Page 18 of The Pakhan's Forced Bride
And never mind love. Love never factored into it for her. Apparently, her daughter actually beinghappywasn’t part of the deal.
Huffing, I tell myself to stop thinking about that before I go down a rabbit hole, getting angry over all the dates I had to suffer through. It was pure torture. That’s in the past now.My kidnapper rescued me from that horror. Another soft giggle escapes me as I roam down a hallway.
Light filters through every angle of this house. The architect managed to find a way to make every hallway, every space, full of natural light. It’s beautiful. I could happily live in a place like this, just preferably with someone who can at least crack a smile every once in a while.
He’s so exhausting with his moodiness. I wonder if he’s ever laughed in his entire life.
Well, this is the only room I haven’t looked in.
I push the heavy raw wood door aside and step into the room, but immediately I stop, pausing mid-step and freezing in place.
It’s a gym.
And Ardalion is in here.
He’s on the other side of the room with his back to me, punching a massive boxing bag. Each strike causes him to huff or grunt at the force of it. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. Capable and masculine, and—I should definitely leave right now.
I’m about to turn and sneak away when he pauses for a moment to pull his shirt off. Oh no. Why did he have to do that? Now I can’t look away. I can’t leave.
Holy fuck, that man is built like Adonis himself.
His skin is tanned golden and glistening with sweat. He starts boxing again, and I notice each muscle flex and pull tight, and ripple. It’s like his muscles have muscles. His shoulders are so broad and thick, I’m in awe, and now I can see why it was so easy for him to pick me up as though I were weightless.
This man is pure, solid, bulking mass.
That tattoo on his arm moves right over his back and his chest as well. Up to his neck. It’s all one piece, one magnificent ode to the art form that is his body. The tattoo wraps his muscles as though it were caressing him, and now I’m picturing my hands brushing over his skin, watching his muscles twitch and ripple beneath my fingers.
I’d very much like to bite his bicep.
He strikes at the punching bag, and his shoulder bulges as muscles swell from every angle.
Desire shoots through me, and a whimper spills from my lips.
Fuck. What was that? That was so loud.
Ardalion turns to face me, and I hurriedly move as though I only just opened the door and hadnotbeen standing here perving on him for the last few minutes.
He tilts his head to the side and pulls off his MMA-style gloves as he watches me. He picks up a bottle of water, takes a long sip, and then walks towards me. It’s like he’s moving in slow motion, and I can’t tear my eyes off him. Dammit. The closer he gets, the more definition I can see.
Holy shit, this man is an image of perfection.
I clear my throat, pressing my lips together.
“Belle, are you enjoying the show?” he snarks, one corner of his lip curling upwards as he wipes his brow with the back of his hand.
“If you mean a show about a man who has anger issues he can’t control and has to take it out on some defenseless bag, thenno.I’m not.” I fold my arms over my breasts and jut my hip out as I glare at him.
He leans his shoulder against the wall and takes another sip of water. When he tilts his head back, I admire the shape of his jaw and how solid his neck is. Every part of him is muscle.
My eyes drift down to groin, wandering about the size of—
“Have you found anything worthwhile around the mansion?”
“What?” I snap angrily. How did he know what I was doing?
“How is your snooping going?” he asks, more directly.
“I wasn’t—" I stammer.
