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“There is no time to argue,” Dmitri says, already pulling me toward a door on the opposite wall. “I will make sure she gets back safely. You have my word.”
I only have time to shoot a quick look at Jamie before I feel a pair of incredibly strong arms lifting me up and throwing me over a broad shoulder.
“What in the hell!” I shout, but there’s no response.
He completely ignores me. Tightening his grip around my legs, he walks quickly to the door, and we disappear inside. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Dmitri Volkov is carrying me over his shoulder. God, he feels good. His muscles move and flex beneath me, and the scent of him is driving me wild. Expensive cologne mixed with his sweat surrounds me, and it’s the most intoxicating scent in the world.
The wolf tattoo on his back is incredibly intricate and beautiful, and I have to fight the urge to run my fingers over it. On his other shoulder is a quote in Cyrillic, and I’m dying to know what it means. I want to run my tongue over every inch of him.
I’m suddenly very aware of how close my ass is to his face, and then I remember how short my dress is and how nonexistent my thong.
“Hey,” I say, bracing my hands on his back while stifling the groan of pleasure that wants to come out. “Can you put me down now?”
“Nyet,” he says, and I know enough Russian to know that’s a big fat no.
He carries me up a staircase before opening a door and taking me through. I look around and realize we’re in a loft apartment. There’s a comfy looking couch and a large, flat-screen TV. The kitchen is a bit small, but it’s filled with stainless steel appliances, and everything looks brand new. The place is neat, if a touch sterile. There’s a set of stairs on the other side of the room leading up to the loft, and I catch a glimpse of a large, king-sized bed.
“Is this where you live?” I ask his very muscled back.
He walks to the couch and not so gently sets me down. I realize how much my dress has ridden up and quickly try to shove it back down. It still doesn’t cover much, but at least I’m not straight-up flashing him.
Glowering down at me, he says, “Talk.”
I try not to squirm under his intense gaze, but it’s damn difficult. This isn’t going at all how I’d planned.
“About?” I ask, trying to sound a whole lot braver than I am.
His blue eyes never lose their intensity and never soften. God, this guy is fucking intense.
“About why your dad is busting into my club, about why you were even here tonight, and about who the hell you are.”
“Wow, you’re dying to know all about me, aren’t you?” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
It doesn’t.
He’s still standing in front of me, glaring down at me. He’d taken off his boxing gloves when he left the ring, but his hands are still wrapped up and resting on his hips. I try not to stare, but everything about him is so fucking sexy. I want to ask him what the tattoo on his shoulder means, but something tells me now might not be the best time for that.
“Okay, okay,” I finally say, caving under his gaze. “My name is Gina Belov, and my dad is the chief of police.”
His expression turns darker if that’s even possible, and I quickly hold up my hand and add, “I had no idea he was coming tonight.”
He lifts an eyebrow at me like I’m full of shit.
“I swear,” I say, as if that will prove my innocence right here on the spot. God, what am I going to do next, make him a pinky promise? He must think I’m such an idiot. I bite my tongue to keep from further humiliating myself.
“Why were you here tonight? I have never seen you or your friend before.”
I shrug, and when that’s not good enough, I say, “I just really wanted to see a fight.”
He’s about to ask me something else when there’s a loud banging at the door. I jump and instinctively scoot forward so I’m closer to him. He looks down and gives me an amused half-smile. Well, half-smile is better than no smile, I think, returning it.
Someone is yelling something in Russian that Dmitri isn’t happy to hear. He shoots me another look before grabbing my arm. Pulling me close, he leans down so our faces are almost touching. His icy blue eyes stare into mine, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I have a crazy, sudden desire to run my tongue over his full bottom lip, but I’m too intimidated by that look of his to act on it.
“You will be quiet. Understand? No sound.”
I shake my head yes, knowing I’d probably do anything he asked, including ripping off my dress and bending over his couch. He doesn’t ask me to do that, though. Instead, he rips the wraps off his hands and grabs a towel from his bathroom. He wraps it around his waist, hiding his boxing shorts and kicks off his shoes. Grabbing my arm, he pulls me to the door. His hand is wrapped completely around my upper arm, and he positions me so he can open the door without anyone seeing me.
Before opening the door, he shoots me a warning look that makes me want to rip off my soaked thong and rub my pussy over every inch of his body. He quirks an eyebrow at me, making me wonder how much of that he understood from my body language and expression.
