Page 70 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

The room goes still.

His expression turns to stone. For one terrifying second I think I’ve ruined it.

“Oops,” I whisper, cheeks flaming. “I said that out loud. Uhm, you don’t have to—”

“Say it again.”

I blink. “What?”

“Repeat what you just said.”

“I… love you?”

“No.” He leans in, voice dropping. “Like you said it the first time. Not a question.”

I swallow, heart hammering against my ribs. “I love you.”

He crashes his mouth to mine, fierce, hungry, like he’s been starving for the words. The kiss starts furious, all teeth and need, then slows, turns languid, deep, like he’s savoring every second. His hand cups the back of my head, fingers threading into my messy bun.

Against my lips he murmurs something in Russian, soft, reverent, the syllables rolling off his tongue.

I pull back just enough. “Uh?”

He rests his forehead against mine, breath ragged. “I love you, solynshko.”

Then he kisses me again, slower this time, sweeter, like he’s sealing it. When we break apart, I’m dizzy, smiling so wide it hurts.

He loves me.

And I’ve never felt more like I belong somewhere than I do in this moment, with him.

Chapter Twenty

Laurel

Leonid leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “Calm down, baby. Nobody here is going to recognize you.” It’s the umpteenth time he’s said it tonight, and I can hear the patient edge in his voice.

I force a slow breath, trying to unclench my shoulders. The venue is smaller than I pictured, more intimate.

No sprawling ballroom with blinding chandeliers or red carpets; instead, soft golden light spills from low-hanging crystal fixtures, casting warm pools across dark wood floors and velvet-draped walls.

Round tables are set with crisp white linens, low floral centerpieces of white roses and eucalyptus, and the air smells faintly of expensive candles and aged whiskey. A string quartet playing something classical fills the room. There can’t be more than two hundred guests.

A waiter glides past with a silver tray. I snag a flute of champagne and take a careful sip. It helps settle the knot in my stomach.

When Leonid invited me to this charity gala a few days ago, my immediate answer was no. Hard no. He’s too prominent, and one photo of us together would be enough to set the rumor mill spinning at school. But he insisted it’s an intimate event, strictly no-press.

I scan the room again. Not a single lens in sight. No one’s even glancing our way. My shoulders finally drop a fraction. No one here knows who I am. No one cares.

I turn to Leonid. He’s watching me, that faint almost-smile tugging at his mouth.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “I know it’s easy for you to agree to keep us… secret.”

He groans low, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I don’t like it.” He shifts closer, voice dropping. “I want to show you off, Laurel. I want the whole damn world to know how fortunate I am that I have a beautiful, intelligent, kind, brilliant woman who chose me.”

Heat climbs my cheeks. I duck my head, smiling.

He brushes a thumb along my jaw, tilting my face back up. “I understand why you’re worried about your job. But you don’t need to be scared. If you’d just listen to me and quit, you no longer need to work when you have me.”