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“Fuckers,” I growly harshly. Not that I am well versed in mafia ties and their rivals, but I know almost everyone is the enemy of the East Syndicate. Or vice versa. However it works, my father must have ended up on the shitty end of their stick and I almost became collateral damage.
“How did a lovely siren such as yourself end up on their shit list?”
“It’s not such a long story.” I try to sit up and get my bearings but the man is not having it and I don’t particularly mind staying where I am at the moment.
“Slow,malyshka. Right now, stay right where you are. First, we should take care of you and then we’ll talk. Never mind my question.” He must be accustomed to his words being law. He keeps me captive, a possessive hand on one hip and another on my opposite thigh.
I find myself agreeing. My muscles and brain are too tired to do anything other than sit here anyway. Truth be told, I could use a little sleep after the adrenaline rush and then the subsequent nose dive into reality with the East Syndicate.
Shame washes through me. Not because of my actions, but those of my father and me being stupid enough to think his death meant peace of mind for me.
But at least I have the name of who tried to off me. Not that it does me much good. I don’t think I’ll get anywhere with the cops who are most likely in their pockets.
When big hands caress my chilled skin and hold me closer as though I’m a gift from the depths my world shifts and I forget about names and police reports. For now. I push thoughts of my father and his actions from my mind and remember I’m the one that’s still alive.
I take a deep breath and then another relishing the simple ability to draw in air again. “You saved me.” My voice is tight with swirling emotions. There are angels in this world after all.
“I pulled you from the bottom of the sea,da.” The steady stroke of a thumb over the ridges of my ribs just beneath my breasts is distracting and oddly soothing. As is the gentle up and down of his chest as he breathes.
Feeling anything right now is nothing short of a freaking miracle so I drink it all in. It’s crazy how the smallest of details seem blown up and ping off my radar.
I almost freaking died. Holy shit.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I draw in another deep breath and this time I get hit with a light masculine scent mixed with salt water. Something smoky orange with an undercurrent of bourbon. It has to be the sexiest combination I’ve ever smelled.
I latch onto that as my brain keeps getting stuck on the fact today was going to be my last day on earth.
Memories of being snatched out of my friend’s side yard, being drugged, tied to a cement block, and then tossed overboard swarm over me. The trembling starts in my toes and there is nothing I can do to stop the onslaught of fear working its way through my body.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until warm hands move over my body and my mysterious stranger presses me flush as we continue to move over the water. “You’re safe. Keep your focus here with me now. Focus on my voice. That’s it. You’re safe now.” As he speaks, I feel the caress of his breath brushing over my ear and the sensation gives me another kind of shiver.
Funny thing is, I feel the truth in his words when I should be questioning everything.
I force my muscles to relax one at a time. My eyelids fall and I rest my cheek on his bare chest. “Today started out being such a pretty day.”
“And it ended just as pretty,moya sirena.”
The fog of what happened to me starts to lift and I take a bigger notice of the sound of a Russian accent hooked onto his words. It sounds familiar. Same roughness and pitch as the man on the news. I abruptly sit up and turn in his arms, blinking wildly past the burn.
When I raise my gaze to his I see an unfamiliar face with features I would recognize anywhere. My heart races as his dark eyes hold me captive. I’d just proclaimed I would have this man’s baby if the universe placed me in his arms.
I guess the joke is on me.
I forget to breathe. This cannot be happening.
I blink again and for a second, I really do think I’m dead. But I’m shivering and there are places on my body that are heating in ways that I know if I were dead would not be getting any signals.
I draw in a quick breath, not feeling even slightly amused.
My heart, my body. Even my freaking soul right now wants to drop to the floor of this boat and plant my lips on his feet.
I clear my throat, painful as it is, and squash that bad idea before it has time to flourish in my water-logged brain. One show of weakness is all it would take for him to think he owns me. That’s how these men operate.
I try to push away but strong arms brace me to Maxim Novak’s broad, muscular chest. The power in his large, callused hands is thrilling in a way that should scare the crap out of me, but with a quick soul-searching quest, I don’t find anything other than relief.
