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Then, as suddenly as the kiss started, Mishka draws back, separating our lips.
Breathing heavily, I frown as I take in his expression. Rather than the fire of moments before, he looks guarded, his emotions closing off—just like they did when we started talking about his past. For one fleeting moment, I had seen the pain in his eyes when he’d spoken about his brother. Then it had vanished as he’d shut the topic down.
But his vulnerability only makes me like him more, so watching him close me out once again drops a lead ball in my stomach. “What’s wrong?” I breathe, searching his eyes for the answer.
All I see is steely resolve.
“Kissing you was a mistake. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Technically, I kissed him, but calling it a mistake cuts far more deeply than I would have anticipated. And suddenly, I’m out of his lap and on my bare feet, glaring down at him. “Why do you hate me so much?” I demand.
“I don’t,” he says simply, looking up at me from his cocoon of warmth on the ground.
All I want to do is crawl back into his lap and soak up the comfort of his arms. But I can’t keep putting myself out there, only to get crushed. I need to keep my distance—even if it means I spend one night freezing cold.
“How can you possibly say that when you’ve done nothing but insult me and push me away? You basically called me a stripper on my birthday and didn’t want to dance with me at the club,” I point out. “You avoided me like the plague the next morning, standing all the way across the kitchen from me—when you also suggested I’m willing to give my body to any rando who comes along.”
Ticking each item off on my fingers, I keep listing the clear signs he’s given me. “You didn’t want to dance with me tonight, either. You only did it because my brother forced you to, and when the song was over, you left me stranded on the dance floor. Whenever I try to talk to you, you seem like I can’t shut up fast enough. You can barely look at me, and when you do, it’s like I’ve personally offended you! Now, kissing me is a mistake? How else am I supposed to interpret you?”
Mishka sits stunned, his frown gone for the first time as I seem to have left him speechless.
“I don’t know what I did to make you dislike me so much, but I think I at least deserve to know why,” I state, my temper making me sound far more imperious than I would like.
“And what makes you think you deserve that?” he snaps, his scowl returning in full force as he comes to a stand as well.
“As far as I can tell, my family has been nothing but kind to you since you walked through the door. Sure, I might be a hot mess, but I hardly think that means you have a right to treat me like you have. So I deserve an answer because otherwise, you’re not even giving me a chance!” I step forward to glare up into his face, my hands finding my hips at the same time.
“Well, I already told you I don’t dislike you.” Crossing his arms, he presses his lips together as he visibly clams up.
Angry tears sting the backs of my eyes. “People don’t just go around saying the kinds of things you say to me for no reason,” I counter. My voice is quieter this time because I’m scared he’ll hear the quaver in it if I speak much louder.
But he must catch it anyway because his expression transforms, softening from angry to remorseful as the silence stretches between us. Sighing heavily, Mishka lets one arm drop to his side and scratches the back of his neck with the other. His eyes drop as conflict flashes across his features.
“Please, Mishka,” I murmur, spotting the weak point in his armor. “Just tell me what I did wrong.”
His stormy blue eyes flash up to mine in an instant, a fire flickering in their depths that makes my stomach tremble. “Wrong? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why do you hate me?” I press.
With a growl, Mishka turns away from me, combing his fingers through his dark, unruly hair and mussing it even more perfectly as he starts to pace. When he turns to face me once more, steely resolution glints in his eyes. “I don’t hate you, Alina—of course I don’t. I’m about as far from hating you as a man can get. But your brother warned me to stay away from you, and I can’t just ignore a direct order from my employer. I’d have to have a death wish to do that.”
Shocked by his confession, I don’t know what to say next.
I can see why Viktor might have told Mishka to stay away from me. Mishka isn’t the kind of guy my father would necessarily approve of. But it pisses me off that either my brother or my father thinks they should have a say in who is allowed to get close to me.
My lips part, but for a moment I can’t speak because one phrase of Mishka’s in particular wiped away the anger that had been building inside me. “I’m about as far from hating you as a man can get.” “Does that mean you… like me?”
Mishka’s energy intensifies as he finally opens up, his voice strained with the fever of his emotion. “Fuck, Alina, you have to be one of the sexiest, most captivating women I’ve ever met. It’s been torture to be near you because every time you flirt with me, I want you more. Your smile, your laughter are like a drug to me, so I’m constantly trying to quit you and going through withdrawal. And yes, I said shit I don’t mean because it kills me to watch another man touch you when I can’t. I can’t look at you or talk to you because I don’t trust myself to keep my distance.”
Mishka steps close to me once more, suddenly entering my personal space as he brings his face within a foot of mine. His tone deepens dangerously, sending a shiver up my spine. “I’ve been using every ounce of self-control not to do the things I want to do to you. And kissing you was a mistake because now, I’ve had a taste.”
Stunned by his admission, I feel suddenly breathless. He’s so close, I can feel the heat radiating from his body. My body responds instinctually, my heart fluttering, my mouth suddenly dry with yearning. “What kinds of things do you want to do to me?” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes from the inferno of his gaze.
Leaning in, Mishka captures my chin between his finger and thumb. As he tips my face closer, he drops his voice to a whisper. “I want to strip you naked and taste every inch of your body.”
My stomach quivers at the suggestion, and goosebumps ripple across my flesh.
“I want to put my fingers inside you and feel how wet you get.”
