Page 19 of Sinful Union

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push. His brow furrows, as if a thought just occurred to him. “Let me send the guards away.”

“The guards?” I look around, not spotting anyone in the restaurant who appears to be a guard.

“They’re here, but they’re very good at their jobs; that’s why you don’t see them,” he says with a wink. “One second.”

He sends a quick text. Next thing I know, three large men appear from different corners of the restaurant. One of them approaches our table, while the other two walk out the door.

He leans down next to Pavel and asks, “Are you sure? I’m not entirely convinced this place is secure.”

“I’m sure. Stick around but stay back.”

“Yes, Boss.”

With that, he, too, vanishes into the crowd before exiting out the side door.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Dangerous and risky. You should listen to your men. There are plenty of people who might want one of us—or both of us—dead.”

I arch an eyebrow as Pavel stands, offering me his hand.

“A walk?” he asks.

I slide my palm into his, and the second his fingers wrap around mine, sparks seem to fly invisibly around us. I should pull away.

But I don’t.

* * *

The sand is cool beneath my bare feet, the waves rolling in, steady and hypnotic, the scent of salt clinging to the breeze. The hem of my dress flutters around my ankles, teasing against my skin. It should be a perfect night.

“We can be happy together, you know,” he says. He hasn’t let go of my hand all night.

I’m about to respond when music begins to spill from a club nearby—a rhythmic pulse, low and sultry—vibrating through the air. Without warning, Pavel spins me, then pulls me against him, his arms locking around my waist in one fluid movement. I gasp, laughing before I can stop myself. “What are you doing?”

Pavel smirks, his blue eyes flashing. “Dancing with my wife.”

“This isn’t a dance floor,” I point out, though my arms betray me as they slide up his chest, my fingers curling into his shirt.

His grip tightens on my waist, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he sways us to the music. “It is if I say it is.”

Cocky bastard.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t fight it. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything. The heat between us, the way he looks at me, the way he touches me… It’s nothing more than my body’s natural response to the history between us.

Lust. Nothing else.

But when he dips me back, his strong arm holding me like a promise, his mouth brushing mine in the barest tease of a kiss, it doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels like everything. We move together, our bodies pressed tightly together, our steps effortless. Pavel has changed. He’s still dangerous, still powerful, but there’s something different about him now. He’s calmer, more at ease. He took over the Bratva at a very young age. I remember how serious he was back then, always strategizing, planning, watching. But tonight he’s just a man dancing with his wife.

And for one reckless, fleeting second, I let myself be his wife.

Suddenly, three men stumble out of the club. One of them whistles, his eyes crawling over me.

“Damn, look at that ass,” he says, laughing.

I freeze.

I haven’t been called out for my body in years. I’ve learned to love my curves, to own them, to embrace the power in the way I command space. But the way he said it felt like an insult, causing a sharp and unexpected sting.

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