Page 76 of Bratva's Intern

Wren let out a sharp, panicked sound—half a gasp, half a curse—and tried to twist free, but I was stronger, faster. I hauled him off his feet, ignoring his wild thrashing, his fists slamming against my shoulders, his kicks landing weakly against my shins.

“No! Let me go!” Wren shouted, his voice raw, his body shuddering from the cold. “I’m done with this! You wanted me gone, so I’m going! Just give me a minute, dammit!”

“You can’t stay out in the rain,” I growled, my voice low, controlled. I dragged him back inside the house, pulled the door shut, and set him on his feet.

His eyes burned into mine, wild and furious. “You said to get out of your house, so I’m getting out. Don’t you dare put your hands on me again, Maxim Morozov!”

He grasped the door handle. I yanked him back and shoved him up against the wall roughly, both hands placed on his shoulders, anchoring him in place.

“Stand still.”

With a burst of defiance, Wren twisted in my grasp, hammering his fists against my chest. Once. Twice. Again. He didn’t hold back, didn’t hesitate, each hit punctuated with ragged breaths, frustration boiling over.

“You ran me out of your house!” he cried, his voice breaking. “You threw me out like I meant nothing, like I was nothing. All I did was care about you, and you treated me like that.”

The words struck harder than his fists ever could. He was hurt. I’d hurt him by telling him to get out. Was I really going to let my pride get in the way of being with Wren?

Fuck it, I wanted him. And he was right. That business dinner had been nothing but an excuse to get him out on a date with me.

Wren’s eyes were glassy, wet with unshed tears. He lookedup at me with the biggest, saddest, most betrayed eyes. A look that should never work on me. And yet.

“I—” I had no excuse.

For a few heartbeats, we stood there. He with clenched fists and teary eyes, and I stupefied by emotions that felt too raw, too human.

Swallowing hard against the knot in my throat, I tried to speak again. “Wren—” His name tangled into an apology, a plea even. But his expression hardened.

“Don’t,” he said harshly. His gaze dropped to his feet. “Don’t say anything.”

Maybe I didn’t need to say anything.

I cupped his cheek, much gentler than I had earlier. He tried to turn away his head, but I kept him in place and crushed my mouth against his.

Our lips met, my kiss desperate, pleading for something. Forgiveness? Wren stiffened. His fists were still clenched, but they didn’t strike again. I held him there against me, savoring the taste of him mixed with cool rain, willing him to understand my silent apology, begging him not to leave.

But he didn’t kiss me back. A wave of fear flowed through me. Had I done irreparable damage? Desperate, I persisted. I slid my hand from his jaw to his nape, pulling him closer.

“Kiss me back,” I whispered against his lips and pressed farther into him, against the wall that was rapidly becoming cool from the water soaking his clothes. But Wren remained unyielding.

I pulled away but was still close enough to feel his breath against my lips. To see the rainwater clinging precariously to his lashes. To note the stubborn tilt of his chin.

And damn if I didn’t want him more just because he resisted me. Too many times I was forgiven for the wrong reasons. Because of my wealth. Wren didn’t come across likehe gave a damn about my billions. I’d wronged him, and he was pissed.

He exhaled shakily in the silence. “I’m all wet because of you.”

“I can help you with that.” I reached for his jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“Making things between us good again.”

Wren’s breath hitched. I didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, I grasped the sodden fabric clinging to his body, peeled off his jacket, and let it hit the floor with a wet slap. His shirt followed, my fingers brushing against his chilled skin as I worked open the buttons he’d done all wrong in his haste to leave. I shoved the fabric from his shoulders. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t stop me. Just stood as still as a statue.

I’ll take that as a good thing.

“Maxim,” he whispered, water dripping from his lips.

“Let me fix this,” I murmured, dragging my palms down his torso, which shuddered beneath my touch. I hooked my fingers into his waistband and tugged at his belt, then the soaked fabric beneath it.

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