After a few miles, he turned onto a dirt road that bisected a cornfield. We drove and drove until a clearing appeared ahead, what looked like a crop-duster airstrip. At one end, a jet awaited, beacon lights flashing, engines radiating heat in the night air.
To take me to Russia. This was all . . . real.
Sevastyan parked near the jet, but didn't open his door. "I understand you have questions," he said in a milder tone. "I'll answer any I can when we're in the air. But you must believe me, Natalie, you won't regret taking this step. You'll enjoy your new life very much."
"New life?" I sputtered. "What are you talking about? I happen to enjoy my current life."
"Do you, pet? You sought him," Sevastyan said. "Relentlessly. Something was driving you."
I glanced away, unable to argue with that.
"And now you'll never have to work again, can buy anything you like. You can travel the world, see all the places on those postcards on your refrigerator."
My dream. "This is a lot to take in, and I don't like making big decisions under pressure."
"Will it suffice for you to know that Kovalev is a good man, and he wants to make up for all the years he's missed with you?"
"If our situations were reversed, could you take this step?"
He nodded easily. "When I first started working for Kovalev's organization, I trusted that my life would be better with him in it. I've never regretted my decision." He must've seen I was still unconvinced. Exhaling with frustration, he ordered, "Just stay here."
He climbed out of the car and crossed to the jet with long-legged strides. The pilot--a tall, muscular blond in a uniform--met him at the bottom of the stairs, gesturing and speaking heatedly. I caught the cadences of Russian, but couldn't make out the words over the humming engines.
Out of habit, I surveyed the man, noting that his well-worn belt was cinched tighter than its regular notch and his shoes were meticulously polished. Recent illness? Lots of downtime? Then I saw his hands, saw the same kinds of tattoos that marked Sevastyan's fingers.
At that, my niggling suspicion couldn't be stifled. I'd studied all aspects of the land of my birth enough to know about the Russkaya Mafiya--and how they favored tattoos like that.
And really, what were the odds that a billionaire over there wasn't tied to organized crime in some way? Not to mention that Sevastyan had kidnapped me, with the intention to smuggle me--passportless--into the country.
Had I scrimped and toiled and searched, only to connect myself to a mobster?
The pilot continued to vent. My thoughts continued to race.
Then silent, menacing Sevastyan took one ominous step forward; the pilot backed down, hands raised.
A single step had cowed that big pilot. Maybe Sevastyan could've taken those three jocks. Because he was dangerous.
And he wanted to drag me into his world.
Follow the chain of logic, Nat. If Kovalev was mafiya, then no good could come of this hasty midnight jaunt to the motherland.
Did I believe I was in some kind of danger? Maybe. Did I trust Sevastyan to protect me? Not more than I trusted myself.
At that moment, I decided to decline the "new life" that some strange man on the other side of the world envisioned for me. If Kovalev wanted to talk to me, he could pick up the phone!
And Sevastyan? I still felt that bewildering attraction to him, that weird sense of connection. I forced myself to ignore it.
With him occupied, I cracked open my door and slipped outside. I drew my robe tight, stealing closer to the cornfield. Naturally the one night I needed to escape the mob, the moon was a bright ball in the sky. At least the field would provide cover. This close to harvest, the stalks were tall and dense, the leaves lush.
Almost there. My breaths smoked. Almost--
"Natalie," Sevastyan bellowed, "do not run!"
I took off in a sprint, charging into the rows.
Chapter 4
Corn leaves slapped my face, raking my hair. My bare feet kicked up loose soil.
How much of a head start had I managed? Was he already crashing behind me?
"Stop this, Natalie!"
I gave a cry. My God, he was fast! I'd felt like prey before; now I literally was. This man was running me down, bent on capturing me! I dug deeper, sprinting even faster--
One second I was fleeing at full speed, the next I was flying. He'd lunged for me, snagging me around the waist. At the last instant, he twisted and took the impact on his back, crushing stalks beneath us.
"Damn you! Let go of me!" I struggled against him. Like fighting a steel vise.
Before I could blink, he'd flipped me to my back onto a mat of leaves.
"Get off me!" I battered his chest with the bottoms of my fists.
Huge and furious above me, he wedged his hips between my legs, snagging my wrists in one big hand. "Do not ever run from me again." The moon shone down on him, highlighting the tight lines of his face. He seemed to be grappling with his fury, drawing on some inner iron control.
"Let me go!"
Over the familiar scents of rich soil, fragrant crops, and cold night, I detected his scent: aggression and raw masculinity. His shirt had gaped open, and I could see more of his skin, with the edge of another tattoo just visible past the material.
"Sevastyan, release me. Please."
Like I probably looked in that moment.
His cock pulsed in his pants, drawing my attention. At the sight of that long, heavy length, my pussy clenched for it. I murmured, "Sevastyan?" as my hips rolled. "What are you doing to me?" He'd somehow spellbound me, making me feel empty and desperate.
For the second time tonight, I was heading toward an orgasm.
Still riveted to my sex, he grated words in Russian, something about how he couldn't be expected to deny himself in the face of this. How no one should expect him to.
I'd never been more confused in my life. "Are you . . . are you going to kiss me?"