Page 79 of Dark Desires
When we’re done, he collapses onto me. For a moment, neither of us speaks, our breaths mingling as we lie there, tangled and spent.
“I think I might hate you,” I say after a moment.
“Good,” he says, his lips brushing against my temple. “As long as you keep coming back.”
We stay like that for a moment, tangled in each other, our breathing heavy and uneven. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his thumb lingering on my cheek.
“You’re incredible,” he says, kissing me one more time.
Instead of responding, I just pull him closer, not ready to let go of the moment.
We lay there like that for a while, neither of us speaking.
Then, unbidden, words form in my head.
I love you.
I love you, Alexei.
They’re strange, alien at first. But the longer they linger there, the more I know they’re true.
Finally, I break the silence.
“We can’t keep sneaking around like this.”
Alexei chuckles softly. He lazily brushes a strand of hair from my face. “You say that as if you didn’t sneak out of your house tonight.”
“Okay, true. But you have to admit, I’m getting good at it.”
“One of these days, Isabella, someone’s going to catch you. And I won’t be there to help. Then what?”
I shrug. “I’ll figure it out, I always do.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve got a hell of a lot on your plate—a hell of a lot that you haven’t figured out. A baby, a war brewing, and that’s just for starters.”
I sigh, resting my chin on his chest so I can look up at him. “Yeah, well, I could say the same for you, Mr. Soon-to-Be-Married. What’s your plan, genius?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out.”
I laugh. “A wise woman said that once.”
“So I’ve heard.
“You’re really not scared, are you?” I ask.
“Of what?”
“Of all of this. Of the war. Of the wedding. Of the possibility of our families learning the truth about you and me.”
He pauses, his blue eyes locking on mine.
“The only thing thatscares me is the thought of losing you, or this baby.”
The honesty in his voice takes me off guard, and I reach up to touch his face, my fingers brushing against the sharp line of his jaw.
We fall into a thoughtful silence. There’s so much to say, but neither of us knows how to begin. The idea of telling our families looms over us like a storm cloud. His brothers. My father. The Mancinis and the Ivanovs—it’s a powder keg waiting for a spark.
“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats.
