Page 18 of Sinful Union

My throat tightens. “Red? This dress is emerald green.”

He grins wickedly. “I’m not talking about the dress. I’m talking about your skin, the shade your cheeks turn when you come.”

I stand my ground, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “You should stop staring,” I reply coolly. “It’s rude.”

The grin fades momentarily before his lips curl up on one side, the smallest twitch of amusement. His fingers brush over my exposed collarbone, light as a whisper, the warmth of his touch setting fire to my skin. My breath catches as he leans in, his mouth grazing over the exact same spot, his lips warm and soft, his stubble rough.

A shiver rips through me. He kisses me, then again, making a slow, methodical trail along my throat, his hand sliding to the small of my back, anchoring me. My heart slams against my ribs.

“Pavel,” I whisper, a warning without meaning.

He exhales; his breath hot against my skin. “Say it again. Say my name.”

My stomach flips, heat flashing through me in a wave of need, anger, and confusion.

His lips find the other side of my collarbone, pressing into my skin, teasing, tasting. My arms wrap around his neck without thought, my fingers slipping into the short, dark strands at his nape, clinging to him because I simply can’t fucking help it.

His hands slide down, pulling me closer, flush against his body. I can think of nothing else except how good he feels. My panties are soaked. God, why does he have this effect on me? How can I kill him when my body still belongs to him? His mouth claims mine, harsh and demanding, his tongue teasing past my lips before I can even think to resist.

He finally pulls back, his lips inches from mine, his breath hot against my swollen mouth, his blue eyes staring into my soul, burning, knowing. He sees the way I want him. The way I’ve always wanted him. His fingers lazily trail down my arm before he steps back, gaze locked on mine.

“Ready?” he asks.

I force a small, breathless laugh, masking the torment raging inside. “Ready,” I reply.

I don’t look back.

Chapter 9

Kat

Pavel’s eyes burn into mine as we step out onto the private terrace of the restaurant, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in the background.The setting is breathtaking: candles flickering on the table, a bottle of wine waiting to be poured, the moon casting a silver glow over everything. But it’s not the ocean, the candles, or the wine that has my pulse pounding. It’s him. His sharp suit, the way he moves like he owns every space he steps into, the heat in his gaze as he watches me.

“You should know,” he says, “I nearly ripped that dress off you the second I saw you in it.”

A thrill runs through me, my stomach flipping. “And why didn’t you?”

His hand slides along my waist, his fingers brushing just enough to tease before he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. He pulls back, his eyes dragging over my body slowly, intentionally, possessively. “The only reason I didn’t is because I promised you a beautiful evening.”

Heat coils between my thighs.

I should be wary. I should be thinking about the vial hidden in my makeup case, the plan I was supposed to have executed already.Instead, I give him a sexy smirk. “I wouldn’t have argued too much if we’d missed dinner,” I admit.

His laughter is low and deep, wrapping around me like smoke. “Tempting,” he says, his eyes flashing. “But when you taste this food, you’ll be glad I tempered my urges.”

* * *

He was right.

Dinner is delicious. The wine is rich, the food decadent, and the conversation easy. Flirting with Pavel feels natural, effortless, like we picked up right where we left off all those years ago. We talk about surface-level things, life, our families.I don’t want him to get too close. I let him near my heart once, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I cannot,willnot, allow that again. I am, after all, intending to kill him.

His gaze lingers on me as he swirls his wine, his voice soft, curious, intentional. “Tell me something about you,” he says, “something I don’t already know.”

I hesitate, looking out at the view. I can feel his eyes on me, studying, waiting. For a second, I consider giving him something real. A piece of myself. But then I remember what I came here to do. “Don’t you know enough about me already?” I ask curtly.

“I could spend all night learning about you, Kat,” he replies. “There’s no such thing as enough.”

I push my food around my plate. “There isn’t anything else you need to know.”

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