She closed her eyes against the deep, accented voice. She hadn't heard that name since she'd started running. Her name on his lips was chilling and seductive at the same time. He had never been as accomplished as her at hiding his accent.
"Natasha," he demanded again, much closer this time.
Her eyes flew open and she realized he was standing over her now. She moved to back away from him, away from the deadly intent now clearly visible in the lines bracketing his mouth and the dull acceptance of his gaze. He reached for her, gripping her by the back of the head, catching the strands of hair that had escaped her knot and tugging sharply.
Natasha's lips parted in a gasp at his touch.
"Stand up," he said in his quiet, deadly voice.
She allowed him to drag her to her feet by the hair. She
