Stripped (51 page)
The gun discharged. Brandon froze. For one never-ending heartbeat he stared, certain she’d crumple to the floor. Everything moved in slow motion. Her hands slipped. Regained their grip. She dropped to her knees, and Brandon realized what she was doing. The more she leaned into Aaron’s body, the more weight she put on his arms. Miraculously, she’d wedged the gun so it pointed to the floor.
Aaron brought his foot back and kicked her in the gut.
A whole new sense of fury possessed Brandon at the sound of her pained cry. She flew backward, landing sprawled out on her stomach.
The gun rested just beyond her outstretched fingertips.
Brandon dove for the weapon at the same time Mayer did. They collided in a flurry of flying fists. Aaron was strong, quite possibly stronger than Brandon. But he lacked discipline. Always had. He fought with adrenaline and left thought behind. Like a wild animal that only knew one instinct—survival.
Adrenaline also pumped through Brandon’s veins, enough to override the pain in his left shoulder, but something greater gave him caution—Natalya. He
would not
fail her again. Wouldn’t let Mayer lay another finger on her so long as there was breath in Brandon’s body.
Raising his forearm, he blocked a fist to his temple, but the backward swing caught him in the side of his face. Fire lanced through his cheek as it split open. The hot, sticky flow of blood wet his skin. He ducked in time to evade another shot at his nose.
Brandon threw his weight upward, driving his knuckles into the underside of Mayer’s jaw. A
crack
resounded, and Mayer staggered backward. He recovered quickly. Shaking his head, he charged again. He landed another solid punch to Brandon’s already bleeding cheek.
Agony threatened to blind Brandon. Sparks shot in front of his eyes, blackness encroached. He raised both forearms in front of his face and willed his knees into cooperation. The blows came hard and fast,
pounding into bone. He flinched with each jarring concussion, backing up, biding his time. Waiting for Aaron to exhaust himself and make a mistake.
An opening arrived, and Brandon took the shot. He summoned his strength and focused on Aaron’s Adam’s apple. Launching his arm forward, he envisioned it connecting with the wall at Aaron’s back and shoved his fist into his former partner’s throat.
Aaron’s sideways duck prevented the death blow, but Brandon’s hit connected with Aaron’s vagus nerve. Aaron dropped to his knees. He wobbled in a heavy daze.
Behind Brandon, an angry stream of Russian filled the adjacent hall. Equally charged words spewed from Stefan’s mouth. Brandon glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Stefan shoving a man twice his size down the hall.
“Not… going… to have her,” Aaron rasped out.
Brandon whipped around at the sound of metal table legs scraping against the floor. Arm lifted over his head, syringe in hand, Aaron lunged across the short distance between them. Brandon caught Aaron’s wrist seconds before the needle sank into the soft skin between his neck and shoulder.
A shot cracked through the air.
Aaron’s eyes went wide with shock. His fingers opened, and the syringe clattered to the floor. All six foot fell onto his face as Brandon let go of his arm. Blood pooled beneath his chest.
Stunned, Brandon swung his gaze to Natalya, and a slow smile spread over his face. She lay on her belly, pistol poised in both hands, her chin mere inches off the cold concrete. As she watched Aaron topple, her fingers let go. Eyes closed, she dropped her cheek to the floor.
N
operatives rushed in and out of the building in a steady stream. Red, blue, and white ambulance lights lit up the side of the warehouse. Another four sets of police lights joined the colorful display.
She looked up at Brandon and tried for a smile. “Hey, you.” The pain in her chest twisted her effort into a grimace.
Tenderness filled his tawny eyes as he pushed a shank of her hair away from the side of her face. “It’s over, beautiful. You did good.”
Natalya’s heart melted. He’d come after her. Stayed with her. She’d shot him, and he didn’t hate her.
She could still feel the pull of absolute terror as Mayer had lunged at him with the syringe. For a moment, she’d thought she might never see Brandon again. That after all this, she’d never get the chance to apologize. To tell him what he meant to her. The case became unimportant. The only thing that mattered was keeping Brandon alive.
Tears welled in her eyes. He was here.
“Shh. Don’t cry,” he whispered. His thumb brushed across her cheek, wiping a stray tear away. “Kate’s safe, so is Becca. We’ll take you to the hospital as soon as Stefan’s done seeing Nikolai off in cuffs.”
“You know.” This time she found the ability to hold her smile.
“Yeah. I know a lot of things.” Ever so gently, he shifted her position so her face came closer to his. He brushed his mouth across hers, lingering for a heartbeat before he pulled away and gazed into her eyes. “I was scared to death I’d lose you.”
Warmth infused her blood, and her heart slowed to the delightful rhythm of complete contentment. The pain in her ribs ebbed. “Don’t take me to the hospital. Take me home, Brandon.”
“No can do, beautiful. You’re not setting another foot inside my house until we come to an agreement about some things.”
Surprised, she jerked back, setting off the gnawing ache in her chest. With a grimace, she curled back into his embrace. “Things like?”
His lips moved across her hair. “Like no more lies.”
Shivers darted down her spine. That sounded delightful. She’d never utter another lie in her life. “Agreed.”
“And you’re never allowed to hold a gun while I’m in the same room with you.”
She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. Mistake. Fire lit her insides. She pressed a hand to her ribs, wheezing. “Don’t make… me… laugh.”
Brandon’s chest rumbled with amusement. “Swear it, or you’re on the street homeless.”
“I swear.” Lifting her hand, she settled it over his heart and rubbed her cheek against the hard muscle of his chest.
“And…” Tightening his embrace, he rested his chin on the crown of her head. “I want to go on vacation. For a long time. Just you and me. No jobs. Some Northern Lights. When we come back, it’s consulting for you and a desk job for me.”
Nothing sounded better. She nodded, the tightness in her chest now an overflowing of soul-deep feeling. He was offering her a return to the life she’d once known. No fighting. No looking over her shoulder. No need to create stories and the simple ability to just
live
.
And love.
“Anything else?” she whispered.
“Yes.” Brandon set two fingers under her chin and tipped her face up to gaze into her eyes. “Tell me what
Ya tebya lyublyu
means.”
The husky rasp of his voice sent goose bumps rushing down her arms. Her throat, however, closed around the translation. Tell him? No way in this world could she utter the meaning. She could feel, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready to talk about feeling. Certainly not the depth of that one. It might bring pain. Particularly if he couldn’t respond the same way.
She stared at his nose as she answered, “It means I like you a lot.”
He pursed his lips. “I said no lies.”
Natalya blinked. “You know?”
“I also said I know a lot of things.”
“If you know, then why are you asking?”
His lips fluttered against hers. “Because I want to hear you say it.”
Oh, God.
Everything inside Natalya welled up and overflowed. Tears spilled down her face unfettered, and for the first time in her life, they didn’t embarrass her. She reached up to touch his uninjured cheek. “It means I love you.”
His smile lifted the corners of his mouth and eyes. “I love you too, beautiful.”
Long lashes veiled his eyes, and he caught her mouth with his. His tongue glided over hers, slowly, languorously, as if he sought to savor the moment for eternity. She moved into his kiss, deepening it, the pain in her body giving way to the slow burn of arousal. In the darkest moments of her life, she’d stumbled onto something more beautiful than the sunset on the glaciers. Brandon Moretti had led her to innocence, and she’d spend the rest of her life showing him exactly how much she cherished that priceless gift.
Brandon threaded his fingers through her hair and rested his forehead against hers. “Now that I’ve told you what I want, is there anything you want from me?”
“Yes.”
“Name it, sweetheart.”
Well, here’s to no more lies.
She took a deep breath. “Children.”
His chuckle washed over her cheek, seconds before his lips touched hers and he murmured, “How soon?”
Natalya didn’t have time to respond. He captured her mouth, his eagerness evident in his hungry kiss.
TORI ST. CLAIRE
grew up writing. Hobby quickly turned into passion, and when she discovered the world of romance as a teen, poems and short stories gave way to full-length novels with sexy heroes and heroines waiting to be swept off their feet. She wrote her first romance novel at seventeen.
While that manuscript gathered dust bunnies beneath the bed, she went on to establish herself as a contemporary, historical, and paranormal author under the pen name Claire Ashgrove. Her writing, however, skirted a fine line between hot and steamy, and motivated by authors she admired, she pushed her boundaries and made the leap into erotica, using the darker side of human nature and on-the-edge suspense to drive grittier, sexier stories.
Her erotic romantic suspense novels are searingly sensual experiences that unite passion with true emotion and the all-consuming tie that binds—love.
