Page 79 of His Stolen Bride

He makes a low sound, and it hits me hard.

I break the kiss long enough to breathe. “We’re in public.”

He glances toward the back, then back to me. “We’re alone.”

My pulse races. “Not alone enough.”

He steps closer, pinning me with his body, and his mouth drops to my jaw, then my neck, and I bite back a sound as his lips press there, slow and deliberate. His hands slide down to my hips, then he grips and lifts slightly, adjusting my position like he’s done it a hundred times.

I grab his coat. “Mikhail.”

He lifts his head, eyes locked on mine. “Tell me to stop.”

I should.

I don’t.

My fingers tug his tie loose, and his gaze drops to my hands, then returns to my face like he’s impressed and angry all at once. He pulls me into another kiss, and it turns messy fast, breath and teeth and the quiet sound of fabric shifting as his hand slips under my shirt and his palm presses warm against my stomach.

My whole body reacts, and it’s immediate.

I hate that my mind flashes to tomorrow, to cameras and exits and Vladimir’s smile, then it flashes back to Mikhail’s mouth on mine, and the whiplash makes me dizzy.

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, and he rests his forehead against mine.

“This place,” he says, voice rough. “You used to come here and wish for a different life.”

I swallow, throat tight. “Don’t.”

“I’m not here to talk,” he replies, then his hands slide up, and he grips my jacket, pulling it off my shoulders with controlled impatience.

The air is cooler against my skin, and it makes me shiver.

His eyes drop again, and his voice goes lower. “We’ve got a back room.”

I blink. “You can’t be serious.”

He doesn’t smile. “I’m serious.”

My breath catches, and my body betrays me with a rush of heat.

He takes my hand firmly and he leads me toward the hallway at the back, past the counter, past the kitchen door, and the owner doesn’t appear, yet I know she knows. Mikhail opens a door with a key, and it’s a small private room with a couch and a table and a single lamp that casts warm light.

He closes the door behind us, then he turns the lock.

I stare at him, heart hammering. “This is insane.”

He steps closer. “Say stop.”

I swallow. “I can’t.”

His eyes darken, and he pulls me into his arms, then he kisses me like he’s done waiting for permission in any form. My hands clutch his shirt, then slide under it, and I feel the hard lines of him, the heat, the control barely contained.

His hand slides up my thigh, slow, then higher, and I gasp into his mouth as he grips me and lifts, placing me on the edge of the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He breaks the kiss and looks at me, eyes sharp. “Tomorrow, you lead.”

I’m breathing hard. “And tonight?”