Page 80 of Lethal Obsession

Entirely unconcerned by my hostility, he gives me that annoying smile again. “Let me get to the final reason for my visit by asking you a question in return: after I leave this yacht, what course do you intend to set?”

When I don’t immediately answer, he gives a small nod. “Let me guess. You’ll set a course south-southwest, hugging the Spanish coast all the way. The marinas in Andalucia have some of the cheapest berths in the Med. Quiet. Unobtrusive.” His smile fades as he leans a little closer. “And less than two hours of good road to Granada.”

I stay silent.

“Your business is none of mine, especially given that I am currently in your debt.” Mak turns his drink slowly in his hand. “And your private life is even less so. But for what it’s worth, when Roman asked what I’d learned in my investigation into the Paris incident, I left out several key points—and withheld the very clear footage of you carrying Ofelia from the limo into the hotel. Because if Roman had seen the way his daughter clung to you, or the expression on your face when you looked at her, there’d have been no fucking need for a kill team outside your hotel—you’d be dead already.

“If you are serious about having any kind of future with Ofelia Borovsky,” he says quietly, “I suggest you rethink your career choices, not to mention your commitment to the swamp. And then, my friend”—he swallows the rest of his Negroni—“I suggest you learn how to code yourself into invisibility. Because no matter what career choices you make, if Roman finds out there’s anything more than cordial distance between you and his eldest daughter, there’ll be no yacht fast enough to outrun the bullets headed your way.”

13

Ofelia

“Ofelia!” It takes several minutes for Teresa’s voice to penetrate the total focus of my practice.

I pause mid-movement, my fingers hovering impatiently over the keys. “Yes?” I’m more than a little annoyed to have the spell of concentration broken mid-piece.

“You have a visitor.”

I frown. Lourdes never stirs before midday, and I don’t know anyone else in Granada well enough for them to just turn up on my doorstep.

More importantly, if anyone tried, Teresa and Julia would normally never let them through the door.

Which means it has to be family.

Dammit.

“Coming!” I try not to let my annoyance show as I push my stool back.

Maybe Darya, I think, smiling despite myself as I head for the stairs. It would be just like her and Abby to play hooky for a day away from their brood of boys and come to take me out.

I’m halfway downstairs when the first hint of dusky leather hits me like an aphrodisiac. And by then it’s too late to rethink my silk cami set and messy bun, both of which are very comfortable for practice and would be fine for family—but are not even remotely appropriate for the leather-clad figure currently dwarfing my kitchen.

“Mak cleared him for entry,” Teresa says frostily, “but he wouldn’t wait outside because of the security cameras. I did try to tell him you were practicing—”

I take it, by her glacial expression and Alexei’s rather amused one, that her objections were overruled.

“It’s fine, Teresa.” I’m surprised I can manage to speak at all.

Alexei is holding a motorbike helmet and aviator sunglasses in one gloved hand. A red bandanna covers his hair and missing eye. A three-day growth conceals his scarred face, and his leather jacket is open over a black T-shirt that doesn’t expose any of his ink.

I’d thought Alexei devastating in a handmade tux.

But dressed in bike leathers, suntanned and grinning like a cross between medieval pirate and Sons of Anarchy, he’s fucking lethal.

“Ofelia,” he says politely.

“Alexei.”

It takes a moment before I realize I’m still frozen midway down the stairs—and that Teresa is looking between Alexei and me with slow awareness dawning on her face.

“If you’re okay,” she says, tactfully backing toward the door, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’m fine,” I say mechanically, unable to look away from Alexei’s lone eye, which is currently traveling over my body like he’s already stripping the silk away.

I barely notice the door closing behind her.

Silence falls over the kitchen, interspersed by birdsong just outside the window and the water feature sending a steady trickle into the pool below.