Page 45 of The Russian's Bought Bride

“Oh,” she says as her eyes stay fixed on mine while she looks me over.

That’s all she says, but there’s heat rising into her cheeks now as soft pink spreads across her skin, and suddenly I’m intensely aware of how close we’re standing.

We’re far too close, yet not close enough, and I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.

I should step back, but instead, I hear myself say, “Still missed some.”

Her brows lift slightly, and she murmurs like she’s testing me, “Where?”

Moving before I think too hard about it, my fingers close lightly around her wrist, and I tug her a half-step closer. It’s just enough that the warmth of her body brushes mine.

She inhales sharply.

My thumb slowly brushes along the edge of her jaw this time. “There.”

There’s no flour there, and we both know it, yet she doesn’t call me out on it.

Her pulse flutters beneath my fingertips, fast and frantic, and mine isn’t much better.

The kitchen suddenly feels too small and warm, and I can smell vanilla on her skin beneath the faint scent of soap. Admittedly, it’s doing very bad things to my self-control.

I should let go…But I don’t.

Her lips part slightly as she looks up at me, and Christ, that’s worse.

Every instinct I have starts pulling in opposite directions at once. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t even entertain the thought of finding her this attractive, but she’s looking at me like she feels it too. And maybe that’s what finally breaks something in me.

I’ve spent days keeping my distance while wanting to drag her closer every single time she looked at me. I’ve spentdays listening to her cry behind closed doors and feeling fucking helpless about it. Spent days fighting the urge to touch her, comfort her, and do anything that might ease some of her pain. Now she’s standing here warm and alive beneath my hands, teasing me in my kitchen like we’re something normal instead of whatever this mess is.

It’s too much, and I can’t get enough.

“Nikolai,” she says softly.

My name. The sound of something so simple coming from her mouth nearly undoes me.

Sliding my hand from her wrist to her waist before I can stop myself, I pull her fully against me, catching as her breath hitches harder this time.

The tension snaps taut between us instantly, and every inch of her body goes still for one lingering second. I realize this is the moment where she decides to either push me away, tell me to get the hell off her, or remind me this is a terrible idea.

Instead, her fingers curl lightly into the front of my shirt, and my control doesn’t stand a chance.

I swallow harder than I mean to. “You should stop looking at me like that.”

Her lashes flutter slightly while she looks up at me, her voice soft. “Like what?”

“Like you’re curious.”

A faint, nervous smile touches her mouth, and it almost startles me. “Maybe I am.”

Staring at her for a second too long, I try very hard to hold onto whatever restraint I have left despite feeling like I’mstanding on the precipice of something far bigger than I know what to do with.

Still, it’s not enough.

The next thing I know, I’m leaning in and kissing her.

There’s no smooth lead-up or careful consideration. One moment, I’m staring at her mouth, and the next, my hand is at the back of her neck with my lips on hers.

Christ.