Page 35 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
I scoff. “Neither am I.”
Taking a closer look at me, he doesn’t seem to buy it. “You obviously are. And you aren’t thinking clearly.”
Something about that observation irritates me, driving through my chest like a burning blade.
Even if his eyes hold the faintest hint of irritation, he’s being surprisingly gentle. Almost frustratingly so.
As he puts distance between us, disappointment pools in my gut, and I can’t help but feel a sense of rejection. After everything…it stings.
But Roman doesn’t give me enough time to sit with it. Instead, he opens the door, steps out, then offers me a hand.
I look at it for a long moment, wishing I could scream.
Still, I take it, and he guides me out.
As the night air reaches my skin and my feet touch the pavement, my true state becomes more apparent as I wobble. It makes my whole body react with some delay, and I reach out to steady myself against the SUV.
“Here…stand still,” Roman murmurs before dipping down and scooping me up without much thought or effort.
Everything shifts around me, and when I open my eyes again, I find myself against his chest, being carried towards the door.
Off-kilter from the movement while my mind tries to catch up, I try to focus on him and not the way it slightly turns my stomach.
Roman moves with quiet purpose through the house, up the stairs, and down the hall towards one of the spare rooms—the one assigned to me.
As we reach the door, he pushes it open and wordlessly walks inside.
That irritation within me only festers the longer I’m in his arms, and I sigh. This isn’t what I was hoping for…
Picking up on this, Roman glances down at me and moves towards the bed. “Don’t give me that…whenever I get to have you for the first time, we both better be sober.”
While the implication still sends a thrilling shiver down my back, I still can’t let go of that disappointment. Of the subtle burn.
It’s his turn to let go of a breath as he adjusts me in his arms before lowering me to the bed.
“I want it to be more than heat and impulse…I want it to be earned. Savored. Not decided on a whim.”
I know there’s more to his words, especially given the tension in his shoulders, but it still isn’t easy to hear at the moment.
I shuffle back into the bed and try to ignore the coiling irritation within me. “I’m not made of glass…”
“I know you aren’t.”
“So then, don’t act like you’re protecting me,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze.
“But I am…and I’m trying to do the right thing.”
At some point, the lamp is flipped on, but I can hardly keep my eyes open from how bright it is. Using my forearm, I block out the light and grumble to myself.
“Right…by making me wait.”
“Yes…by making you wait. By making us wait until we’re both in the right state of mind,” Roman says, disappearing intothe ensuite for a moment before returning with a glass of water. He sets it down with a decisive clunk.
I hate that he’s making sense…
Eyes still closed while the alcohol swims in my stomach, I vaguely listen while he busies himself around the room.
He seems to move with practiced ease, almost like he has done this before. Or at least, like he’s used to not taking anything offered to him too easily.
