Page 47 of Anton

“Fine. But this doesn’t mean we’re friends.” He turns back to the open refrigerator.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, we’re back to that now? Fine. I’ll play along.” As I walk past him, I bump my elbow lightly against his side. “But just so you know, it’s okay to like me, Marinov. It won’t kill you.”

A low groan leaves him. “Have I told you how annoying you are today?”

“Not yet.” I drop into the chair at the counter. “But there’s still time.”

His jaw works, mouth tilting as he reaches for two plates. He’s such a softie. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“In that case…” he mutters, sliding a plate toward me. “You drive me crazy.”

Crazy? How? Please do elaborate.

“You love it.”

“A little too much,” he says under his breath as he grabs the containers.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just eat so I can get you out of here.”

“You always say the sweetest things.” I chuckle as he shakes his head and takes the empty chair beside me.

I don’t miss that. He could’ve sat across from me, but instead, he chose to be nearby. Trying not to look too pleased, I turn to my food.

He likes me. He doesn’t have to admit it, but I already know.

We eat in comfortable silence, and every so often, I catch him glancing my way. It takes everything in me not to grin like a completely infatuated idiot, but Anton makes that nearly impossible. He spends so much time shutting people out that I doubt he even notices the tenderness slipping through whenever he’s with me.

When he peers at me again, he laughs, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before. The sound is so real, it does dangerous things to my heart.

“What?” I pick at my potatoes before taking another bite.

He gestures toward my face. “You’ve got something there.”

“Where?” My fingers fly to the corner of my mouth, but his laughter only grows. “Oh, that’s funny to you?”

“Very.” Satisfaction glints in his eyes as he cuts into the chicken.

“All right.”

I scoop a little mashed potato onto my fingertip, lean across the counter, and press it onto the end of his nose. He goes completely still, and the disbelief crossing his face sends a grin spreading across mine.

“Oh, now you’re in trouble, printsessa.” He grabs his napkin and wipes off the mess I made.

“Really?”

“Da.”

The look in his eyes as he rises from the chair should probably make me nervous. Instead, my pulse jumps for an entirely different reason, anticipation unfurling beneath my skin as he studies my face with slow, deliberate focus. He grips the sides of my swivel chair and turns me away from the counter until I’m facing him completely.

I don’t move. Barely breathe. The space between us disappears inch by inch, his eyes burning into mine.

A deep throb pulses between my thighs, the need for him growing until it borders on pain. His fingers hook beneath my chin and tilt my face higher before his attention drops to my mouth.

Kiss me. Just kiss me. Please.

He leans in, drawing out the anticipation until I feel his breath brush my lips. The dark promise in his stare sends a rush through me as his mouth pauses just above mine.