Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Dammit, I’m acting like a coward.
I stop backing away and stand my ground instead, straightening to my full five-foot-seven height. I’m always the calm and capable one, handling high-stress situations with ease, yet I’m behaving like a schoolgirl confronted with her first crush. Yes, the man makes me uncomfortable, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. What’s the worst he can do? Ask me out on a date?
Nevertheless, my hands shake slightly as he approaches, stopping less than two feet away. This close, he’s even taller than I thought, a few inches over six feet. I’m not a short woman, but I feel tiny standing in front of him. It’s not a feeling I enjoy.
“You’re very good at your job.” His voice is deep and a little rough, tinged with some Eastern European accent. Just hearing it makes my insides shiver in a strangely pleasurable way.
“Thank you,” I say, a bit uncertainly. I am good at my job, but I didn’t expect a compliment from this stranger.
“You took care of Igor well. Thank you for that.”
Igor must be the gunshot patient. It’s a foreign-sounding name. Russian, perhaps? That would explain the stranger’s accent. Although he speaks English fluently, he’s not a native speaker.
“Of course.” I’m proud of the steadiness of my tone. Hopefully, the man won’t realize how he affects me. “I hope he recovers quickly. Is he a relative?”
“My bodyguard.”
Wow. I was right. This man is a big fish. Does that mean—
“Was he shot in the course of duty?” I ask, holding my breath.
“He took a bullet meant for me, yes.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but I get a sense of suppressed rage underneath those words.
I swallow hard. “Have you already spoken to the police?”
“I gave them a brief statement. I will talk to them in more detail once Igor is stabilized and regains consciousness.”
I nod, not knowing what to say to that. The man standing in front of me was nearly assassinated today. Who is he? Some mafia boss? A political figure?
If I had any doubts about the wisdom of exploring this strange attraction between us, they’re gone. This stranger is bad news, and I need to stay as far away from him as possible.
“I wish your bodyguard a speedy recovery,” I say in a falsely cheerful tone. “Barring any complications, he should be fine.”
“Thanks to you.”
I give him a half-smile and take a step to the side, hoping to walk around the man and go to my next patient.
He shifts his stance, blocking my way. “I’m Alex Volkov,” he says quietly. “And you are?”
My pulse quickens. The male intent in his question makes me nervous. Hoping he’ll get the hint, I say, “Just a nurse working here.”
He doesn’t catch on, or he pretends not to. “What’s your name?”
He’s certainly persistent. I take a deep breath. “I’m Katherine Morrell. If you’ll excuse me—”
“Katherine,” he repeats, his accent lending the familiar syllables an exotic edge. His hard mouth softens a bit. “Katerina. It’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you. I really have to go.”
I’m increasingly anxious to get away. He’s too large, too potently male. I need space and some room to breathe. His nearness is overpowering, making me edgy and restless, leaving me craving something that I know will be bad for me.
“You have your job to do. I understand,” he says, looking vaguely amused.
Still, he doesn’t move out of my way. Instead, as I watch in shock, he raises one large hand and brushes his knuckles over my cheek.
I freeze as a wave of heat zaps through my body. His touch is light, but I feel branded by it, shaken to the core.
“I would like to see you again, Katerina,” he says softly, dropping his hand. “When does your shift end tonight?”
I stare at him, feeling like I’m losing control of the situation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” His blue eyes narrow. “Are you married?”
I’m tempted to lie, but honesty wins out. “No, but I’m not interested in dating right now.”
“Who said anything about dating?”
I blink. I assumed—
He lifts his hand again, stopping me mid-thought. This time, he picks up a strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers.
“I don’t date, Katerina,” he murmurs, his accented voice oddly mesmerizing. “But I would like to take you to bed. And I think you’d like that too.”
2
“Are you serious? He said that to you? What did you do next?”
Joanne, my best friend since high school and a newly promoted investment banking associate at Goldman Sachs, stares at me in fascination.
I settle deeper into the soft velvet of the booth, happy to exchange the chilly November weather outside for the warm interior of the restaurant. “I said no, I wouldn’t like that, and that I needed to go.”
I cringe a little when I remember how I stuttered those words yesterday while stepping out of the man’s reach. Within a two-minute conversation, Alex Volkov stripped away my hard-earned composure, reducing me to a trembling, uncertain girl instead of the confident woman I’ve worked hard to become.