Chapter 87 Intruder
❦ Rosalind ❦
I forced the thought away before it could take root, turning back to him just as he tilted a glass of amber liquid down his throat.
My gaze lingered on the strength of his fingers wrapped around the crystal. I knew what those fingers were capable of. The memory heated my cheeks until I had to glance away.
He turned his head, his eyes catching mine with a look that pinned me in place.
And in that moment, the music, the crowd, and even my own worries dissolved.
There was only him.
Viktor leaned in. “Stai bene, amore? Ti stai divertendo?” His voice rolled through me, and I almost forgot how to breathe.
I laughed. “Maybe I’d have more fun if you let go of my hand and actually let me dance.”
The corners of his lips curved into a smile that was more of promise than amusement.
My heart stuttered.
He lifted my hand, never breaking eye contact, and tugged me up from the seat.
My gaze stayed locked on his as I took a slow step back, letting my hips sway with the music.
I let the beat claim me, moving further until I was brushing against the edge of the crowd, testing him, testing myself.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I let go, closed my eyes, rolled my waist, and surrendered to the rhythm and the fragile peace that had settled inside me these past days.
But I didn’t need to see him to know. I could feel his gaze like a burn on my skin, branding me with possession.
It didn’t take long.
Heat brushed against my back, a solid chest pinning me in place, large hands finding my waist as though they’d always belonged there. His breath was hot and teasing against my ear.
“How are you so perfect, mmh?” he murmured.
My throat tightened. “I’m not.” The admission tumbled out like a confession.
His lips brushed the curve of my ear as he answered, “That’s exactly what a perfect person would say.”
I almost broke then. My eyes prickled. If he only knew.
If he remembered everything… the animosity, the cold distance he used to keep. would he still look at me like this?
Part of me prayed for his memories to return. Another part, the selfish part, wished desperately that he would stay this man forever.
The music swelled as bodies swayed, and when I opened my eyes, the club was alive in a blur of flashing lights.
Across the room, Adrian sat alone, his eyes cold and calculating even here. Juliana’s face surfaced in my mind and I wondered why it hadn’t worked between them. These last few days had shifted my view of him. He wasn’t so bad.
Viktor’s breath ghosted over my skin again, but this time it was strained. “Tesoro,” he whispered, “I may need to sit down.”
I spun in his arms, catching the flicker of pain in his expression. He tried to hide it, but I saw the wince and the tightness around his mouth.
Guilt lashed through me. What was I thinking, letting him drag us here when he was still injured?
I looped my arm through his and guided him back to our table with as much dignity as I could muster. He lowered himself into the seat with control as though nothing was wrong, but I wasn’t fooled.
My hand went to his face automatically to wipe his temple.
He caught my wrist before I could. His grip was firm. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “I won’t look weak in front of them.”
My hand faltered, but I lowered it, forcing myself to respect his pride.
His fingers slid into my ponytail, tugging just enough to tilt my head back. Then his mouth claimed mine.
Heat flooded me instantly, and for a heartbeat I stiffened, aware of Adrian and the others only a few steps away. But Viktor didn’t care, and the world didn’t matter.
His lips demanded, and I melted, floating on the rush that only he could summon in me.
I could’ve stayed there forever, suspended in that kiss, if not for the deep, gravelled voice that cut through the music and laughter like a blade.
“Well, isn’t this something. Good to see you’re alive enough to lock mouths with such a beautiful woman.”
Every hair on my body rose, danger rippling through me before I even turned.
The soft, chilling clicks of safeties being released sounded all around me.
I twisted in Viktor’s arms.
A man stood there with sinister composure, flanked by two identical bleach-blond women with artificial hips and breasts.
He tilted his head, feigning surprise, then grinned slowly and took a bold step closer to me. He extended his hand as though we were at a polite introduction.
“Rosalind,” he drawled.
He reached for me.
But before he could so much as brush my skin, steel flashed.
Adrian and other soldiers had their guns leveled at his face, a hair’s breadth from ending him right there.