Page 113 of Backlash

“You are?” I search my brain for any reason why the Koltsovs would owe me shit and come up empty-handed.

“Some of us,” he says. “Not all my brothers agree on this point, but they’re willing to turn their heads, if you disappear. At least, until this matter is resolved.”

“And how long will that be?” I ask tightly.

“Weeks. Years. Who knows?”

“I can’t disappear,” I say. “But I have no interest in hurting your family. You have my word.”

Nikolai brushes his lip with his thumb, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, your word doesn’t mean much. No offense.”

“None taken.” I can appreciate the business side of this arrangement. “If I don’t go?”

“I’m afraid my brothers are very impatient. They’ve been learning a lot about you the past few weeks,” he says. “They think they can provide strong motivation for you to change your mind.”

“What kind of motivation?”

“Your family is here in Tennessee, right?”

“I wouldn’t advise you to go after my sister,” I say coolly. I make a mental note to get Sutton on a plane headed somewhere tropical within twenty-four hours.

“No, we respect a brother’s love for his sister, but there are others you care for. Your blood, if you will,” he says. “Your father, this woman, Adair MacLaine, and your—”

“I’d stop if I were you.”

“And if I were you,” he says, leaning closer, “I’d leave town. I hear London is lovely this time of year.”

“London is hot this time of year,” I say flatly.

He chuckles as he takes out a pair of sunglasses and slides them on. “Not as hot as hell, Mr. Ford.”

Afternoon Nashville traffic is heavy on the best days, a parking lot on the worst. Today, it’s somewhere in between: an agonizingly slow conveyor belt of cars. I slam my fist against the horn in frustration and the guy in front of me flips me off. For a brief second, I imagine getting out of the Vanquish, dragging the man from his shitty Kia, and pummeling him until the raging frustration churning inside me subsides. I force my attention away from him, gripping the steering wheel in a death lock, and spot an empty parking spot ahead. Laying on my horn, I rev the engine, nudging forward until I’m on the guy ahead’s bumper. I can see him cursing at me, but I just honk again until he moves forward. It takes a few minutes, but gradually I get close enough to swerve into the spot, nearly scraping my front end against the Kia.

I jump out, ignoring the number of people who’ve rolled down their windows to yell at me. I peel off my suit jacket and toss it in the back. I start running, remembering only then that I’ve left my gun holster on. My 9mm knocks against my rib cage and I ignore it. The Eaton is only seven blocks north. That might be five minutes in running shoes. In Berlutis, it takes me ten.

The concierge pauses as I dash into the lobby, dripping from my impromptu jog in the southern heat. “May I help you, sir?”

But I’m already to the elevators. I punch the up button a couple times, calling over my shoulder. “I know where I’m going.”

A couple waiting nearby move slowly away. The doors open and the passengers start to exit, freezing when they find me sweaty and waiting to board. I move to the side and slip in once it’s empty. No one tries to board with me. Inside, I consider taking out my gun. Nikolai threatened Adair. That much I know. But it felt more like an ultimatum than an imminent threat. I won’t relax until she’s in my sights, though. Her hall is quiet when I arrive, and I’m forced to consider what to do if she doesn’t answer. She could be at the publishing house or out with Poppy, but I wouldn’t know that. She’s not exactly answering my calls.

I bang on her door until I hear an annoyed “I’m coming” from inside. The relief is instant at the sound of her voice. She throws open the door—hands planted on her hips, hair spilling over her shoulders, feet bare—and opens her mouth to chew me out.

I don’t have time for that.

She’s in my arms in a split second. By the next, my mouth is on hers. Her palms flatten on my chest, but instead of pushing me away like I expect, her fingers grab hold of my shirt to pull me closer. She presses closer, her body molding to mine. No matter how much time passes—no matter how much she changes—we have always been and will always be a perfect fit. My hands slide under her ass, lifting her in one smooth motion and spinning us inside her suite. I kick the door closed behind us. The kiss deepens, as though we’re both searching for something we lost inside each other. When we finally break apart, Adair’s lips are swollen red and her forehead dewy.

“What was that for?” she asks breathlessly.

For being alive, I think. I decide it’s best not to say this out loud. I rest my forehead against hers. “Because I needed to kiss you.”

“Need, huh?” she murmurs.

“It’s the best word I’ve got. They haven’t coined one yet that encompasses the exact feeling. I suspect it’s because no one has ever loved anyone this much before.”

“You love me?” she says.

“You know I do.” I steal another kiss, just so I can taste her again.