KATYA

 

"WAKE UP, SLEEPING beauty," someone calls from far away.

Groggily, I blink open my eyes, my vision blurry from sleep.  "Wh-what…where am I?" I ask the spinning room.  I'm beginning to think that everything was just a dream…

"We're in a small bed and breakfast a few miles outside of the city," says a familiar voice.

It takes me a few moments to recognize his voice…and then it hits me.  The man who attacked me by the docks.  The man who saw everything.  And the man who apparently drugged me and knocked me out.

Sitting straight up and feeling more aware now, my eyes focus on the figure sitting across from me at a table.  The table is full of breakfast food, and he heartily chews a forkful of eggs with a killer smirk on his face.

I stare at him, taking in all of his features and committing them to memory in case I need those details later.  He's tall and handsome — brutally so — with dark hair, gray eyes.  Day-old stubble lines his strong jaw, and he's wearing dark jeans and a gray, short-sleeved, V-neck shirt with a blazer draped over the back of his chair.

I carefully watch him as he lifts another forkful of eggs into his mouth, his full lips clamping over the tines.  His left arm is decorated in black and red tattoos, and his dark head of unruly hair looks like he's been combing his fingers through it recently.

He doesn't look like a psychopath, but I learned a long time ago that looks can be deceiving.  He looks almost…normal.  But why would a normal man chase me, tackle me to the ground and knock me out…with whatever the hell he knocked me out with?

None of this makes sense, and I'm still trying to find my bearings.

My head pounds away with intensity.  And when I try to move my hands to massage my temples, I finally realize I'm tied to the chair I'm currently sitting in.  Glancing down, I see that my arms and legs are tied tight with lengths of rope.

Struggling against my binds to test them, I'm disappointed that there is no give whatsoever.

"Hungry?" he asks me, not paying any attention to my struggles.

I shake my head no, but my stomach has other plans and chooses that exact moment to growl loudly in protest.

He chuckles darkly, and his smile broadens.  He has perfectly white, straight teeth, and his smile is contagious, but I force myself to remain passive.

"Do you like bacon?" he questions, picking up a piece of perfectly cooked, thick bacon.

My mouth waters at the sight.  How long has it been since I've tasted a delicious food such as bacon?  Too damn long, my mind decides as I find myself nodding without any real conscious control.

He rises from the table and moves towards me.  He holds the bacon between his fingers and offers it to me.  I slowly open my mouth and tentatively take a bite of the meat.  It practically melts in my mouth, and I can't help but close my eyes and moan at the taste.

His chuckle has my eyes snapping open.  "Sorry," he apologizes, schooling his features.  "I just don't think I've ever seen anyone enjoy bacon so much before."

I want to tell him that being on an extremely strict diet and being starved periodically for the past decade will do that to a person, but I don't dare say anything of the sort.  This stranger doesn't need to know about my past or my present or future, for that matter.  As soon as I can figure out a way to get out of this and get away from him, I'll never see him again.

I finish the piece of bacon, nipping at his fingers towards the end.  He pulls back his hand quickly and smirks.  "Feisty little thing," he quips.

I don't think I've ever had anyone refer to me as little before.  Sure, I'm thin, some would even say underweight, but I'm tall — five foot ten and even taller with heels, which is my normal attire.

But this man has to be over six feet tall.  He's lean, but muscular.

Pavel, my husband — ex-husband — was short; only five foot five.  I towered over the man, but it wasn't always so.  When I was a young girl, he was so big and powerful, and he proved that point to me every damn day.

"Where did you go?" the man asks, breaking me out of my reverie.

I shake my head, not willing to reveal any information about myself.  Frowning at my non-response, he holds another piece of bacon in front of my lips, and I can't help but lean forward and bite into the crispy meat.  I suppress another moan and focus my eyes on his.  They are an icy-gray color, but they emit such warmth behind them.

I'm not sure yet if this man is a potential friend or an enemy.

He hasn't turned me over to the police.  Yet.  But he also has me tied to a chair, so that definitely doesn't make him the good guy in this scenario.

Although, on the other hand, he is feeding me bacon.  Delicious freaking bacon.

I'm so confused it makes my head spin.

"So, Katerina, what brings you to Sicily?"

I stare at him in confusion.  How the hell does he know my name?

He waves a hand over the documents spread out beside him on the table.  "Your passport says you've been in the city for only two days."

Ah, he raided my purse.  The fucker had been looking through my things while I slept.  I quirk a brow at him and remain silent.

"Are you a call girl, or did that man you shot actually mean something to you?" he asks.

My eyes stray to the wall behind him, effectively blocking him out mentally.  I refuse to answer any more of his stupid questions.  I just want to get the hell out of here and back to my family and home…if I even still have anyone or anything left to return to.