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I awake cocooned in something warm and big. It feels nice. I sigh and bury my face into the pillow. The hold around my body tightens slightly, and my eyes pop open, zeroing in on a thick tattooed arm wrapped around my waist.
There is a man in my bed.
I blink. Why the hell is there a man in my bed?! Screaming, I try to untangle myself, but the grip on my middle only grows stronger.
“Stop.” Drago’s husky voice rumbles behind me. “I’m trying to sleep.”
I push against his forearm, only managing the tiniest movement, then twist around, ending up with my face pressed into his neck. My God, he smells amazing. I tilt my head slightly and inhale. It’s something woodsy with a mix of—I breathe in again—oh, a touch of mint.
“Stop sniffing me, Sienna, and go back to sleep.”
“I’m not sniffing you,” I mumble and resume trying to free myself from his embrace. “Let me go.”
Drago doesn’t move a muscle. I press my palms to his hard chest and push. A heavy sigh sounds above my head, and his hold on me loosens. I roll to the other side of the bed and spring up.
“What are you doing in my bed?” Hands on my hips, I glare down at my husband, who’s watching me with hooded eyes.
Drago is stretched out on the bed, his right arm tucked under his head. He’s not wearing a shirt, but a sliver of navy-blue pajama bottoms peek from under the sheet.
“This ismybed. You were in it when I came home.”
“What? When Zivka brought me upstairs after dinner, she told me this would be my room. All my suitcases were already here.”
“And you are my wife, so it’s expected that both you and your suitcases would be here.”
I scan the room and realize that it does look like it belongs to a man. I was so mentally exhausted last night that I just changed into my pj’s, brushed my teeth, and went to sleep without actually paying attention to my surroundings.
“I think both my luggage and I would prefer to have a separate room.” I glance back at Drago. His eyes are closed, and his chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm.
“Drago?”
He’s asleep. Fucking great.
I should go take a shower and get dressed. Then, I need to find Zivka and ask her if there’s another room I could have. That would be a smart thing to do, but I can’t take my eyes off my husband. He looks different when he sleeps. Less . . . brooding somehow.
There’s an area of patchy skin on his neck. I noticed it during dinner yesterday, but his shirt hid most of it from view. What I could see looked like a small scar. Now, however, it’s clear that the bit I spotted yesterday was only a part of something much larger. The skin on his shoulder and down his left arm, all the way to his elbow where his tattoos start, is discolored and has a slightly bumpy texture. I put my knee on the bed and slowly lean forward to have a better look. Drago’s hand suddenly shoots up, his fingers wrap around my arm.
“Changed your mind about coming back to bed?” he asks and focuses his gaze on my lips.
“No.” I smile. “I don’t sleep with men I haven’t personally invited into my bed.”
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes the moment the words leave my mouth.
“If I catch any man touching you, even with just the tip of his finger, he’ll lose much more than his hand.” The hold he has on my arm tightens. “This marriage might have been arranged, but from this point forward, the only man allowed to look at you, touch you, or fuck you . . . is me.”
A pleasant shiver runs through me, and I bite the inside of my cheek. “Why don’t you, then?”
Drago tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing my reaction. He releases my arm, and his fingers glide over the swell of my breast, down the valley of my chest, and then lower, past the waistband of my pajama bottoms. My breaths quicken. His touch may be light, but my body’s response is anything but. I’m not accustomed to being touched by men I don’t know, and I’ve never spent a night in bed with one. I should be concerned, not turned on by his gentle strokes. Not wishing for his hand to slide lower. But I do.
How would it feel to be pinned under that big body while his heated touch sears my naked flesh? A pleasant shiver runs down my spine from the mere thought. Drago’s palm slips between my legs, pressing on my pussy over the silky fabric while his gaze captures mine, and I have to bite my bottom lip to stop the moan from escaping. I’ve never been attracted to hard, grumpy men, but for some remarkable reason, I’m absolutely enthralled by my stranger of a husband.
“I would enjoy that very much.” He puts more pressure on my quivering center, and I feel myself getting wet. “But I don’t fuck liars,mila moya.”
With one last caress, Drago pulls his hand from between my legs and turns his back to me. I grind my teeth, then get off the bed and march across the room into the bathroom, making sure I slam the door closed with all my strength.
Ten minutes later, I crouch in front of a suitcase and rummage through its contents, searching for something nice to wear. Bright clothes make me feel happy even when I’m not. I find underwear and a blue blouse, but my favorite orange jeans are not in there. I slam the lid of the suitcase closed and move to the second one. Drago keeps sleeping, absolutely oblivious to the racket I’m making. In the third suitcase, I finally find the jeans I’m after and the fluffy slipper booties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I unwrap the towel from around me and start getting dressed.
He called me a liar. I guess he’s right, in a way. I did, after all, come here to spy on him for the don. But it still hurts. And the fact that it does, bothers me. There’re only two people whom I allow close enough to be bothered by—my brother and sister. As far as other people are concerned, I let their actions or remarks slide. If I don’t care about them, their opinions or behavior can’t hurt me. And I don’t give a fuck what Drago Popov thinks of me.
