she manages to worm her arm out from between us. In a flash, she’s reaching for her blade, ready to transfer it to her left hand and come at me again.

“Ah-ah.” Recapturing her second hand, I force it to the other side of my headboard—to the second set of cuffs just waiting to make her mine.

All. Night. Long.

She puts up an impressive fight, even managing to get several knees to my ribs before I have her completely restrained. Only after I’ve forced the knife from her grip and she’s entirely at my mercy does she give in, collapsing against the mattress beneath me.

“Now are you done?” I tease, setting the blade on my nightstand. Then, hooking my fingers beneath the bottom of her ski mask, I pull it carefully up over her face.

Natasha breathes heavily, her silver eyes glaring daggers at me as her spent air washes across my skin. “Fine,” she says spitefully, practically spitting the word.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing. Have you decided you don’t want the deal, after all?”

“Just because I agreed to the deal, doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it,” she hisses, squirming rebelliously beneath me.

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