He’s hunting me, and there’s nowhere to run.
East Berlin, 1963. I thought I understood the consequences of trying to flee to the West. Death. Imprisonment without trial. Instead I’m being hunted by the most dangerous man in the city, secret police officer Reinhardt Volker.
Now I’m his prize, no longer a traitorous factory girl but his elegant and pampered secretary. He wants to possess me, body, soul – and heart. I’ll do anything to get away from him, but first that means getting closer.
I want to feel only hatred for my captor but beneath his uniform I discover a man with a past as scarred as Berlin’s.
And if I don’t escape him soon it will be too late.
Hearing him lay it out so coldly and brutally takes my breath away. I wish his housekeeper and secretary could see him now. They haven’t felt him ruthlessly hunt them down, catch them, possess them. Take sadistic pleasure in trapping them, body and soul. ‘You can’t make me forget who I am. I’ll always remember, and I’ll always hate you for what you’ve done.’
‘Oh?’ There’s so much scorn and amusement in that one brief question. His breath is warm against my ear and I feel him looking down at me, enjoying that he has me his mercy. He plants a slow, tender kiss on the side of my neck and I feel my pulse thundering beneath his lips. It’s a kiss that belies the cold cruelty of his words and the steel of his embrace. It’s the kiss of a lover, soft and sensuous, and something clenches low in my belly in response.
I expected cruelty, and armed myself against brutality, but I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t prepared for him to be gentle and I don’t know how to fight it. He shifts his arms, one hand moving to caress my throat and I draw in a soft breath of surprise and need. He feels it, and his lips move up to my jaw, trailing burning kisses.
No, please, I don’t want this. He can’t strip me of my will to resist him along with everything else. I will garb myself in hatred for him. I will steep my body in antipathy and rage. Even so, it takes every ounce of strength I have to speak. ‘I’ll never be yours.’
But it comes out as a breathy whisper, not the defiant shout I wanted it to be.
His lips curve into a smile against my throat. ‘Oh, Liebling. Yes, you will. I have not even begun to try and you are already giving in.’