Page 24 of Shatter Me

I round the corner and freeze. Dmitri stands by the heavy metal door in one of his perfect suits, looking like he hasn’t missed a day of torturing me with his presence.

“Inside. Now.” His voice carries that familiar command that makes my spine tingle.

I rush past him into the climate-controlled room filled with crated artifacts. The door seals behind us with a heavy thunk.

“What are you even doing here?” I cross my arms, keeping distance between us in the dim emergency lighting.

“Board meeting.” His ice-blue eyes track my movements. “Though your security seems to have impeccable timing.”

“Two weeks of nothing, and now this?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His lips curve. “Did you miss me, Natasha?”

“Like a root canal.” I turn away to check my phone, but there’s no signal. “Any idea what triggered the lockdown?”

“Several possibilities.” He loosens his tie. “None of them good.”

Despite the climate controls, the temperature feels too warm. Or maybe it’s just his presence affecting me again. I pace between the crates, hyperaware of his gaze following me.

“How long do these lockdowns usually last?” His voice sounds closer.

I spin around. He’s moved nearer, blocking my path between the storage shelves. My pulse quickens as I’m hit with memories of our last encounter in Sofia’s library.

“Standard procedure is thirty minutes minimum.” I hate how breathy my voice sounds. “Unless security gives the all-clear sooner.”

“Thirty minutes.” He steps closer, backing me against a shelf. “However shall we pass the time?”

His cologne fills my senses as he towers over me, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The shelf edge digs into my back, cold metal through silk. Ancient artifacts worth millions of dollars surround us, yet all I can think about is how his mouth felt two weeks ago.

“You’re flushed.” His fingers trace my collarbone, and I hate how my body betrays me.

“It’s warm down here.” The lie tastes bitter.

“Is that why your pulse is racing?” His thumb grazes my bottom lip.

I grab his wrist, intending to push him away. Instead, I hold on. “You can’t just disappear for weeks then show up expecting...”

“Expecting what?” His hand slips to my waist, burning through the thin fabric of my dress. “Tell me what I expect, Natasha.”

The way he speaks my name is like a dark promise, making heat pool low in my belly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.” His lips brush my ear. “Like you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t—” But I have. Ducking out of events, rescheduling meetings.

“Liar.” He nips my earlobe, and I gasp. “You’ve been running. But now...” His hand tightens on my waist. “Now there’s nowhere to run.”

The temperature seems to spike another ten degrees. My hands fist his expensive suit jacket, torn between pushing and pulling. “That kiss in the library...”

“Has been driving me mad for fourteen days.” His forehead rests against mine. “I can still taste you.”

A whimper escapes before I can stop it. His grip tightens in response, pressing me harder against the shelf. Priceless artifacts surround us, centuries of history watching our private war of wills unfold.

“Tell me to stop.” His lips hover a breath from mine. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

But I can’t lie anymore. Not with his body caging mine, his heat seeping into my bones, and two weeks of denial crumbling like ancient pottery.

His breath fans across my lips, and I can’t take the tension anymore. “Fine. I want you. Happy now?”

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