Page 50 of The Russian's Bought Bride

“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmurs sleepily.

I blink slightly, finding my voice again. “That so?”

“Mhm.”

A faint smile touches my mouth despite myself, and my fingers slide along her stomach slowly. “You planning on elaborating?”

“No,” she says softly. “But whatever it is…you should probably stop before you give yourself a headache.”

I huff out a quiet laugh at that. If only she knew.

Carefully, I rinse the soap from her skin before I let the water rain down on me next, dragging a hand down my face as I try to cool down the thoughts that are getting increasingly difficult to control.

This entire situation has spiraled beyond anything I anticipated.

Danielle was supposed to be temporary. Not that she was something to discard, but because she was a woman I protected when she got caught in the middle of something ugly, and that was supposed to be it.

We were never supposed to get this close, and now she’s in my shower, wearing marks I put on her skin, and I’m standing here wondering how the hell I’m supposed to let her go when the time comes.

Liability or not, I want her more than I should, and not just physically.

That part is obvious enough, but this pull toward her feels deeper than that, and that’s the part throwing me off balance.

I’ve had women before, but none of them ever stayed in my head like this. None of them made me feel calmer yet more out of control at the same time, and none of them looked at me like they could somehow see past all the ugly parts and find something worth staying for.

That’s what Danielle does without even realizing it, and it’s more dangerous than she could possibly know.

Eventually, I shut the water off before I completely lose my mind again, and I wrap a towel around her carefully.

Dani groans quietly in protest, like she doesn’t want to move.

“Tired?”

She gives me a look like I’m stupid for even having to ask.

I snort softly. “Message received.”

By the time we make it back to the bedroom, she’s already half-asleep and leaning more weight against me than she probably realizes, but I don’t mind. I guide her carefully onto the bed before pulling the blankets over both of us once our towels are discarded.

The room is dim except for the low bedside lamp casting warmth across the sheets, and Danielle curls instinctively toward me the second she settles, her hand resting lightly against my chest, more like she belongs there.

The thought hits suddenly enough to unsettle me, and I can’t even begin to unpack it.

Brushing damp hair back from her face quietly, I study her while her eyes drift heavier and heavier.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs.

“Can you blame me?”

A sleepy smile tugs at her mouth. “I definitely can.”

“Then blame me all you want. I can take it.”

Her cheeks flush faintly before she hides part of her face against the pillow under the guise of getting more comfortable.

She looks…cute.

Christ. That word alone should concern me, and to some degree, it does.