Page 41 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

I enter slowly, closing the door behind me. For once, I'm not looking for an argument. I sit in the chair across from him, and silence settles between us.

"The Aristocrat Wives' Circle came to visit this morning," I finally say.

"I heard. How did that go?"

"About as well as you'd expect. They made it very clear that my title doesn't impress them."

"It shouldn't." His bluntness is almost refreshing. He studies me for a moment. "You're handling this better than I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Tears. Tantrums. Demands that I fix it for you."

"I'm not that person," I say quietly. "I never was."

"And who are you really?"

"Someone who understands the weight of family expectations." I meet his eyes.

I stand and move toward the bookshelves, scanning the titles. Most are in Russian, old texts about history and warfare. I reach for one on a high shelf, stretching up on my toes.

The book shifts suddenly, and I lose my balance.

Samuil is out of his chair and next to me before I can even gasp in surprise, catching me before I fall. His hands grip my waist, and suddenly, we're standing too close. His chest is against my back, his breath warm against my neck.

"Careful," he murmurs.

I turn in his arms, and the space between us disappears. His eyes are dark and intense.

"Ana." His voice is rough and low, sending sparks of heat throughout my entire body.

I can tell he wants to kiss me, and before I have a chance to say "yes, please," his mouth is on mine. His mouth is soft against mine, coaxing and persuasive. The angry kisses we shared before were powerful, but this… this kiss has the power to send all thoughts flying from my brain.

His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer. I press against him, feeling the solid strength of his body, the controlled power he keeps leashed. My fingers thread through his hair, and he makes a low sound in his throat that sends heat pooling low in my stomach.

The kiss deepens and becomes more urgent. His hands move to my hips, lifting me slightly, and I wrap my arms around his neck. My back hits the bookshelf as we move closer together, rattling a couple of loose books. Neither of us pays any attention.

His mouth moves to my neck, trailing kisses along my throat. I tilt my head back, my breath coming faster, and let out a gasp of surprise when he nibbles at a particularly sensitive spot. Before I can recover from that, his hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin. I gasp against his mouth as his thumbs brush the underside of my breasts.

And then higher. His strong fingers slip beneath my bra and then his thumb and forefinger pinch and roll my nipples. Oh, God, this is too much. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive. I become so sensitive, I can feel, hear, and smell everything around me. The bookshelf digs into my back, but I don't care.

The length of his hardness is a huge bulge against my lower stomach and I want so badly to reach my hand down his pants and feel it with my bare hands. And why shouldn't I? He's touching me intimately. I should be doing the same.

But years of training, of having lectures and warnings about not making a scene or becoming the center of gossip, make me hesitate. Instead, I grab the hem of his shirt and start lifting it. He moves my hands aside and yanks his shirt over his head. My shirt comes off a breathless second later and then his mouth is on mine again.

"Fuck," he growls when our naked chests connect. His hand snakes around my shoulders and neck and he grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling my head backward before deepening the kiss.

We're moving toward the desk when we hear footsteps in the hallway outside. We freeze, both breathing hard. The footsteps pause outside the door, and for a moment I think whoever it is will come in. Then they continue past, fading down the hallway.

Samuil steps back, running a hand through his hair. His chest is rising and falling rapidly.

"We'd better get dressed," he says.

My body is zinging and hypersensitive, and he wants to get dressed? I almost demand that he get back over here and continue kissing me senseless, but then his phone rings. He glances at the screen and frowns.

"I need to take this." He reaches for his shirt and slips it over his head before answering.

My body is trembling with unreleased passion, but somehow, I manage to grab my shirt with shaking hands and slip it over my head.