Where the hell was he? I was ready to tell him off and make him take me home, away from him forever. Wait til I told Emory about this shit.My cousin would be as pissed as I was. I reached for my phone… then remembered the last place I saw it was in Mikhail’s beefy hands. Sighing, I stood again, making my way to the sitting room that fronted the suite. I grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and turned on the 733-inch TV (that’s how big it looked anyway). One of those true crime shows popped up along with a clock in one corner of the screen.
3:44 AM!Where the f?—
My internal tirade was interrupted when I heard a low conversation outside the door, Targen’s unmistakable voicechecking in with the guard stationed there. And then the door opened.
He stepped in quietly, his tall frame clad in another t-shirt, joggers, socks, and slides. He’d changed clothes. But nothing he wore could hide how fine he was, all lean, corded muscles and long, loose limbs. The weight loss made his cheekbones more prominent, his face just as striking as ever. But?—
“Your scars.”
I bit my lip, mad that I’d let his ass know that I noticed anything about him. He looked at me, one corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile.
“Some kind of cream from a Russian healer. And a small surgery. My father doesn’t want it to look as if his enemies won.” He shrugged, as if it were nothing. I knew better.
“You want them gone?”
“They’ll fade a little more. They’ll never be gone. I’m good with that. How is the room?”
He changed the subject abruptly, his gaze brushing over me again before sweeping our surroundings. It was my turn to shrug.
“You know the room is gorgeous. It’s also not mine. Take me home, Targen.”
He walked toward me, every step sharpening the invisible pull of his alluring scent and his easy masculinity. My heart settled into a slow, anticipatory thump. I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to back down. When he reached me, he tilted my chin up and pressed a warm, mint-scented kiss against my lips.
“Patience,milaya. I will as soon as our house is ready,” he murmured before strolling past me and into the bedroom.
I marched behind him.
“Ugh! That’s not what I mean, and you know it! And don’t kiss me. I do not know what kind of Russian crack you beensmoking that’s giving you these delusions, but I am not going to live with you, marry you, birth your children, none of it, crazy ass sociopath! I would rather?—”
He turned, then, and before I knew it, his lips were on mine again. Only, this was no little peck. Targen kissed the hell out of me. His mouth, somehow firm but soft, coaxed my lips into parting. His tongue slid inside my mouth, and in an instant, it seemed as if he were breathing life inside of me. Our tongues mated as his hand lightly gripped my neck. His kiss was slow, sensuous, and absolutely scorching as he tried to devour my mouth. I moaned softly as he nibbled at my lips, his hands moving to rub and massage my back.I don't want this, I tried to convince myself, even as I melted into him. Finally, he pulled back, leaving a last lingering kiss on the side of my mouth.
“Been calling you ‘sweetheart,’” he said roughly. “Should have been calling you ‘honey.’ That's what you are. Honey skin, honey eyes, honey taste.Fuck, Theory, I want you so bad.”
I shook my head, twisting to get out of his arms. “You can't have me.”
“Yet,” he corrected, releasing me.
I missed his arms almost immediately. But I had to shake that off. “Targen?—”
“I won’t touch your body, Theory, but I’ma kiss you. Both of us like it. And that’s good; my wife should always greet me with a kiss,” he taunted, a smirk slashing across his handsome face.
“Stop calling me that,” I hissed.
He sat on the bench, then patted the space beside him. “Come here.”
“No. Coming over there won’t fix this. Get up and?—”
“You come here, and I’ll explain what tonight is about.”
I studied him for a moment, debating whether to believe him. But what choice did I really have? Huffing, I walked overand sat as far away from him as I could. I side-eyed him before demanding, “Talk.”
“You remember what I told you about how I got my scars?” he asked.
I nodded, wondering what that had to do with his snatching me.
“Well, while I was… gone, my brother and my father had eyes on you. Maxim had grabbed the piece of shit who hurt you and put him up for me. My family warned his, and they agreed to stand down. But nobody trusted that shit, and just as expected, they tried to slither their snake asses close a couple of times. But it was handled.”
My eyes widened, my attention suddenly riveted. An old fear, dark and consuming, rose inside me. “Targen! See? This is why I didn’t want?—”
