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“Wow. How old are you?”
He sounds amused as he replies, “Older than you. Busier than you as well if you have time to play games.”
I’m busy, but I’m also an insomniac some nights.
The stranger runs a gloved forefinger gently across my collarbone. His featherlight touch is enough to send sparks of fire shooting through me.
“You’re so beautiful, Zenya,” he whispers, and there’s so much longing in his voice that a pang goes through my heart. This might be the first time I’ve met him, but he’s known me for a long time from the sounds of it. Perhaps from a distance. Maybe I have a stalker and didn’t know it.
I didn’t know anybody outside my family cared about me this much.
Crap. I’m finding this romantic? My loneliness is plumbing new and sordid depths.
“I’m engaged,” I lie. “My fiancé’s insane, and he’ll kill you.”
He picks up my left hand and shows it to me. “I don’t see a ring.”
“We haven’t had time to get one yet,” I say, but it’s plain that he doesn’t believe me. I suppose a stalker would know if I were engaged or not. I haven’t been around many men socially apart from my father in two years.
“I want one taste of the proud and beautiful Zenya Belyaev. I’ve waited a long time, and tonight I saved your life. Give a starving man one moment of heaven, and then you’ll never see me again. You won’t even know who I am. Not my face. Not my name.”
“You’ll have to take your mask off if you’re going to do that,” I challenge him, burning with curiosity to see his face.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blindfold. “I already thought of that.”
I stare at the blindfold hanging from his fingers. His grip on my waist tightens and his body heat seems to scorch me. I can feel his lust. He wants me badly, but willingly. I’m not in any danger from this man. In fact, I feel safer than I have in a long time.
Which isinsane.
He’s a killer. Alarm bells are ringing distantly in my head, but the clamoring desire to let this man do whatever he wants to me drowns out everything else.
He takes advantage of my hesitation to turn on the sofa and drop me onto my back on the cushions. I gasp in shock as he hovers over me, one hand braced by my head.
The blindfold is still dangling from his fingers. “Put it on, Zenya.”
I glance down, and my thighs are hugging his body.
My shaking fingers are moving on their own. Am I really this lonely? This desperate for pleasure and affection?
Apparently I am, because I reach for the blindfold, pull it down over my face, and settle it over my eyes. The world is enveloped with velvet darkness.
“Perfect,” he breathes, stroking my hair back from my face. His hands disappear, but a moment later they’re back. They feel different, and I realize it’s because he’s taken off his gloves, and he’s touching me with bare skin. I moan as he strokes his fingers over my lips and down my throat.
“That’s it. Just relax and let me take care of you.” His whisper is heavy with desire.
It’s been a long time since anyone told me to relax. Usually it’s,We need this, Zenya, andWhat next, Zenya?andThere’s another problem, Zenya. On and on until I want to scream.
This stranger isn’t making demands of me. He just wants to caress me while I float in warm, cozy darkness.
The stranger strokes his hands down my body to the button on my jeans, which he pops open. He continues down my legs and unlaces my boots, carefully slipping them off my feet along with my socks. He’s especially careful with my injured foot and touches a place close to where the baseball bat connected with my ankle.
“If they weren’t already dead, I’d make them pay for this,” he growls softly.
I feel the zipper on my jeans parting, and then he tugs my pants and underwear down my legs.
If I’m going to stop this man, now is my last chance.
But I don’t move.
