Page 22 of Hostage of the Russian
Kostya’s hand shot out, grabbing Azriel’s wrist. “We need to move. Now.”
“What are you—”
“Don’t argue. Don’t look around. Just walk.” He pulled her along, his pace quick but not quite running yet. “We’re being followed.”
To her credit, Azriel didn’t panic immediately. She matched his stride, though he could feel the tension radiating from her. “Followed by who?”
“People who shouldn’t know where we are.”
They turned the corner, and Kostya glanced back. Three men now, all moving with purpose. Not good.
“Run.”
This time, she didn’t argue. They sprinted down the sidewalk, Kostya’s hand still locked around her wrist, pulling her into an alley between two buildings. He pressed her against the brick wall, his body caging her in, and listened for the sound of pursuit.
Footsteps echoed at the mouth of the alley, then faded as their followers moved past.
“Why are we being followed?” Azriel whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “Who were those men?”
“Shh.” He pressed closer, needing to keep her quiet, needing to listen for any sign that they’d been discovered. But having her this close, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest against his, smelling the faint scent of vanilla in her hair, was doing things to his concentration that had nothing to do with surveillance.
“Kostya,” she whispered, and the way she said his name sent heat straight through him.
He looked down at her, noting the way her gray eyes had darkened, the way her lips were slightly parted. She was scared, but there was something else there, too. Something that matched the tension coiling in his own chest.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he intended. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the sincerity in his tone, and Kostya realized he meant it. Somewhere between her defiance and her sharp wit, between her refusal to cower and her stubborn independence, she’d gotten under his skin.
The space between them seemed to shrink. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, and he could feel the warmth of her palm through his shirt. All he had to do was lean down, just a few inches, and he could taste those lips that had been taunting him with their smart remarks.
The thought hit him like ice water.
What the hell was he doing?
This was Danny Hartford’s daughter. Payment for a debt. A tool for revenge, nothing more. He didn’t get emotionally involved with business, and he sure as hell didn’t developfeelings for women who were only in his life because of their fathers’ mistakes.
Kostya stepped back abruptly, his expression hardening. “We need to get back to the car.”
The moment was broken, and he saw the confusion flash across her face before she composed herself.
“Fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the flush still staining her cheeks.
He led them out of the alley, checking carefully for any sign of their followers before guiding her toward where he’d parked. The drive back to the mansion was silent, but Kostya couldn’t shake the memory of how she’d felt in his arms, or the way she’d looked at him in that alley.
This was getting complicated. And Kostya Nikolai didn’t do complicated.
Chapter 8 - Azriel
Azriel’s hands trembled with barely contained rage as she stared at Kostya across the marble kitchen island. The morning light streaming through the windows did nothing to soften the hard set of his jaw or the steel in his dark brown eyes.
“Absolutely not,” he repeated. “You’re not leaving this house.”
“I have exams!” The words exploded from her, voice cracking with desperation. “My finals start tomorrow, and I haven’t even—”
“Not my problem.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, the casual dismissal making her blood boil. “Your education can wait.”
Wait?Everything she’d worked for, everything she’d sacrificed and endured under her father’s roof, the late nights studying while nursing bruises, the part-time jobs to save every penny for college, the desperate hope that had sustained her through years of hell, and this man wanted her to just... wait?
