Page 31 of Under His Control
“Yes?” he asks quietly, his eyes dark, hand pausing right where I desperately don’t want him to stop.
I swallow, heart racing. “You’re making it hard to keep this strictly business.”
“Good,” he replies, leaning in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “I’d hate to think I was the only one tempted to blur those lines.”
He tilts my chin upward with his free hand and captures my lips in a kiss that makes my head spin. Gentle at first, then deeper, demanding. His mouth is warm, skillful, coaxing my lips apart. I lean into him, losing all inhibitions, my body trembling as his hand slowly moves higher beneath my skirt, teasing closer to where I ache so badly for his touch.
Just as his fingertips brush my panties, sending sparks through my veins, the car glides smoothly to a stop in front of my apartment.
I blink, dizzy with frustration. “We’re here already?”
He pulls back slowly, eyes blazing with a hunger that mirrors mine. “Apparently.”
He helps me from the car, the night air cool and unwelcome after his hot touch. As we walk toward my door, he clears his throat. “We’ll be married one week from today.”
“Oh. So soon?”
“Yes.” He turns to face me fully, his expression carefully neutral again. “At the Little White Chapel.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You—seriously? The Little White Chapel?”
He shrugs, a rare glint of humor warming his eyes. “When in Vegas.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head in amused disbelief. “I guess I didn’t peg you as the Vegas cliché type.”
“You’ll find I have many layers,” he replies. “And it’s effective for our purposes. Quick, discreet, very Vegas.”
My chest tightens a little, anticipation threading through me again. “All right. One week. I’ll marry you.”
He steps closer, reaching up to gently brush a stray lock of hair from my face. His touch sends fresh heat through me, but this time he keeps it controlled. “Goodnight, Taylor.”
He leans forward and kisses me gently, chastely, on the cheek, so different from the possessive kiss in the car that I nearly laugh. But it still leaves my heart thudding and my skin burning.
I watch silently as he walks back to the waiting car. He slides in and closes the door, the sedan vanishing smoothly into the night.
I let out a shaky breath, fingers touching the spot on my cheek where he kissed me. My body still hums with frustration and desire, my mind spinning with a hundred different emotions—nervousness, excitement, confusion, longing.
He’d fought for me tonight. Protected me. Wanted me in a way I could feel to my core.
I walk into my apartment on shaky legs and close the door, leaning against it with a sigh. My fingers drift to my lips, still tingling from his kiss.
I can’t deny it. The idea of marrying Anatoly—a dangerous, complicated, and protective man—has suddenly become a lot less frightening, and infinitely more tempting.
As I prepare for bed, I replay every thrilling, terrifying moment. The confrontation, his quick strength, his restrained power. His touch, his mouth, the way he looked at me—like I’m precious, desirable, and worth defending.
One week. Then I’ll be his, at least officially.
But after tonight, a dangerous little voice whispers that maybe I want a lot more than just official.
CHAPTER 12
TAYLOR
The Little White Chapel smells like fresh roses and polished oak, the combination surprisingly charming rather than cliché.
Silk ivy gracefully winds around gleaming white columns, tiny fairy lights nestled between the leaves cast the chapel in a soft, romantic glow.
Overhead, a delicate crystal chandelier throws gentle sparkles across the cozy entryway, turning my pre-wedding jitters into something almost magical and full of promise—unmistakably Vegas.
