Page 21 of Lethal Saint

“Yes,” Vasilisa said with a little laugh, casting a swift glance my way when she reached for a lemon and poppyseed muffin, like she was waiting for permission. I’d bought every flavour of muffin imaginable, panicking when I didn’t know her favourite flavour. Lemon. I made a mental note, sinking into the seat beside her. “I definitely want to marry you.”

“Just so we’re clear,” I said, my chest warming, ice thawing as she bit into the muffin and her eyes closed in happiness, “I’d get you all this food even if you weren’t marrying me. You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she said with a mouth full of cake, and looked instantly mortified.

It charmed the fuck out of me. My fingers were winding a lock of curly blonde hair around them before I blinked, my body as desperately greedy for her as my restless mind. Her hair had been straight at the ballroom, and the water from her shower must have weighed it down, but now it was a mass of thick, springy curls the colour of wheat.

“Try the rest,” I encouraged her when she paused. I forced myself to release her hair, occupying myself by pouring tea and milk into a cup, adding three spoons of sugar.

I found her blinking at me when I sipped my tea, tiredness seeming to burn away with the first sip. This shit was miraculous. If I didn’t know it was just leaves, I’d assume it was drugged. “What?”

Vasilisa snapped her stare to the table. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for, little queen. Are you judging my tea preferences?”

“You can still taste the tea?” she remarked, and jolted like she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

I laughed, another weight falling off my chest. “Says the girl who just picked up a doughnut made of pure sugar.”

Her mouth twitched at the very edges, the slightest smile. Not the fake, too-bright smile she gave on her father’s command. This was real, and my heart fucking skipped.

“So the glazed ones are your favourite,” I murmured, noting which one she chose.

Oh, fuck, why did my dick spring to life in my pants? I’d swapped my trousers for sweatpants some time around three a.m. and it only gave my cock more freedom now.

Do not think about glazing her doughnut, do not think about glazing—

“I like all kinds,” she replied, licking icing off her finger.

I groaned. Shit. She was looking at me. Because I’dgroaned.I swallowed hard and dragged my stare away, gulping down tea.

“Do you want a doughnut, Saint?” she asked quietly.

I want far more than that, little queen.

She made a small sound, startling in her seat. Fuck me. I’d said it out loud.

“Ignore me,” I sighed, scrubbing my face and looking across the city instead of meeting her eyes. “I haven’t slept properly in two days; this is just sleep deprivation. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She was quiet for a moment and then said, “Okay.”

But any ease she’d begun to build with me was shattered. Stupid, horny fucking bastard.

I jumped when she pushed the plate piled with doughnuts—jam, custard, raspberry, matcha, Nutella, and at least eight others—towards me. I jumped. Me. The Saint, the psychopath even psychopaths were scared of.

“Since you want more than a doughnut,” she whispered, flicking a look at my face before glancing away.

I had no control over the smile that crossed my face. I grabbed the raspberry one and ate half in one bite, charmed anew at the baffled look Vasilisa shot my way before she grabbed a chocolate milkshake and slurped at the straw.

I dragged my eyes away from the way her pink rosebud lips wrapped around the straw.Nope. Not going there.

All I had to do was remember what she’d been through, what those bastards had almost done to her yesterday, and my dick deflated. Good. Maybe now I could keep my fucking head.

But damn if knowing she’d be my wife soon hadn’t flipped a switch in me.

I wanted to touch her, wanted her in my lap, wanted my arms around her and her scent in my lungs and—

I was staring again.

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