Page 46 of Sinful Bride

Glance up at her.

And press a warm, sultry kiss to her mound.

I’m not sure what gets me more worked up: the way she smells, the way she tastes, or the way she sucks in a sharp breath and her lashes flutter lower.

If we had the time, and she didn’t have stitches, I’d bury my face between these sweet thighs and drown myself in her moans.

As it is, we have guests and a schedule to keep. So I tug her panties into place, press another warm kiss to her hip, and stand back up to help her slip the t-shirt dress on.

The soft jersey knit hugs her in all the right places and falls just below her knees. It’s appropriate and just dressy enough for our guest, who is waiting for us in the foyer.

“I’ll leave you to handle the rest of it,” I murmur in her ear. It’s all I can do to stop myself from squeezing her ass. “Don’t take long, though. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Who?”

But I’m not going to ruin the surprise, so I give her a kiss and leave the room to go greet him.

18

PASHA

Emile Ricardo, world-famous custom jeweler and designer, bows when he sees me approaching. “Mr. Chekhov. It’s an honor.”

I shake his hand with a cordial smile. “Please, it’s all mine. I appreciate you accommodating our schedule.”

“Babies, eh? I understand.” He laughs and pulls up a picture on his phone. “My niece and nephew. Twins. If I didn’t show you any empathy, my sister would murder me in my sleep.”

Even his laugh has an Italian accent. He’s still grinning when the bedroom door opens and Daphne steps out.

“Um… who is this?” she whispers to me.

“This is Emile Ricardo. Emile, this is my fiancée, Daphne.”

He bows again, ever the gentleman. “Shall we?” he asks, sweeping an arm wide to ask where we will be talking.

I lead them into the office. Daphne is reluctant to move; I practically have to drag her in. Again, Emile looks to me for permission, and when I nod, he starts unpacking his various cases and pulls out several design books to set on my desk.

Daphne tucks herself closer to me. “What’s going on?”

“We need wedding rings,” I reply. “And I owe you an engagement ring, so we’re picking that out, too.”

Her jaw hits the floor. Then it snaps shut, as do her emotions. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ll leave you to it.”

“The hell you will.” My pride demands to know why she isn’t jumping for joy like she should be. My memory and logic remind me that I’ve done plenty of shit to warrant this less-than-enthusiastic response. So I sit down in my chair and pull her onto my lap.

“Pasha—”

I wrap both my arms around her hips so she can’t run away. And so she can feel how much I want her.

When she’s caged in, I brush my lips against her ears. “I’m putting my ring on your finger, moya plamya. Just like I put my baby in your belly.”

Daphne tries to stifle her gasp, but I hear it. I also feel her hips do a little wriggle on my lap.

She’s not the only one aching for more.

With exquisite timing, Emile comes to the desk with his tablet and takes a seat. “Now, signora, a few questions. What do you do for a living?”

She looks genuinely confused. “Is that… important? For a ring?”

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