Page 8 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

But it's a losing battle. My traitorous body seems to melt into his embrace, and I'm hyper-aware of every point where we touch. My heart races, and I can't tell if it's from exertion or something else entirely.

"Stop thinking so hard," Denis says, giving me a gentle squeeze. "Just feel the music."

I want to snap at him, to remind him that this is all just for show. But the words die in my throat as he spins me out and then pulls me back in, closer than before. My breath catches, and I find myself staring up into his grey eyes, momentarily lost.

What am I doing? I’m supposed to keep him at arm’s bay for now, aren’t I? I’m supposed to lay down my boundaries here and now, so he doesn’t cross them later. So why does my heart flutter when he looks at me like that?

I hate this,I think to myself.I hate that I don't hate this as much as I should.

His gaze holds mine, intense and searching, as we move across the dance floor. Each step, each turn, feels charged with an electricity I can't explain. I try to look away, but my eyes are drawn back to his like a magnet.

I'm acutely aware of his hand on my waist, how his thumb traces small circles there. It sends shivers down my spine.

As the music swells to its finale, Denis dips me low. Time seems to slow as he brings me back up, our bodies pressed close. The world around us fades away—the glittering lights, the murmur of guests, even the music—until all I can focus on is him.

We stand there, frozen in the moment, our faces mere inches apart. I can feel his breath on my cheek, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. My heart pounds so loudly that I'm sure he must hear it.

"Natalia," he whispers, and the way he says my name makes me weak at the knees.

I know I should step away and break this spell before it's too late. But I can't move, can't breathe, can't think. All I can do is stand here, caught in his gaze, as the rest of the world disappears.

Suddenly, his lips are on mine, warm and insistent. The kiss catches me completely off guard, and for a moment, I'm frozen in shock. His mouth moves against mine, coaxing a response, and I feel myself melting into him despite all the promises I made to myself.

My mind races, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. This is wrong, I shouldn't be doing this. But oh, it feels so right. His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and a small gasp escapes me. It's all the invitation he needs to deepen the kiss, and I find myself responding with a passion I didn't know I possessed.

Time seems to stand still as we're lost in our own world. The taste of him, the feel of his strong arms around me, it's intoxicating. I'm swept up in the moment, my body betraying my mind's protests. My hands, seemingly of their own accord, slide up his chest to rest on his broad shoulders.

And then, I hear people cheer and whoop and clap. As quickly as it began, reality comes crashing back—where I am, who I’m kissing. What am I doing? This man is the husband I never wanted, forced upon me by circumstance. The thought is like a bucket of cold water, shocking me back to my senses.

I pull away abruptly, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger—at him, at myself, at this whole impossible situation. My breath comes in short gasps as I struggle to regain my composure. I can feel the eyes of the guests on us, and it only adds to my mortification.

Denis watches me, his hands still on my waist. Slowly, I take one step back and his hands find way to his side. I steady my breathing and put on a smile, eyes moving to the guests cheering around us.

“What the hell was that?” I hiss under my breath.

“A man can’t kiss his wife?” he smiles back and whispers under his breath. The next thing I know, he takes my hand and raises it in the air.

The crowd goes absolutely mad.

I force myself to smile wider as Denisi bows, and I lower my head in humble gratitude.

“Not like that,” I hiss angrily under my breath, smile still on, turning back to face Denis. “This isn’t a fairy tale romance. It’s a business arrangement, nothing more.”

He lowers my hand but still holds my wrist. Denis's lips curl into a maddeningly calm smile. "Is that so?" he murmurs, his voice like velvet. "Your body seems to disagree."

I feel my cheeks flush even hotter. "You’re imagining things," I snap and pull away my hand, whispering as loud as I can without causing a scene. "This marriage is a sham, and you know it."

He takes a step closer, and I have to fight the urge to back away. "A sham?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "I assure you, Natalia, my intentions are very real."

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my heart races at his proximity. "Your intentions don't matter," I insist, lifting my chin defiantly. "I didn't choose this. I didn't choose you."

"And yet, here we are," Denis says, his voice maddeningly level. He reaches out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. The gentle touch sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Perhaps it's time to make the best of our situation, don't you think?"

I grit my teeth, torn between wanting to slap his hand away and leaning into his touch. How can he be so infuriatingly calm? And why does that calm demeanor both irritate and intrigue me?

My mind races, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions I can't seem to grasp. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I need some air," I mutter, more to myself than to Denis.

His dark eyes study me intently. "Of course," he says, his voice softer now.

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