7. Katarina
KATARINA
I stare at the wall, counting the tiny imperfections in the paint for the hundredth time. My wrists still bear the faint marks from the zip ties, a reminder of how badly I underestimated Erik's control.
The sound of his steady breathing fills the room as he maintains his position by the door. I shift on the bed, deliberately keeping my back to him while pretending to read one of the paperbacks they left me.
A page turns. Another breath. The tick of the clock on the wall.
My skin prickles with awareness of his presence, but I force myself to remain still. No provocative stretches. No lingering looks. No games.
Erik's boot scuffs against the floor—a rare break in his usual silent stance. I bite back a smile, keeping my eyes fixed on the words I'm not actually reading.
“Your food's getting cold.” His voice comes out rougher than usual.
I shrug one shoulder, not bothering to look up. “Not hungry.”
Another scuff of his boot. The leather of his holster creaks as he shifts position.
The silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled too tight. After last night's disaster, my pride won't let me engage first.
“You need to eat.” The words come out clipped, almost angry.
“I'll eat when I'm hungry.” I turn another page, still not looking at him.
A sharp exhale. More leather creaking. The tension in the room ratchets up another notch.
I risk a glance from the corner of my eye. Erik's jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. His hands flex repeatedly at his sides. Gone is the statue-still soldier from before—now he practically vibrates with contained energy.
Interesting. Apparently, my indifference bothers him more than my previous attempts at seduction. I hide my face behind my book to conceal my satisfaction. Good to know.
I slide off the bed, careful to maintain distance from Erik as I gather my clothes. His dark eyes track my every movement, but I keep my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
The worn cotton of my shirt bunches in my grip as I cross to the bathroom. My heart pounds against my ribs, but I force my steps to remain steady. Measured. The last thing I need is for him to sense my unease.
The bathroom door feels solid under my palm. Safe. I push it closed with more force than necessary, letting the slam echo through the small space.
Only then, with the barrier between us, do I allow myself to exhale. My breath comes out shaky as I lean against the door, eyes closed.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself, running trembling fingers through my hair.
The mirror shows a woman I barely recognize—someone whose carefully constructed facade has started to crack. Dark circles shadow my eyes, and my usually pristine appearance looks decidedly rumpled.
I set my clean clothes on the counter, noting how my hands still shake slightly.
The sound of his boots shifting outside the door makes me jump. Even through the solid wood, his presence feels overwhelming. Inescapable.
I turn the shower on to a hot setting, letting steam fill the small space. Maybe it will help wash away this feeling of vulnerability that's been clinging to me since last night.
But the scalding water does nothing to wash away the memory of his body against mine. I press my forehead to the cool tile, trying to focus on anything else—the sound of water hitting porcelain, the steam curling around me, the citrus scent of the luxury soap.
But my skin remembers. The weight of him. The raw strength in those hands as they pinned my wrists. The heat of his breath against my neck.
I slam my palm against the tile. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The seduction was meant to be a game—a way to crack his control and gain leverage. I wasn't supposed to actually want him.
My body betrays me with every breath.
“Damn it,” I whisper, turning the water temperature down. The cold shock helps clear my head, but only barely.
I've dealt with attraction before. Handled dangerous men. Played their games and walked away unscathed. But Erik is different. There's something honest in the darkness he carries. No pretense. No manipulation. Just pure, contained violence wrapped in rigid control.
And God help me, but I want to see that control snap again.
My fingers trace the fading marks on my wrists, remembering how easily he overpowered me. The thought should terrify me. Instead, heat pools low in my belly.
This is why I've pulled back. Why I'm keeping my distance now. Because one more touch, one more taste of that dangerous chemistry between us, and I might not be able to stop myself from burning.
I turn off the water with trembling hands. I need to get myself under control. I need to remember why I'm here and what's at stake.
I take my time getting dressed, smoothing the soft fabric of my clean shirt over my skin. My fingers work methodically through my damp hair, weaving it into a neat braid.
The mirror shows my complexion has returned to its usual polish. I straighten my shoulders and check my appearance one final time.
When I open the bathroom door and step outside, Erik blocks my path. Those dark eyes fix on me with an intense focus. I try to step around him, but he mirrors my movement.
“Move, please.” The word comes out sharp, commanding.
He doesn't budge. Instead, he takes a step forward, forcing me back toward the bathroom door.
Erik's hands slam against the door on either side of my head. His chest nearly touches mine with each heavy breath. Gone is the rigid soldier—in his place stands something feral.
“Isn't this what you wanted?” His voice drops to a growl that sends shivers down my spine. “You pushed and pushed, trying to make me snap.” His hips pin me to the door, the heat of him burning through my clothes. “Wanted me to lose control and take what I want.”
His words drip with dark promise, making my breath catch. This is exactly what I'd wanted—and now that I have it, I'm not sure I can handle it.
“I stopped pushing you after that.” My voice comes out breathier than intended. “Or did you not notice?”
Erik's lips curve into a dangerous smile, one that makes my heart stutter. “I noticed. The question is—did you stop because you were scared or because you liked it too much?”
Heat crawls up my cheeks, betraying me. I try to turn my face away, but his hand catches my chin.
“Look at me when I'm talking to you.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Your pulse is racing. Is it from fear?” His other hand slides to my throat, feeling the flutter beneath my skin. “No. I don't think it is.”
I swallow hard, trapped between his body and the door. “You're supposed to be guarding me, not?—”
His lips brush my ear, cutting off my words.
“Want to know what I thought about while you were tied to that bed?” His voice drops lower, rougher.
“How perfect you looked spread out beneath me. How those zip ties bit into your skin when you struggled.” His teeth graze my earlobe.
“How easy it would have been to slide my hand up your thigh, feel how wet you were getting from fighting against those restraints.”
My breath catches. Every word sends electricity down my spine, making it hard to think.
“I wanted to wrap my hand in that pretty hair of yours,” he continues, fingers threading through my braid. “Pull your head back and watch your face while I?—”
A whimper escapes my throat before I can stop it. Erik's grip tightens in response, pulling just enough to sting.
The bathroom door presses into my back, a solid barrier that offers no escape. Erik's mouth crushes mine, devouring me with a ferocity that steals my breath.
His kiss is dominant, leaving no room for refusal. I try to twist away, but his fingers tighten in my hair, holding me in place.
My body responds despite my panic. A traitorous heat pools low in my belly as his tongue brushes against mine. But this isn't what I want. It's too much, too fast.
“Stop,” I gasp, pushing against his chest. “Please?—”
He doesn't listen. His kiss deepens, his tongue invading my mouth as his hands roam over my body with rough urgency. Panic floods my veins, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Erik, please.” I struggle against him, but it's like fighting a brick wall. “You're hurting me.”
His hands slide down my arms, gripping my wrists and pinning them to the door on either side of my head. “God, I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I set eyes on you.”
“This isn't right.” My voice comes out strained. “We're enemies. I?—”
His mouth covers mine again, cutting off my protests. I taste desperation in his kiss, a barely contained feral edge that scares me even as it excites me.
“You want this,” he mutters against my lips.
“No—” It's a lie, and we both know it. Want coils in my belly, tightening with every harsh breath.
His hands slide to my hips, lifting me as he presses his hardened length against me. I moan despite myself, my body arching into his. Need pulses through me—an overwhelming physical response that scares me with its intensity.
This is wrong. Danger flares in his eyes, mingling with a hunger that makes my knees weak. I have to end this.
I slam my knee into his groin.
He grunts in pain, but his grip only tightens. “Fight me all you want, Katarina. You know you want it, too.”
“No!” I struggle with everything I have, panic fueling my strength. “Get off me!”
But he's too strong. His fingers find the hem of my shirt, dragging it up to bare my skin. He tears at my bra with frantic need, growling in my ear. “So soft.”
I buck and writhe, but his kiss steals my breath, my protests. His teeth nip my neck, sending shocks of pleasure through me that only fuel my desperation to escape.
“Please, I mean it.” My voice breaks as I try to beg him to stop. I squirm against him, seeking freedom, but he only tightens his hold. My skin is flushed, his name a plea on my lips. But he doesn't heed my cries.