Page 6 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"So," I say, trying to regain some sense of normalcy, "you're really going to keep insisting we're engaged?"

"Yes."

"Because I grabbed your arm and said you were my fiancé to get rid of my ex?"

"Yes."

I laugh again, shaking my head. "You're insane."

"Perhaps." His hand slides lower on my back, fingers splaying across the curve just above my ass. "Or perhaps I simply see an opportunity when it presents itself."

"An opportunity for what?"

His eyes meet mine, and there's heat there. Real, unmistakable heat that makes my breath catch. "That remains to be seen."

We dance for what feels like hours. He doesn't talk much, but when he does, his words are deliberate, chosen carefully. He asks me questions and actually listens to the answers. It's intoxicating, having someone's full attention like this. Having his attention.

I can't stop looking at him. The way his jaw clenches when someone bumps into us. The way his eyes track every movement around us, always aware and watching. The ink crawling up his neck from beneath his collar, elaborate designs that hint at more hidden beneath his clothes. The way his body moves against mine, confident and controlled and so damn sexy, I can barely think straight.

"You're staring," he murmurs at one point, his mouth close to my ear.

"You're worth staring at," I shoot back, and I swear I feel him smile against my hair.

His friend, the tall one with the goatee who was with him earlier, appears at some point, raising an eyebrow at Emil. They have a brief, silent conversation that I can't interpret, and then the friend melts back into the crowd.

"Your friend thinks I'm crazy," I guess.

"Luca thinks everyone is crazy." Emil's hand tightens on my waist, pulling me closer. "He's not wrong."

"Are you crazy?"

"Probably." He pulls back enough to look at me, and there's something in his expression that makes my pulse race. Something predatory and possessive. "But I'm also serious. About the engagement."

"Emil—"

"You'll see," he says simply, and then he's kissing me.

It's not a gentle kiss. It's claiming, possessive, the kind of kiss that makes my knees weak and my brain shut off completely. His hand fists in my short hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it, and I melt into him like I've been waiting my whole life for this. His other hand grips my ass, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel every hard inch of him pressed against my stomach.

When he finally pulls back, I'm breathing hard, my lips tingling, my entire body on fire.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

His mouth curves into a real smile this time, and it transforms his face. "Go home, Kiera. I'll be in touch."

"But—"

"Go home." He releases me, stepping back, and suddenly, I'm cold without his body against mine. "Before I change my mind about letting you leave."

I should argue. Should demand answers. Should do a lot of things. Instead, I find myself nodding, backing away, my eyes locked on his until the crowd swallows him up.

Sarah and Jess find me near the exit, both of them talking at once, demanding to know what happened, who that was, and why I'm looking at them like I've been hit by a truck.

"I don't know," I tell them honestly. "I have no idea what just happened."

Back in my apartment, I can't sleep. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment. The way Emil looked at me. The way he touched me. How he kissed me like he owned me.

"Since you've publicly claimed me as your fiancé, we'll have to get married for real."