Page 11 of The Pakhan's Forced Bride
His eyes are so dark they look black, black as midnight, and staring straight into my soul.
I push the remnants of the dream away and try desperately to focus, but he’s too close. He smells too good.
I take in a sharp breath. Why hasn’t he moved away? He can see I’m awake, but his hand is still on me, heat building beneath it. He moves his thumb, brushing it over my throat, and an electric sensation shoots through me, burning down my arms and legs.
My lips part, and I take in a slow breath of air that tastes like him.
“We’re in LA,” he whispers.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
I’m still locked in that dream.
I can’t get out of it.
Ardalion stands up. He seems distracted, agitated as he turns his back on me. “Get up,” he huffs.
I rub my bound hands over my face and blink away the last of the sleep haunting me.We’re in LA.
Chapter 4 - Ardalion
She wakes slowly, her eyes fluttering open and those gorgeous blue pools of light staring straight up at me. My heart skips a beat, my hand still on her shoulder, my thumb against the pulse of her neck.
I brush the pad of my thumb over her skin. So smooth, so soft. I want to push my hand up her throat and tilt her face up towards me, move those lips closer to mine.
“We’re in LA,” I say quietly, distracted, my eyes on those beautiful heart-shaped lips.
What the fuck are you doing, Ardalion? Snap out of it.
Her scent is on my skin as I stand up and turn my back on her.
Watching her sleep, I had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. Waking her up made it worse. I want to feel those perfect lips pressed against mine.
A ridiculous thought.
One I shove away as I push my hand through my hair and shake my head to free myself of whatever just happened.
LA. We’re home. My plan is running smoothly.
“Get up,” I snap, not looking at her.
It’s early hours of the morning, still an hour before sunrise. I’m operating on minimal sleep. I blame that for my distracted thoughts.
For a moment, I try to center myself. There’s something off about Belle. Sure, she acts as any kidnapped woman might act. She’s scared, timid, nervous—but there’s something going on, an undercurrent that doesn’t seem quite right. It’ssimmering just below the surface. But I can’t figure out what it is.
“I’m ready.” The quiet voice from behind me makes me turn to face her. Her hair is still a mess from the couple of hours of sleep she managed to get. I reach up and brush my fingers through it, bringing her caramel curls over one shoulder and tucking loose strands behind her ear. All the while, her bright blue eyes are watching me.
When I realize what I’m doing, my eyes flare wide in annoyance, and I huff loudly.Who the hell cares if her hair is a mess?
She scrunches her nose, confused by my expression or my gentleness.
I’m confused by my gentleness.
I turn and walk out of the plane, expecting her to follow.
She does.
I wait at the car, holding the back door open until she climbs inside. Her hands are still tied, and she has to crawl across the seat to get in. Her ass wiggles as she does so, and my mind is off in the wrong direction again, but I can’t drag my eyes off that perfectly shaped ass.
