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I feel a hammer-heavy thud against my ear, sending high-pitched dings into my brain. I’m thrown to the lawn by bulky arms.
“Stop! He’ll cooperate,” Sergei growls. “Get off him!”
Ana. I need to know if Ana is OK.
“Bring her inside,” I manage to say before my face is mashed into the grass so roughly, dirt goes up my nose. Something thick and heavy pushes down my neck.
“You’re under arrest for disorderly conduct and assaulting a police officer, boy.” The pressure on my neck bears down before everything goes black.
Years of seeing Ana through the pixelated window of computer screens did not prepare me for this moment. The effect she’s had on me from the beginning hits like a sucker punch.
Suddenly, I’m no longer a thirty-six-year-old surveillance and security analyst who built a multimillion-dollar protection agency. One glare from those dark-brown eyes and I might as well be the stuttering college kid sitting across from her at my grandfather’s dinner table.
The brilliant girl from over a dozen years ago is now a powerful and confident woman who refuses to let anything—including her feminine beauty—distract from her mission to turn Petrov Shipping into the most progressive shipbuilding and ocean transport conglomerate in the world.
She’s on her way to overhauling the company but has completely failed in diminishing the potency of her appearance. Power and confidence have heightened her attractiveness to stark sharpness.
The youthfulness of Ana’s apple cheeks is gone, replaced by the elegant slope of high cheekbones. Brown eyes are no longer wide with innocence. But the new guardedness that darkens her pupils is even more intriguing. Maturity has exaggerated the angles of her jaw and nose, while her body has softened into the silhouette of an hourglass.
Ana is more beautiful than ever.
Since taking an executive position with Petrov Shipping, Anastasia Petrov wears pants and a button-down shirt to work. There haven’t been any skirts or dresses in years. The only departure from her work wardrobe is the white coat she uses in the lab or the garage overalls she wears at the shipyard.
Today, the outfit is plain black slacks and a top of cream-colored silk. This is her typical uniform, if one can call clothes so perfectly suited to her womanly curves a uniform. Sophistication and taste are in every thread, yet the message is all business.
If her murderous glare is any indication, I’m cracking that professional veneer. She doesn’t want me anywhere near her business.
Ignoring me and raising her chin at her brother, she exclaims, “You invited him here before asking me? No way, Sergei. You’ve outgrown the big brother privilege and don’t get to choose who is or isn’t going to keep me safe. I’m a grown woman. I can make those decisions for myself.”
“If there was ever a time to implement extra precautions, it’s now. We need to figure out who’s threatening you,” Sergei pleads, eyes oscillating between Ana’s furious glare and my stoic stance. “And even though you’ve been avoiding the MacElroys for a dozen years—”
“First of all, I moved back to the US full time a mere two years ago. It’s not avoiding anyone if I’ve lived across the globe for most of the last decade. Besides, I visit you and Maeve as often as I can,” Ana interrupts, referring to my aunt who is as much a Petrov as she is a MacElroy.
“She’s my wife and the mother of your favorite little people, of course you visit. Don’t be obtuse. You know what I mean. Even though you’ve kept your distance, Bryce is still family.”
“He’s not family,” she mumbles menacingly, sitting behind her desk and folding her arms.
“Can you leave us, Sergei?” It isn’t a request and he knows it. We’ve talked about the seriousness of Ana’s situation. “We have things to discuss alone.”
“We do not,” Ana protests.
Sergei’s phone rings and he looks relieved. “I need to get this. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
The last statement is addressed to me. If I can’t convince his sister in five minutes, he’ll be the first to throw me out.
If the situation wasn’t so dire, I’d throw myself out.
Once we’re alone, it’s impossible not to recall one of the last times I had seen Ana in person. I was the one behind a desk. A defendant in a lawsuit that changed the course of my life.
“You’d never get past my security team,” she states.
“That’s what we need to talk about. We shouldn’t let anyone know that you’ve hired a personal bodyguard.”
“Did you say personal bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
“Never.”
