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I squeeze my thighs together, desperately trying to keep as much blood flowing to my brain as possible.
“I was at your party to have a good time and let loose. That’s all. If I’d known who you really were, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near you.”
“You knew who I was when we were fucking,” he growls. “The scales were unbalanced, it seems. You knew who I was, but I didn’t know who you were.”
“And now, you’re the one breaking into my place of work to threaten me. If I had to make a bet on which one of us has suspect motivations, I wouldn’t put money on me.”
All at once, he draws back. The storm cloud on his brow clears to a faint overcast. “I’m not threatening you.”
“What do you call this?” I scoff.
Through the front window, I can see Jorden’s ponytail swishing back and forth as she sways from one foot to the other. I hope she’s okay. I hope they’re all okay.
Ivan shifts in front of me, blocking my view of the window and forcing my eyes back to him. “I call this a fact-finding mission. I’m here to find out who the fuck you are and what the fuck you want.”
“Well, when you ask so nicely…”
His growl is a deep rumble of thunder in his chest. “I’m not going to hurt you—unless I have to. The choice is yours.”
I stare at his chest to avoid being sucked into the sexy vortex of his eyes. “It’s up to me whether you hurt me or not? Okay, great. Then count me as a loud and proud member of Team ‘Don’t Hurt Cora.’”
Ivan could crush me underfoot if he wanted. He could make me disappear with the snap of his fingers. But I refuse to back down. I refuse to shrink away the way I know he expects me to.
I can feel him staring holes into me. After steeling myself, I finally look into his eyes.
But I’m still not ready.
Instantly, I’m taken back to the inky shadows of his party with every reason to leave, but I can’t force myself to move. Because I’m tangled up in him in a way I don’t know how to undo.
Does he feel this, too?
In answer, his gaze drops to my chest. Then his eyes widen, shock etching into the lines of his face.
I’m about to make a joke about how my polyester-clad cleavage has never made anyone look so haunted before. But before I can, without an ounce of warning, Ivan Pushkin drops his shoulders and tackles me to the floor.
14
IVAN
For a woman who thinks I’m here to hurt her, Cora is being awfully mouthy.
At this point in most of my business dealings, people are pleading. There are bowed heads, clasped hands, and bent knees involved. Tears aplenty. Maybe some unintentional pants-wetting on a particularly pathetic day.
But Cora lifts her chin and plants all one hundred and thirty pounds of herself firmly in front of me.
“It’s up to me whether you hurt me or not? Okay, great. Then count me as a loud and proud member of Team ‘Don’t Hurt Cora.’”
I’m about to tell her I’d rather be on Team ‘Make Cora Scream Again.’
Then I see a light.
A red sniper’s dot in the center of her chest.
I act before I even realize what I’m doing. I dip my shoulder, charge forward, and wrap an arm around her waist. My other hand cradles instinctively around the back of her head.
She starts to scream, but the air whooshes out of her as we hit the ground. I take the worst of the fall. My knuckles bite into the hard tile floor and split open.
“What in the hell are you doing?” she shrieks. “Get off of me! Let me up—”
