Page 68 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

Every other sound around us seems to mute itself.

There is only this.

There is only her.

There is only us.

She takes a deep breath and advances one more step toward me. It’s spellbinding. Utterly captivating. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her if I tried.

Until her ankle twists in the unfamiliar high heels and her finger accidentally catches the stem of a wine glass.

All the concentrated sexiness dissipates at once. In the blink of an eye, she’s Awkward Liv again, fumbling to catch a spilled drink, just like the very first time I ever laid eyes on her.

She nearly busts her ass as she lunges forward just in time to cradle the wine glass against smashing into the ground. I shoot my hand out to save her from tumbling head over heels.

“God-fucking-shit-dammit!” she hisses as purple wine drips from her fingers.

“At least it’s not hot coffee.”

“Very funny, asshole. Now, can you hand me a napkin so I can clean myself off?”

“No.”

I look her dead in the eye. She starts to retort, but then she sees something in my gaze that silences her.

Slowly, I rise, never breaking eye contact. I tower over her. She is so small, so fragile. So utterly at my mercy.

Olivia fidgets the whole time. She doesn’t know what to do in the white-hot glare of my full attention. It’s too much for her. Like she’s staring into the sun.

Only this time, the sun is staring back at her.

I still have her elbow in my grasp from where I caught her. Moving with aching slowness, I let my hand glide down her forearm until I encircle her wrist in my fingers.

I raise it to my lips and take one wine-soaked finger in my mouth. I still don’t look away. I stay locked on her, like something as little as a blink will ruin this forever.

I suck the wine off one finger. Then the next. Then the next.

Then I place her hand gently back by her side.

“If you’re going to try to seduce me to get what you want, Olivia, you should take your heels off first.”

She shudders like a cold wind only she can feel just blasted through the garden. “I should’ve stayed far away from a man like you,” she murmurs.

“Scared of living, Olivia?”

“If this is living,” she says, gesturing to me and our surroundings, “then I don’t want it.”

“On the contrary, kiska, I think you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your whole fucking life. You just don’t know how to ask for it.”

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