For a half-second, we’re locked together as we exhale in heavy pants. Her heartbeat flutters against my ribs. The heat between us warms the layers of fabric keeping us apart.
In the pause, I breathe in her scent.
Rain and roses. Clean and floral and completely wrong for this moment, this place, this violence.
For a single instant, she derails me.
Which is long enough for my brain to register my body reacting in ways it has no business reacting.
Heat floods through every limb, coiling deep in my stomach as I stare her down. Damn the pain in my shoulder and head. She’s gorgeous and dangerous, and part of me wonders how close I can get to her fire before I get burned.
As her rich brown eyes lock on mine, surprise flickers across her features.
Did she notice my reaction? Does she feel this spark too? This strange, unwanted undercurrent running between us, drawing me toward her like a magnet?
I inch closer, my arm locked against her throat. “What’s the matter, Nika? Do I take your breath away?”
She sucks in air, her eyes flashing with what might be interest. “Screw you.”
Her knee drives up toward my groin.
Guess I need practice reading the room.
I twist to take the hit on my thigh instead, and the impact numbs my leg from hip to big toe.
She uses the opening to break my grip and slide out from between me and the pillar. She follows up with a palm strike to my nose. Blocking, I counter with an elbow meant for her chin.
She dances back.
Literally dances. Even on the wet concrete, Nika is a study in fluidity and control. How the hell does she not slip?
We circle each other again.
“You’re Roman’s Mad Max.” Even though I just rammed her into a concrete pillar hard enough to crack ribs, mockery drips from her words.
My chest twists at the nickname. Not many people are brave enough to call me that to my face.
I dip my chin. “I am. And I’m going to kill you.” I’m bluffing, but she doesn’t know that.
“Try it.”
This time, she doesn’t hesitate.
Just demonstrates raw, savage aggression.
She goes low, like she plans to sweep my legs. I jump back as she transitions and rises into a spinning kick that would’ve taken my head off if I hadn’t ducked.
She doesn’t hold back. Neither do I.
The brutal, almost choreographed tango of violence boils my blood like nothing else.
I snag her jacket and yank her toward me. She uses momentum to drive her fist into my solar plexus. Pain explodes through my chest, locking air in my lungs and loosening my grip.
After she slams a car door into my arm, I kick that same door back toward her. She barely gets her leg out of the way before the door booms shut with a metallic, resounding crash.
She grabs the extended side mirror of a nearby truck and blocks my next punch.
My knuckles slam into the glass.
