Page 165 of Bride By Coronation

Excited to be in Morocco, I ask, "Where are we going?"

Kirill's face lights up. He answers, "There's a private spot I love in Marrakech. They have the best food."

"I love how you look like a little kid on Christmas morning right now," I blurt out.

His grin widens. "I do?"

"Yes. I can't decide if watching you in action today was hotter or right now."

He arches his eyebrows.

I tease, "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."

He tilts his head, maintaining the same confused expression.

I lean closer, inhaling his delicious scent and lowering my voice, stating, "Okay, I decided. Watching you give that nasty woman a verbal slap down was the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

He slides his hand over my thigh, and tingles race to my core. He murmurs, "What was sexy was when you owned the room."

"I did?"

He studies me, asking, "Is that a serious question?"

I shrug, confessing, "I felt kind of bitchy, but I had to defend my niece and nephew."

He shakes his head. "Why is it that women who are strong are seen as bitchy?"

"Not sure, but it's a thin line," I admit.

"Well, you weren't bitchy. You were strong."

My heart skips a few beats. I softly reply, "Thanks."

We pass several miles of brightly colored buildings. Then we pull up to a deep-blue one. The side has a mural of two children's faces and an abstract background. The driver gets out and opens the back door.

Kirill steps out, then reaches in for me.

I take his hand, eager to experience a new country. I stand and look up at him. "Thanks for taking me out."

Something passes in his expression. I've seen it more lately, but I can't decipher if it's amusement, happiness, or something else. He replies, "It's my honor to take you out."

I tilt my head, smiling, trying to understand how a man so powerful can be so sweet.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he questions.

I blurt out, "I'm glad I married you. You make me happy."

He tenses, pinning me with a penetrating look.

My heart pounds harder. The minutes seem to drag by.

He didn't want to marry me, and now I've put him in a weird spot.

"Sorry. Forget I said?—"

He cuts my words off with his lips, sliding his tongue in my mouth so fast I lose my breath. His hand grasps the back of my neck, which is still tender from my branding, but it creates an ache that blooms between my legs.

I whimper, my insides quivering, clutching his shirt, and losing myself to everything I always wanted in a man but couldn't ever find.

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