Page 27 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

It was him—Mark. What was I thinking coming into his room like that?

Stiffly I turned around and … heaven have mercy on me. My heart skipped several beats as my eyes met his.

If I’d thought the reflection from the mirrors in the changing room was erotic, a shirtless Mark was outer-worldly. His solid chest and strong biceps looked like they were chiseled from the finest marble.

My cheeks caught fire when my gaze swept down his fair skin and followed the shimmering drops of water that trickled from his hair and ran in coherent lines down his body.

His muscles flexed, and his ripped torso contracted when he wiped his hair with a small towel. The cut ‘V’ line, sprinkled with damp hair–just enough to be sexy and manly, disappeared beneath the towel around his waist and my core flooded with a pulling sensation.

My breath caught in my throat, and I tried my best to avert my stare.

“Um, I … I ...” I stuttered. The slightest twitch formed around his mouth. It happened so fast that I almost missed it.

He swaggered toward me, cutting off the tiny bubble of air I still had. The smell of vanilla soap flooded my senses and water droplets dripped on my cheeks. At the impact, I hit my back against the dresser, and his hands steadied me with a firm grip on my waist.

His eyes danced in the low light, and his finger hooked under my chin until I was drawn into the blue depths of the unknown.

“I asked … if you were looking for something.” His voice was rough and jagged.

A surge of electricity coursed through my body at his touch. I was breathing so heavily that he could no doubt hear the air coming in and out through my nostrils.

“You don’t …” I croaked and tried again. “You didn’t have to come this close to repeat the question.”

Amusement lit up his eyes. “It’s my room. I do things my way, hermosa.”

That was a solid point. This was his room. I shouldn’t be here; I shouldn’t be here, wedged between a dresser and his hard, wet body, with his large hands firmly on my hips. His touch burned, seared through the flimsy fabric, and imprinted itself on my mind. I became uncomfortably wet between my thighs.

“I, uh… I heard you were out of town.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

He quirked a brow and his gaze fell to my lips. “So, you missed me and came looking for me.”

“No!” That flew out too quickly. “I meant no. I’m sorry I snuck into your room like that. It was an accident. I was roaming the halls when I heard some music and decided to check it out.”

“Ah … hm, music huh?”

The rugged, sleepy tone in his voice rumbled across my skin like wildfire, awakening every part of my body. His eyes didn’t leave my lips, nor did his hands move from my hips, his touch burning deeper and deeper until the thin fabric felt like a barrier.

I bit my lower lip, slipped slowly into temptation, and whispered. I was afraid to speak any louder so that he could hear the trembling in my voice.

“I didn’t know you listened to Adele.”

“Who?” he rasped.

My whisper grew lighter. “Adele? The music that led me here.”

His blue eyes roamed my face inching closer until our lips were only a hair's breadth apart. My legs felt weak, and my body reacted in a way it had never done before.

“It was Tchaikovsky before that came on,” he breathed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “At least, she sings better than the bald performer.”

My brows creased and I panted. “Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.” His thumb brushed over my lower lip, gently tugging it, his eyebrows furrowed, and the muscles in his jaw pulsed as if he were trying to understand something that made no sense. “You feel that too, don’t you?”

The more seconds passed, the more frustrating it became to pretend I could keep up with the tension.

“Feel what?”

“You have a way of provoking me …This.”

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