Page 3 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
Amused by the claim, I hum. “I like to believe I’ve over-qualified.”
Lily shifts under my gaze again—not retreating, yet not quite inviting me closer either.
She feels like something of a curveball for me. I’m used to confidence, bravado, and someone who already knows what they want even before engaging with me.
But she’s a quiet beauty shrouded in uncertainty and hesitation.
I do my best not to stare too much, but the soft fullness of her thighs and the curve of her hips are making it nearly impossible not to.
In a way, she seems somewhat insecure based on how she tries to shy away.
“You don’t like being looked at, do you?”
It’s a bold question, but I take the chance anyway.
Subtle irritation moves through her eyes. “I don’t like being judged.”
“And I’m not judging…I’m appreciating.”
She seems almost surprised by this, but she’s still uncertain. “Most don’t.”
“And I’m not like most guys.”
Despite herself, she laughs softly, almost sardonically. “That’s what they all claim.”
She might be right, but I’m not lying. Not about this.
I take another moment to drink in her features, noting the fine line art of her sternum tattoo. How, despite being slightly put off by me, she entertains it anyway.
Then, she looked at me curiously. “Not that I’m even interested in him like that…but you really think I can do better?”
My lips pull. “I know you can.”
I don’t even need to ask if she’s coming home with me for the night. Instead, we end up in the back of the Range Rover with her lips on mine as if it’s something we’ve done hundreds of times before. Her movements are soft, then hard, and her fingers curl into my shirt to keep me close.
While I’m not at all new to hooking up, there’s something different in the way I hold her, fingers tangling in her hair while I greedily take in the taste of her. The feel of her plush body against mine.
We’re both breathless by the time we reach my condo. She has no idea about who I am, what I do, or the security cameras I have installed. But she doesn’t ask, and I don’t need to tell her.
Not when we already know what we both want without having to say a word.
***
Sunlight edges the blackout curtains in my bedroom when I wake up, blinking through the grogginess.
Remembering exactly why I feel more tired than usual, I glance over to the other side of the bed, only to find nobody there. Only rumbled blankets and an ever-fading impression of where her body had been.
She’s gone. The sheets are still warm, but the room is empty of anyone else.
Sitting up, I look around both nightstands, but she didn’t leave anything behind—no number, no note, and no promise of seeing her again.
I stare at the empty spot for a moment longer, and for a second, my irritation flares, and my pride feels wounded.
Normally, nobody leaves me. I leave first. That’s how I operate. It’s always easier to stomach that way.
But the anger fades just as quickly. I don’t feel used or tossed aside…I just feel calm. Fulfilled, even.
I tell myself it’s for the best while I get up and head to the shower, torn between wanting to wash up and not wanting to get rid of her smell on me. It’s oddly sentimental, and I push that thought aside as quickly as I can.
