Page 5 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

The stranger's arm shifts under my grip, muscles flexing beneath expensive fabric. "I don't lie."

Something in his tone makes it clear that's the end of the discussion. It's not loud or aggressive, just… absolute. Final.

Arnie's face goes red. "This is bullshit. You can't just⁠—"

"Leave." One word. That's all it takes. The stranger doesn't raise his voice, doesn't move, but suddenly, the air feels heavier, more dangerous.

Arnie opens his mouth, closes it, then turns and storms off into the crowd. I watch him go, hardly believing it worked.

"Thank you," I breathe, turning to face my unexpected savior. "I'm so sorry, I just needed him to⁠—"

The words die in my throat as I get my first real look at him.

Oh, my God.

I hadn't been paying attention when I grabbed him. I'd been too focused on Arnie, too desperate to escape. But now, looking at him properly, I can't breathe.

He's not just attractive. He's devastating.

Dark brown eyes meet mine, and there's something in them that makes my stomach flip. Something dangerous and knowing and intense. His light brown hair has threads of gray running through it, and his scruffy beard frames a mouth that's currently curved into the barest hint of a smile. He's older than me, maybe late thirties or early forties, and he wears it like a weapon.

Heat floods my face as my eyes drop without permission. His dark shirt stretches across broad shoulders and a chest that looks solid enough to break someone in half. The fabric pulls tight across his flat stomach, and lower, his jeans sit in a way that makes my mouth go dry. I can see the outline of him, thick and prominent, and Jesus Christ, I need to stop staring.

My gaze jerks back up to his face, where one eyebrow has risen slightly. He caught me looking.

"I… um…" My brain has apparently stopped working. "Thank you. Really. You didn't have to do that."

He nods once, still watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes. Then his mouth curves into something that might be a smile. "Since you've publicly claimed me as your fiancé, we'll have to get married for real."

I blink once, twice. Then I laugh, the tension breaking. "Right. Good one."

He doesn't laugh with me, doesn't even smile. He just keeps looking at me with that steady, intense gaze that makes my skin feel too tight.

"You're joking," I say, but it comes out less certain than I intended.

"I don't joke."

My heart does another one of those weird, stuttering things. "You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious." He tilts his head slightly, studying me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. "You used me to solve your problem. Now you're mine."

There's something in the way he says "mine" that sends a shiver down my spine. Not fear, exactly. Something else. Something that makes me very aware of how close we're standing, how his hand has somehow found its way to the small of my back.

"I don't even know your name," I manage.

"Emil."

"Emil," I repeat, and I like the way it feels in my mouth. Strong. Solid. "I'm Kiera."

"I know." His thumb traces a small circle against my back, and I feel it through the thin fabric of my dress like a brand. "Arnie said it. When you were claiming me."

"I didn't mean—" I start, but he's already moving, guiding me deeper onto the dance floor with a hand that's both gentle and completely unyielding.

"Dance with me, Kiera."

It's not a question. It's a command delivered in that same calm, certain tone that made Arnie back down. I should probably be annoyed by that. Instead, I find myself moving with him, letting him pull me close as the music shifts to something slower, heavier.

His body against mine is solid and warm, and I can feel the strength in him, coiled and controlled. One hand stays on my back, the other catches mine, and we move together like we've done this a thousand times before.