My head starts to spin, reality tilting on its axis. This isn’t the same man who forced himself on me hours ago. This is someone else, someone who asks instead of takes, who coaxes instead of demands. This is the man who kissed me in the bar.
The contrast leaves me dizzy, confused, and uncertain of which version of him is the mask.
Despite every warning bell—every voice screaming that this is wrong, dangerous, stupid—I begin to respond. My lips part. A small, involuntary sound escapes my throat. Not quite a sigh, not quite a whimper.
A warm, furry presence bumps our legs, inserting itself between us. Pixie. She brushes against my calf as she weaves figure eights around our feet, oblivious to the charged moment she’s interrupting.
I smile against Alexei’s mouth at the absurdity of the situation, unable to help myself. My cat’s playing chaperone to the most dangerous kiss of my life.
The low growl vibrating through Alexei’s chest triggers a primal urge in me. One that responds to his raw masculinity before my brain can intervene.
The kiss deepens, though he still doesn’t touch me with anything other than his mouth.
No hands on my waist, no fingers in my hair. Just the increasing pressure of his lips against mine. He becomes more demanding. Insistent, yet controlled. His tongue sweeps across my lips. I part them more, welcoming him in.
Pixie, who doesn’t want any part of this escalation, scrambles away, disappearing toward the kitchen.
I, however, don’t move.
Alexei hovers above me, head bent to maintain the connection between us, body a wall of radiating heat. Heassaults my mouth with systematic passion, snaring me deeper into his web.
And God help me, it’s working.
My breath comes out in short pants. Everything is so overwhelming. His soft lips on mine, the scruff of his jaw, the intensity in his gaze, his heady scent. He’s plowing through all my carefully constructed walls.
My captor.
My protector.
I want to hate him.Shouldhate him. But with his lips devouring mine, hatred is the furthest thing from my mind.
The kiss roughens at the edges.
His teeth graze my lower lip. Not quite a bite, but a reminder that his gentleness is a choice, not a necessity. The act is simultaneously intoxicating and terrifying. This measured aggression and calculated seduction.
My traitorous body leans in, craving more, and I forget everything but the electric current running between us.
In our first real physical contact beyond our lips, Alexei nudges a knee between my thighs. I gasp as white-hot pleasure surges to my core. My hands hover at my sides. I want to touch him, but I’m afraid to cross that line without permission.
As if that sound, that hesitation, was exactly what he was waiting for, he breaks contact and backs away. The sudden absence leaves me flushed, disoriented, and swaying.
I blink up at him, lips still parted, breaths uneven.
The mask, complete with cold, flat eyes, slips back into place. As if he didn’t just turn my world upside down.
Again.
He jerks his chin toward the hallway. “You know where the bathroom is. There’s a guest room beside it.”
Before I can respond or understand what the hell just happened, he pivots and strolls away.
Unhurried, casual, and not conflicted in the least.
I find myself alone in the middle of his vast, empty loft, my body humming with unfulfilled desire, my mind an array of dizzying emotions.
Pixie materializes to nudge against my leg.
In my search for some kind of solace to soothe my fractured heart, my hand drifts to my grandmother’s necklace. “I know. I don’t understand it either.”
