Taking the Thief

“She’s in the interrogation room.”

“Okay, I’m going there. I’m doing this alone.”

“You’re not going to kill her, are you?”

“No. Of course not, but I must get answers from her. What does she want?”

“Maybe she wants to seduce you and get info for her brother,” Grant offers.

“Perhaps you are right. It’s not going to happen. I’m not going to sleep with a whore.”

“True, but I don’t think you’ll sleep with anyone. Seriously, when have you ever gotten any?”

“That’s not your business. I’ve worked my ass off to give Mari the life and make up for my parents’ death.”

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to rag on you. I’m going to talk to her accomplice.” I nod and follow Grant out. At twenty-nine, I haven’t been with many women. The last time was before my parents died. Damn, that was in college. It didn’t matter because this girl wasn’t going to get to me. I wanted nothing to do with a thief.

I storm toward the secured room, scan my ID and take a deep breath, and I enter. And as I close the door behind me, a pair of pale blue eyes look up at me from a veil of black straight hair. I’m so damn fucked. She’s spectacular, mouthwatering spectacular. I can’t get my attention off her face long enough to notice anything else. Swallowing hard, I wait for her to say something. I’m not sure what exactly but something because my brain just hit a brick wall.

Chapter 3

Natasha

I hear the click of the door unlocking. Nervously, I hesitate to lift my head. The room has been perfect for my brain, but I have a feeling an angry flare-up is about to happen. As the door closes, I feel the energy shift in the room. It’s strange, but my body tingles insanely. I untuck my arms and raise my gaze to see who my latest interrogator is.

And shit, the man is gorgeous. From head to toe, he looks like pure masculinity. His light tan skin contrasts with his white dress shirt and dark hair. My eyes move to his sleeves that are rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. The low light in the room hides his eye color from me, but the long eyelashes add to the beauty of the man staring me down.

He leans over the table with his fists clenched and his knuckles bared. I wonder what his hands would feel like running over my skin. Um…what the hell is wrong with me? This guy is my enemy, and I’m ogling him like I want him to spread me open and have his way with me. Thankfully, my throbbing head takes away the lustful desires. The sharp pain reminds me that I’m not better yet and I won’t be until I can get out of here and rest.

“I don’t know who the girl is,” I mutter, putting my head down to relieve the ache in my skull, and in my core, which seems to have come alive.

“My sister. And your brother Mikhail is keeping her captive.” Like he’s doing to me this second. Fine ass jerk. I lift my head back up and scowl. This time I get to see his light brown eyes up close. They’re ridiculously perfect, but I’m not going to take his shit.

“What? That’s bullshit. I don’t know who you are or who your sister is, but Mikhail would never do that.” My brother isn’t a criminal. That’s something I know for sure. There’s no way he would do something illegal after spending all his time fighting to get away from the stigma of the past. Leaving Russia had been the best idea for us, and he wouldn’t ruin it with kidnapping.

“I’m Julian Navarro, owner of Navarro International hotels and Resorts. Besides, why wouldn’t he when he sent you here?” he questions, a scowl on his face. He looks down then quickly back up again, but I didn’t miss his eyes focused on my cleavage.

I close my eyes and get myself together before I do something stupid and give him a better view of my chest. Accusing my brother of sending me here does enough to calm the heat down. Mikhail would never put me in danger. “My brother is a good man. He wouldn’t even introduce us if we were in the same room. Besides, I don’t want to be here. I was expecting to be on Ostrov. I just want to go home. I swear I didn’t know about the passports.”

“No one called you Marisol on the flight or anything?” he challenges me. Damn, I can’t remember anyone addressing me really at all.

“I have a fucking migraine; I was resting on the flight,” I inform him with a tinge of anger in my voice.

“Damn, you’re sick?” he asks with a grimace stretching across his face.