Page 50 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

The curve of her ass when she climbed out of the pool, water sliding down her skin. Perfect and round, fitting my hands like she was made for me. The way her tits looked in that bikini, full and soft, her nipples hard against the wet fabric. I remember the weight of them in my palms, the way she arched into my touch. The flat plane of her stomach, smooth and toned. The flare of her hips.

The way she responded when I touched her. Like her body recognized mine. Like she was made to be claimed by me.

Those sounds she made. The breathy gasps when I first pushed inside her. The moans when I went deeper. The way she said my name when she came apart around me.

I'm hard just thinking about it, my cock aching with the need to be inside her again. I could go to her right now. Walk down the hall, push open the door, and take what I want.

But I can't. Not tonight. My blood is still running too hot from the interrogation. I want to fuck her so hard she forgets everything except my name, and I'd scare her.

So I lie here in the dark, wanting and needing her, and knowing I can't have her. Not yet.

The hours crawl by. I hear the guards change shifts outside and the house settle around me. But I don't sleep.

By the time dawn breaks, I've made my decision.

I get up, shower again, and dress in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks. I look at myself in the mirror and see the same man I've always been. Hard. Dangerous. Uncompromising.

But there's something different in my eyes now. Something that wasn't there before I met her.

I head downstairs to the dining room and have the kitchen prepare breakfast. Eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and pastries. There's also sausage, biscuits, and gravy, as well as coffee, tea, hot chocolate, and orange juice.

Then I wait.

When Luca appears in the doorway with Kiera, my breath catches.

She's wearing the same clothes from yesterday, her red hair slightly mussed from sleep. There are dark circles under her eyes. And her face is set in an expression of pure fury.

If looks could kill, my corpse would be on the table right now.

She sits across from me without a word, doesn't look at me or even acknowledge the food in front of her.

I pour her coffee and slide it across the table. She ignores it.

We eat in silence. Or rather, I eat. She picks at a piece of toast, chewing mechanically, her jaw tight with anger.

The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

I can't stand it anymore.

"Your brother Jack is a cop," I finally say.

She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed. "So?"

"So he knows who I am. What I do. And now you've seen it too. You've seen me interrogate someone. You've seen the violence."

"What's your point?"

"My family won't let you just walk away with that knowledge. They'll see you as a threat, a liability. They'll want to eliminate that threat."

I watch the realization dawn on her face, watch the color drain from her cheeks.

"You mean they'll kill me."

"They'll try."

"And you'd let them?"

The question pisses me off more than it should. "No, I wouldn't fucking let them. That's why you're staying here. That's why you're under my protection."