Page 84 of Mile High Ruin

My head falls back against the leather seat.

The car is moving smoothly through the city, but I barely register it. Everything has narrowed down to his mouth, his hand, and the hard line of his thigh pressed against mine.

He licks along my throat.

I shiver.

His teeth catch lightly at the skin just below my jaw.

Another moan escapes me. This one is louder.

Vadim makes a low sound against my neck that I feel more than hear. His other hand slides around my back and pulls me closer. I shift without thinking, half turning toward him so one knee comes up against the seat between us.

His palm leaves my breast and travels down my side, over my hip, then back up again. He seems incapable of touching only one part of me. His hands move as though he’s learning the shape of my body by force of repetition. I’m beginning to suspect this man could undress someone without actually removing a single piece of clothing.

His thumb circles my nipple once more, and my fingers tighten against his shoulders.

“Vadim.”

“Mm.”

“You are injured.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“You have stitches.”

“I remember.”

“You should not be doing this.”

His mouth presses to the base of my throat. “Neither should you.”

I turn my head to kiss him again. The moment our mouths meet, he shifts closer and his hand slips inside the opening of my coat, cupping my breast more firmly.

My breath stutters.

He kisses me harder. I can feel the strength in him even when he’s careful.

That’s the problem. Vadim is so much bigger than I am that almost every movement reminds me of it. His shoulders fill the dark suit jacket he wore over the fresh shirt, though the jacket is now open and pushed back. His chest is broad, his arms thick with muscle beneath expensive fabric, and the silver hair that first made him look older now only makes everything else about him seem more striking.

He must be in his late forties. Maybe older. I still don’t know his exact age. Whatever it is, it should probably make this feel more inappropriate than it does. Instead, he’s one of the most attractive men I have ever seen, but there’s nothing pretty or polished about him.

There’s too much severity in his face for that.

His nose has been broken at least once. There’s a faint scar near his jaw, another at the edge of one eyebrow, and lines around his eyes that make him look as though he has spent years glaring at people until they disappointed him correctly.

The silver hair should soften him. It does the opposite. It makes his pale eyes look colder and his dark clothes more severe. He looks like a man who has been dangerous for a very long time and has become comfortable with it.

I shouldn’t find that appealing.

Apparently, I do.

My hand rises into his hair. It’s softer than I expect. He exhales against my mouth when my fingers curl into it.

Something about that response makes a different question surface.

Does he do this all the time?