She regards my muscled torso in a designer suit. Probably she can’t see the specks of blood on the fine dark fabric.
I nod slowly, then ease my jacket off. It does double duty in that if any listening devices have been slipped in, they’re no longer next to my body. She takes in my actions warily, observing as I tug off my tie and discard my cufflinks. I begin to unbutton my shirt, and her cheeks flush. I grab the back and lift it over my head in one seamless motion.
She stares, her little pink mouth falling open.
I suppose I’m not surprised. My chest is covered with tattoos, and so are my arms. There aren’t any on my hands and neck, because I learned long ago that there were more effectivetechniques than intimidating the sorts of people who feared visible tattoos.
She takes in the jagged wolf tattoo on my forearm, her gaze lingering there. The symbol of the Volk Brotherhood. It’s where I started. A part of me I’m not particularly proud or fond of, but a time that made me hungry and cunning when I struck out on my own and took over Harlesden.
As my hands drop to my waist, her eyes go wide. Terrified.
This is a good thing. Genuine fear from Taylor will help this seem like a normal encounter, and not a rescue.
And because lust is the most relatable male emotion, I let myself look at Taylor as I undo my belt with a snap that’s loud in the quiet room. And my body reacts further.
The sound of my zipper is a guillotine.
She’s trembling as I toe off my shoes and socks and step out of the trousers. I’m left in a pair of black boxers that leave nothing to the imagination.
I’m hard, jutting up into the waistband and tenting the fabric.
I’m not sure I could disguise that I want Taylor, but for what I have to do, I know it’s in my interest for this to seem authentic.
“Come here.” I spread my hands as though in reasonable appeal. “Or you will not like having made this more difficult than it needs to be when I catch you.”
I enjoy the double meaning of that. She thinks it’s a threat. Later she’ll realise it’s the simple truth. That she ought to trust me.
She’s still wearing the same leggings and fluffy top that wraps around her, a pair of sneakers on her feet, and she takes me in, her gaze dragging over my body from head to toe. Then she sees that I’ve noticed, and flushes, looking down. Monitoring where I am through her lashes, but no longer eating me up with those pretty eyes of hers.
“You can look,” I croon, stalking towards her. “It’s only fair given the delightful view I had.”
“I don’t want to look at you.” She backs away, but her expression says she’s lying. She doesn’t just take in my face, or check where I’m going to move to next. No, her hot gaze lights up my tattooed chest, covered with the zig-zag patterns and tiles of the Jamaican and Portuguese communities of Harlesden as she follows the lines with her eyes.
“Don’t make this hard, Taylor,” I say, and my throat is sandpapery.
I’m not as evil as that Volk wolf tattoo suggests, though I’m far from tame. But I can’t tell Taylor that until she’s close enough, and naked enough, that no one can hear.
“You,” she spits the word, “are not touching me.”
She keeps the distance even as I advance. She’s so intent on watching me she backs into a large glossy table, upending a glass of water that splashes over her. Without stopping, she staggers around the table, putting it between us.
I tut lightly. “This will only be foreplay. I think a pursuit will make you wet, krasotka.”
“Don’t call me that.” She’s shrill now.
“It just means ‘gorgeous’,” I point out. Interesting that’s the part she objects to.
Her jaw sets.
“The men… They… It sounds gross,” she finishes with a scowl.
“Who?” I ask mildly, not allowing the fury that flares in my veins into my voice.
“Yevgeny’s men.”
They’re dead. I will fucking destroy them.
But my anger must show on my face, as she shrinks back. I dart to the side, as though to chase her one way around the table,but immediately spin, and she gasps as she’s surprised by the move, thinking I was continuing in the first direction.
