Page 44 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

His shoulders slumped. “He’s my uncle,” he admitted in a strained voice. “Wasmy uncle. Now he’s my enemy.” When I tried to shake out of his grasp, he held on tighter. “I obviously had nothing to do with this, Mila.”

Sickened, I ducked and jerked away. “But you had everything to do with the first one,” I reminded him.

Now, it was his turn to look stunned. “I didn’t,” he said. “I’d never have anything to do with something like that.”

He was so adamant that I almost believed him. “But what about the passport?” That perfect fake that looked exactly like me. “You’re saying you didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping? It was all just a coincidence, and you just happened to show up to—” I cut myself off, unable to speak about the fact he’d bid on me, won me in that auction. How I would have loved to believe it was true, but it didn’t add up.

He was silent for a long time, searching my face, which I kept as still as a death mask. He seemed to know what I wanted to hear, but would he say it or admit the truth?

“I ordered my uncle to keep eyes on you,” he said after a deep sigh. “Nothing more. I meant to grab you myself and use you against your brothers.”

So he’d chosen to tell the truth, and it hit me so hard I almost crumbled. Why did it hurt so much when I knew it all along? Hearing it from his own mouth shouldn’t have made any difference.

He grabbed my arms as I sank to the floor, holding me upright. “Listen to me, Mila. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“What?” I managed to get past the lump in my throat.

“I’m not fighting with your brothers anymore. That’s over.”

“Then why am I still here? Why don’t you let me go?” I pleaded.

The look on his face tore into my heart, and everything turned upside down. He reached for me, and I didn’t recoil.

“I can’t,” he said raggedly, pulling me close and breathing into my hair. “I can’t let you go. You’re mine.”

I tilted my head back to see that his eyes were full of sincerity, and the band around my chest loosened. Somethingelse coiled, lower, and I sighed when he slid his fingers into my hair. My fingers curled into his shirt, and I pulled myself closer, almost slamming into him as I opened my mouth for the kiss I craved.

He wanted me, and I needed him. The past few hours disappeared, replaced by nothing but frenzied desire. I believed him, and that was enough for the moment. He wasn’t responsible for either auction, and he’d saved me from both. Our tongues tangled as he lifted me up.

The walls in there were also glass, but with a swipe of a button on the wall, blinds moved swiftly and silently shut, encasing us in a brooding, dim light. His dark eyes flared when he pulled away to glance down at my body, my chest heaving against his.

“You’re mine,” he repeated.

I nodded, reaching to grab his hair and bring his mouth down to mine again. “Kiss me,” I demanded, wrapping my legs around his waist.

“You couldn’t stop me,” he answered before parting my lips with his tongue once more.

He was right, but it was my own lust that kept me from trying. There was no place I would have rather been, nothing I wanted to be doing more than holding on to Arkadi and letting him transport me to that place that only he could.

We both smelled like smoke, and a fine layer of soot coated my skin. His hands swept over every inch he could reach, and he carried me toward the big bed in the middle of the room. Neither of us cared, only focused on our mouths and fingers, and wrapping ourselves around each other. I wanted this man like I had never wanted anything else in my life.

Nothing could have torn me away from him.

At the edge of the bed, he ran his hands down the backs of my thighs, putting my feet back on the floor. The thick carpet soothed the scratched soles of my feet as he stepped back to sweep his gaze over me from head to toe. He frowned, pushing the sleeves of his jacket down my arms until it puddled around my ankles.

“I need to look at you, make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” I said. I had aches and pains, and I was certain there were bruises, but I didn’t feel any of it. Not when he was blazing a trail over my skin with a scorching look of concern mixed with desire.

“You’re not,” he said, anger barely hidden by his soft tone. He ran his finger over the knot on my forehead. “Who did this? If they’re not already dead, they will be,”

I had to laugh. “I did that. I headbutted the guy who grabbed me.”

“Good.” He nodded approvingly, then gently touched the scratches on my cheeks.

“That was me, too. They didn’t want my face messed up, so I got a bit belligerent.”

“Excellent,” he said, but not smiling. “I love that stubborn streak, but try not to hurt yourself so much next time.” He shook his head. “There won’t be a next time, Mila. I swear it.”

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