Page 21 of Crimson Sin
My fingers slide into her hair, dislodging pins until it tumbles freely around her shoulders. The auburn waves spill like velvet through my fingers, and I twist my hands in the strands to angle her head back. She gasps, her eyes flutter closed, and I use the opportunity to deepen the kiss further.
I press her more firmly into the trellis, my body caging hers completely. The stone arch provides perfect privacy, hidden from the house by climbing vines and shadows. She's trapped between cold stone and my heat, and from the way she arches against me, she doesn't mind.
My hand runs down the curve of her waist, gripping her hip through the silk. Her leg brushes mine, calf against trouser leg, and my restraint shatters like glass.
“Daniil,” she breathes against my mouth.
My name on her lips, spoken in that breathless tone, breaks something inside me. All the careful control I've maintained since childhood, all the walls I've built to survive in this world, crack and crumble at the sound.
That's all it takes. My mouth drags down her jaw to the base of her throat, finding the rapid pulse that betrays her arousal. She tilts her head back, giving me more access, and I take full advantage of it.
I trace kisses along her collarbone. Her skin tastes like vanilla and roses, dark and intoxicating. I want to map every inch with my tongue and discover all the places that make her gasp and tremble. She tilts her head back, giving me more. Always more.
Her response strips away the last of my rational thought. This woman, who faced down a room full of dangerous men with courage and grace, is coming apart in my arms. The contradiction between her strength and her vulnerability drives me to the edge.
But I've made promises to myself and I have boundaries to keep. The reminder cuts through the haze of desire like a blade. This arrangement has rules and limitations designed to protect both of us from complications. Getting lost in physical attraction will only exacerbate those complications.
I force myself to stop and step back. I run a hand down my face, exhaling like a man crawling out of a fire. The separation feels like tearing away part of myself. The cool night air rushes between us, where moments before there had been only heat and want. Naomi stares at me, dazed, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her again.
Her lips are swollen from my kisses. Her dress is slightly rumpled from my hands. Her hair is wild around her shoulders, where I'd destroyed her careful styling. She looks like she's been touched by a storm. And I'm the one who caused it.
“I didn't mean to... That wasn't the plan,” I mutter, the words rough and inadequate.
“What was the plan?” she asks breathless and uncertain.
“To survive the weekend without doing exactly that.”
The truth escapes before I can stop it. I'd mapped out this entire evening and accounted for every variable except the one that matters most, my own reaction to her.
I offer her my arm again, falling back on formal courtesy to rebuild the distance between us. She takes it without speaking, her fingers trembling slightly against my jacket sleeve. We walk back through the garden in silence, neither of us quite composed enough for conversation.
The journey back to the house feels endless yet too short. Part of me wants to turn around and lose ourselves even deeper in the garden, where there are no rules or expectations. But the rational part knows that it would be a mistake. We're already walking a dangerous line between fiction and reality.
At her guest room door, I pause. The hallway is dimly lit, shadows dancing between pools of light from the wall sconces. Her door stands like a barrier between possibility and prudence. Behind it lies safety, boundaries, and the careful distance we've agreed to maintain.
“Get some rest,” I offer quietly, though rest is the last thing on my mind.
She nods, eyes still wide and uncertain. Her hand lingers on the doorknob, not turning it, as though she's waiting for something. Permission, or maybe an invitation.
I almost kiss her again. The desire to close the distance between us and follow her into that room to finish what we started in the garden burns through my veins like poison. It would be so easy. She's looking at me with want in her eyes, her lips still swollen from my kisses.
Instead, I walk away. My teeth grind together with each step down the hallway. I don't look back, though every instinct screams at me to turn around.
And that night, I don't sleep. I stare at the ceiling of the master suite, hands clasped behind my head, body taut with unfulfilled desire. The room feels too large and empty. The California king bed that once seemed perfectly adequate now feels vast and lonely.
I’m hard and frustrated in the obvious way and in the deeper, more dangerous one. My arousal is a constant, throbbing reminder of what I walked away from tonight. But the physical discomfort pales compared to the emotional upheaval. Somewhere between the museum and this evening, Naomi Carter has become more than a convenient solution to my inheritance problem.
I replay the evening in my mind, analyzing every interaction, every glance, every word spoken and unspoken. Viktor's behavior troubles me most. His interest in Naomi goes beyond simple family politics or territorial posturing. There's something personal in the way he looks at her that suggests his intentions extend far beyond testing the authenticity of our marriage.
The thought of his hands on her, of that smug smile turned in her direction, makes my chest tighten with rage. Tomorrow I'll need to have a conversation with Lex about increasing security. Viktor may be family, but family has betrayed me before.
7
NAOMI
The moment the bedroom door clicks shut, silence fills the suite like water in a glass, slow and creeping until it touches everything. I'm standing near the window, the hem of my gown grazing my ankles, and my heart pounding in a rhythm that doesn't match the stillness around me.
The bedroom feels like a sanctuary after the dining room theater downstairs. Outside, the garden is quiet. The lanterns spill golden pools of light on the stone paths, and the roses, full and decadent, sway in the breeze as if nothing has changed. But everything has.
