Page 3 of Twisted Pact
“And you’re a coward.” He pulls back just enough to pin me with those blue-gray eyes. “You ran six months ago. You’ve been running ever since. The only question is whether it’s from me, or from what I make you feel.”
Scorching heat races up the back of my neck. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Liar.” His gaze drops to my chest, to the rise and fall that gives me away. “Your body’s already answering for you.”
“You don’t know anything about what my body wants.”
He reaches out and traces one finger along my collarbone, so light that I might have imagined it. “I think you wanted me six months ago, and you want me now. I think that terrifies you more than any arranged marriage ever could.”
I slap his hand away harder than I mean to. “You think very highly of yourself.”
He smirks. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m right.”
We’re standing so close now that anyone watching can see exactly what’s happening between us. But the ballroom blurs until it’s only him.
“This is what I was afraid of,” I admit before I can stop myself. “This… whatever this is.”
“Chemistry. Attraction. Inevitability.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and the intimacy of the gesture steals my breath. “You felt it six months ago, and you ran. Are you going to run again, little bunny? Or are you finally brave enough to stay and see what happens?”
I cock my head and ask, “Did you just call me a bunny?”
“Zaika.” He says in Russian, and the word sounds different in his mouth. Darker. Dangerous. “Because that’s what you are. A scared little rabbit who bolts at the first sign of a predator.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
“Then prove it. Stay. Talk to me. Show me you’re more than just another frightened girl playing dress-up.”
Every instinct I have screams at me to walk away. To prove him wrong by refusing to engage. But my temper has other ideas.
“You want to know why I said no six months ago? It wasn’t fear. It was self-preservation. I took one look at you and knew what kind of man you are.”
“And what kind is that?”
“The kind who thinks he owns everything he touches. The kind who would consume me whole and call it protection.” I turn on my heel, needing distance before I do something stupid. “Stay away from me, Alexei.”
“Where’s the fun in that, Zaika?”
His voice follows me across the ballroom, and I feel his gaze burning into my back with every step. I grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and down it in three gulps. Try to pretend my body isn’t humming with frustrated desire.
Damn him.
Damn him for making me feel anything at all.
And damn me for wanting him anyway.
2
Alexei
This is better than any entertainment Dmitri paid for tonight.
Mila’s green dress swishes with every angry step. Even from here, her face is flushed.
She’s pissed.
Good.
Angry looks better on her than the mask of indifference she wore walking in.
