Chapter Four

M ia had a streak of feistiness that Saint found attractive, enjoyable even. She didn’t refrain from telling him exactly how she felt. It was oddly refreshing. His gruff appearance was usually enough of a deterrent, keeping most people away from him completely. And the ones who occasionally got close, whether by his intentions or their own, didn’t dare push his buttons—and with good reason. He would fuck them up.

But Mia didn’t seem to fear him. She almost seemed drawn to his ink, scars and sarcastic streak. In fact, he’d caught her checking him out several different times. Which was fair. He’d certainly been returning the favor.

He glanced back over to find Mia lying on her right side, head propped on a pillow, her left wrist twisted awkwardly and securely cuffed to the bed frame. She’d been fighting to stay awake for the past half hour, but it was almost two in the morning, and her eyes finally drifted closed.

Saint remained in the straight back chair at the kitchen table, watching the rise and fall of her chest with every breath. Now that she was asleep, he could openly admire her without being caught. Not that he cared overly much but, at the same time, he didn’t want to seem like a creep. Why did she have to be so pretty? he wondered. And so innocent-looking?

Her hair was the color of sunshine, reaching right below her shoulders and had a slight wave. It framed a pert nose, full lips, rosy cheeks and long lashes. The fitted red dress probably wasn’t too comfortable to sleep in and he licked his lips when he considered the alternative. What sexy lingerie was she wearing beneath it? You’ll never know, he told himself.

He studied her small, bare feet and pink-polished toes. She was far too pretty and delicate-looking for a rough bastard like him. Honestly, he wouldn’t know what to do with a real lady. The women in his past had been slightly more…vigorous and rough around the edges.

Plus, she was way too young for his jaded ass. He didn’t know her exact age, but he was guessing early twenties. With a hand tucked beneath her chin, she sighed softly in her sleep. Her dreams probably consisted of shopping, traveling and eating at fancy restaurants with her big circle of friends. And even though they’d met at a singles mixer, he was willing to bet somewhere in that group there was a guy who had the hots for her. He probably showered her with gifts and promises. Whatever it took to get into her pants.

The idea of some asshole getting into Mia’s no doubt lacy panties pulled a growl from Saint’s throat. Giving his head a shake, he ran a hand through his cropped hair, trying to kill that image. But, it was immediately replaced by an even more tempting thought—maybe she wasn’t wearing panties.

“Fuck,” he hissed between clenched teeth. Clearly, he needed to get laid because he was fantasizing about his enemy’s daughter. Which, of course, made her his enemy, too.

He’d learned early on that women were treacherous creatures and he’d vowed to never fall in love. The very first woman in his life, his mother, had put him in a box and left him on the frozen, snow-covered orphanage steps when he was only a few hours old. If his own mother didn’t want him, why would anyone else?

No, love was out of the question. To be completely honest, he didn’t think he was capable of such a pure emotion. His heart had closed off and turned black when he was still just a boy trying to survive. The orphanage had been hell on earth and he ran away when he was only seven. Living on the streets had been hard, but at least there weren’t the constant beatings and inhumane punishments. Begging and stealing became a way of life. And he was good at it. So good it eventually got him off the streets when the Bratva embraced him.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Saint reached around and squeezed the back of his neck just as Mia’s eyes popped open. The color was truly stunning, unlike any he’d ever seen before. Looking into her eyes was like gazing up at the wide-open azure sky. He saw possibilities, something his life had lacked severely for a very, very long time. There was also clarity there, and a purity he wanted to explore more.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

Mia pushed up into a sitting position and tugged at the handcuff, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “I have to use the bathroom,” she murmured, cheeks turning red.

Saint popped up, cursing himself for being an even bigger bastard than usual. He hadn’t even considered letting her use the facilities before ruthlessly locking her to the bed. “Yeah, okay.”

He swiped the key off the table and walked over. After a quick turn, the cuff opened and she pulled her hand close to her body, rubbing her wrist. “Bathroom is there,” he told her, nodding to the door as she slid off the mattress, tugging her dress down.

From his earlier sweep, he knew there was a small window above the toilet, but he was going to have to trust her. Shit. How could he, though? There was no way she wouldn’t try to escape, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Turning, he reluctantly followed her, and when she started to shut the door, he shoved his boot forward, stopping it from closing all the way.

“Move your foot. I don’t need an audience.”

“Just go do your thing. I won’t pay any attention.”

Mia crossed her arms and huffed out a breath. “Are you kidding me?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“This is humiliating. I won’t be able to pee if you’re listening.”

“We all know what it sounds like when someone takes a piss. Your piss isn’t any different than anyone else’s. Now go.”

“You’re an asshole,” she seethed.

“So you keep telling me.”

She made a face and crossed her legs. “Dammit! Fine!” Spinning away from him, she stalked across the tiny bathroom, flipping the tap water on as she passed the sink in order to drown out any sound she would make.

Smirking, he turned around, crossed his arms and waited. Oh, the humiliation! Stifling a snort, he rolled his eyes. At one point when he’d been locked up in the prison’s solitary confinement, he’d been reduced to pissing and shitting in the same bucket for a week. He had limited sympathy for her.

A minute later the toilet flushed. “All set?” he asked. When he heard her washing her hands, he turned back around. “You survived and, rest assured, I barely heard you tinkle.”

She met his gaze in the smudged mirror and narrowed her eyes. Not dignifying him with a response, she splashed some water on her face then dried it off with a towel and sighed wearily.

“How long are you going to hold me prisoner?” she asked, smoothing her hands down the wrinkled dress.

“As long as it takes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged a shoulder then jerked his chin toward the living room. “Just be a good girl and get back on the bed.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. They sounded far too sexual and he couldn’t go there. When she didn’t move, he barked, “Bed! Now!”

Mia scampered back over and jumped on the daybed. He followed her then crooked his finger, motioning for her wrist. She made a fierce face then reluctantly lifted it. He leaned over her and snapped the bracelet shut, cuffing her to the bedpost again.

“You smell like an ashtray,” she commented, wrinkling her nose.

Even though her pain-in-the-ass remark should’ve rolled right off him, it didn’t. Annoyed, he hissed, “And you—” He abruptly stopped speaking.

And you smell like a vanilla cream puff.

“What?” she pressed.

Instead of responding, Saint straightened up and shrugged his leather jacket off. Damn, was the heat on? The room suddenly felt too hot and he tossed the jacket over the chair before stalking to the fridge, grabbing a water and downing the entire bottle. Crumpling the plastic bottle in his fist, he tossed it into the nearby trash.

“You have a gun,” she murmured, so softly he almost didn’t hear.

Saint always had a gun, but his jacket had been covering the holster at his side. Despite having a Glock like the rest of his team, he normally preferred to carry his Udav pistol. The Udav, an old friend from Mother Russia, fit him best. It fired a powerful cartridge and had a significantly greater impact force than other weapons. With that kind of power, the Udav’s kick back was no joke. It also had a large trigger and could easily accommodate Saint’s big hands, even when wearing gloves. Since he usually preferred doing things left-handed, he liked that the controls were double-sided. Of course, thanks to the bastards at the orphanage, that didn’t matter as much because he was ambidextrous.

“Are you surprised?” he asked.

“I guess not.” She leaned back, resting her elbows on the pillow, and Saint’s gaze dropped, soaking in the way her dress pulled tightly across her tits. He’d always been a breasts man, and Mia’s rack was calling him home like the mothership.

Clearing his throat, he forced his attention back up to her face. There’s nothing special about her boobs, he told himself. Sure, they looked extra perky and had that perfect bounce when she walked, but they were just a pair of tits. He could get that shit anywhere.

So why did he want to wrap his hands around this particular pair of fleshy globes and see if they fit his palms as perfectly as he thought they would. Goddammit. “Go back to sleep,” he rasped, trying to ignore the growing heaviness in his jeans. Half-walking, half-limping back over to the chair, he sat down.

“Are you okay?” Mia asked, eyeing him strangely.

“Fine,” he grunted. Though the powerful streak of lust heating up his body told a different story. One he planned on ignoring.

Eventually, she fell back asleep. Being in such close proximity to her was driving him crazy, but what could he do? Smoke, that’s what. Saint grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and stuck one in his mouth. After this one, he only had one left.

Muttering a curse in Russian, he lit up and proceeded to smoke it down to the filter.

◆◆◆

After managing to sleep fitfully on and off, Mia opened her eyes and yawned. She stretched—well, as much as she could with the handcuff on—and when she sat up, the blanket tumbled down. Nik must’ve covered her up at some point during the night. But why?

There was no sign of her captor, but she noticed the bathroom door was partially closed. She tilted her head, trying to get a glimpse inside when the door suddenly opened.

Her heart skipped a beat. Nik stood there, shirtless, and she may have temporarily forgotten her name as her gaze slid down his body. He had broad shoulders and a smattering of dark hair on his extremely firm chest. Black ink covered every square inch of him—from his neck, down his entire torso and disappearing into his unbuttoned jeans. So many markings that made no sense to her. An eight-pointed star, a Madonna and Child, a skull, random Russian letters, dots and squares.

And the muscles. Good God, there were muscles upon muscles. Thick biceps, firm pecs, rippling abs for days. In all her life, she’d never seen such a potent display of masculinity. The man oozed strength, power and testosterone so strongly, her uterus had no choice but to contract in response.

His black eyes locked on her and she shifted uneasily. “I need to use the bathroom,” she managed to say, finally finding her voice. As hot as he was, the knowledge that he could snap her like a twig couldn’t be ignored. But, for whatever reason, he didn’t inspire fear. Deep down, she knew Nik wouldn’t hurt her. He might be a little uncivilized and brutish, but he wasn’t the type to hurt women for his own pleasure. She’d had the misfortune of meeting a man who liked to hurt people—a friend of her father’s who gave her the creeps. Nik was nothing like Dr. Grendel.

With a nod, Nik came over, unlocked her wrist and, for once, he didn’t smell like smoke. A soapy smell clung to him, light and pleasant, and she found herself inhaling deeply.

“There’s toothpaste, toothbrushes and a bar of soap, if you want to wash up,” he said. “I found some extra clothes in the closet, too, if you wanna get out of that dress.”

Oh, boy, did she ever! Mia hopped off the bed and headed straight over to the small closet where she found a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt. Perfect.

Taking the clothes, she paused and chewed on her lower lip. “Can I close the door?” she asked.

“No.”

“Jerk,” she muttered and headed toward the bathroom.

Her pulse skittered out of control as she approached him, and she slowed her pace just enough to really take him in. God, he was so much taller than her. She’d never considered herself short at five and a half feet, but he dwarfed her. As she walked by, she noticed scars mixed in among the tats. Lots and lots of scars. Oh, my God. She paused, spotting an especially deep, jagged one that ran down his side and disappeared into his jeans. As much as she wanted to ask, she hadn’t earned that right. It was none of her business.

Schooling her features into an impassive expression, she continued past him, but she could’ve sworn he growled as she stepped into the bathroom.

She spent the next ten minutes cleaning up as much as she could, using a washcloth to wipe her face, neck and arms down. After brushing her teeth, she felt like a new person. Morning breath was the worst. She imagined almost as bad as kissing a smoker.

She had one problem left to deal with. Two, actually. Getting the zipper on her dress down by herself and then changing with him right outside the door. Reaching around, twisting her body, she grasped the zipper and tugged. After sliding down a couple of inches, the stupid thing got stuck. Dammit. She stubbornly fought with it another three minutes before dropping her aching arms in frustration.

“Need some help?”

Turning, she met Nik’s amused gaze and had the urge to smack that smirk off his stubbled face. As much as she wanted to tell him to shove it, she wanted out of that uncomfortable dress more.

“Yes,” she finally admitted. “The stupid zipper got stuck.”

The moment his larger-than-life presence stepped into the tiny bathroom, her stomach did a slow tumble. Her gaze slid down his naked chest. Why did he affect her so much? She didn’t even like him.

Nik lifted a hand and twirled his index finger in a circle. Turn around. Yeah, she understood perfectly. The moment he touched the zipper, her pulse began to hammer madly. Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore his warm hands. After tugging a few times, he cursed in what she assumed was Russian.

“It’s stuck,” he finally said.

“Clearly.”

“Can’t you drag it over your head or something?”

“No, it’s too tight to do that.” She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately wanting out of the dress and into the leggings and T-shirt she’d found. A risky thought flitted through her head and she swallowed hard before suggesting, “You could cut it off me.”

Silence. God, her heart was thumping so hard she was scared he might be able to hear it.

“Nik?”

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Did you see any scissors?” She bent over and opened the cabinet under the sink.

“No, but I have something sharper.”

Mia straightened back up and watched him pull his pant leg up to reveal a knife sheathed around his ankle. He slid it out and the silver blade gleamed beneath the light.

“Oh,” she murmured a little breathlessly.

“Turn around,” he said in a low voice. She did as he said and held her breath. “Don’t move.”

Arching her shoulder blades back, Mia stayed still as he held the back of her dress in one hand and sliced through the red material from her neck down to her waist. The dress fell forward and she grabbed it before it could gape open. Turning back around, she met his black eyes and swore she saw a flicker of heated interest.

“Thanks. Never had anyone cut a dress off me before,” she joked.

His nostrils flared and after a grunt of acknowledgment, he bent back down and tucked the knife away. Then he walked out, pulling the door nearly closed.

Mia hurriedly changed then smoothed her messy blonde locks back and checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. She’d wiped the smudges of mascara away and finger-combed her hair, but she still looked like a hot mess. Or, better yet, a woman forced to sleep with one eye open and one wrist cuffed to a bed all night.

Pushing the door open, she saw Nik leaning against the kitchen counter, phone against his ear, and she paused. Why hadn’t he put his shirt back on yet? Didn’t he realize how distracting that body of his was?

Rubbing her temples with her fingertips, she recognized the early morning yearning for caffeine start to force its way into her mind. She needed coffee. Better yet, she needed answers. And Nik had better give her some or he was going to get an earful.