Page 5 of Brutal Conquest

He settles beside me on the sofa and gazes at me. I wonder how much he can see through that thing over his face. “For now.”

The room is illuminated with streetlight, and I study the shape of his face once more. A strong jawline and brow. A long, straight nose.

He sounds amused as he whispers, “Well, do you know me?”

My back is against the arm of the sofa and my feet are pressed against his thigh. Strong thighs. This is a man who never skips leg day. From the looks of him, he never skips anything day. The man is pure muscle.

“Um, I don’t know,” I murmur, reaching down like I’m going to scratch my ankle. My fingers slip inside my boot, yank out the knife, and I lunge for him.

I was intending to hold the blade to his throat and demand he takes his mask off. He snatches my wrist with one hand, tugs the knife from my fingers, and throws it across the room.

“Stop that. Be a good girl.”

Good girl. Those two words send shivers through me. “I just want to see your face.”

Tentatively, I reach for his mask, but he grabs both my wrists and drags me onto his lap. My whole body tenses as I ready myself to fight him again.

But he doesn’t do anything but gather me close and press my palms against his chest. I stare at my hands, feeling his taut muscles beneath my fingers. My thighs are hugging his hips.

“What are you doing?”

“I like you close to me,” he purrs.

I draw in a shaky breath as his words vibrate on a very personal level in a very personal area. Butterflies erupt in my belly, and I can’t tell if this man is my white knight or a black dragon. “Why can’t I take your mask off?”

The stranger lets go of my wrists and tugs my knees higher up his hips and settles his arms comfortably around me. “You won’t let me hold you like this if I take it off.”

“Do you have scars? Are you missing an eye?” Not that I would care. Plenty of men I know have scars. They’re an occupational hazard in our line of work.

He shakes his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Are you going to let me go?”

“Soon. But first I want payment for saving your life.”

At last we’re getting to it. As a Belyaev, I understand that what people want from us isn’t always stackable on a pallet. They want favors, introductions, alliances. “Name your price, and I’ll tell you if it’s something I’m willing to give you.”

The stranger’s focus moves from my face to my breasts to my thighs, and he takes a long, deep breath. The energy in the room shifts and crackles. The man holding me in his arms is hungry. Incredibly hungry.

Anger throws a blanket over the butterflies in my belly. “You think I’m going to fuck you in thanks for killing those men? I’m not a whore.”

But the stranger shakes his head. “I don’t want that.”

“Oh. Then what do you want?”

He reaches out and runs a lock of my platinum blonde hair through his gloved fingers. His voice is a caress as he murmurs, “A taste.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “A kiss?”

He leans closer until I think he’s going to press his masked lips to mine. “Not a kiss. I want a real taste of you.”

“What’s a real…” Heat flames in my cheeks as I realize what he’s asking for. He wants to take off my clothes, put his mouth on me, and lick me like an ice-cream cone. “Are you crazy? No way.”

“You’ve seen what I’m capable of. You like a man who’s a fighter, Zenya Belyaev. You crave a man you can respect. Downstairs, you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“What else was I going to do while a stranger murdered four men in front of me? PlayLily’s Garden?”

“What’sLily’s Garden?”

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