Page 30 of Jetmir

Everything else faded.

The music. The conversations. The crowd. The room.

Only Jetmir remained.

God, I almost forgot just how tall he was and how small I’d always felt in his presence.

“Hello, my angel.” His deep voice brushed against me like a spark to dry tinder and his spicy scent surrounded me. For the first time in three years, I felt whole again.

God, to feel so much for someone couldn’t be healthy. Yet, I feared there was no cure. Deep down, I’d hoped to see him again. Why? Maybe because I was a damn glutton for punishment. It wasn’t as if I could expect a happily-ever-after with him.

If I was smart, I would have looked away. I should walk away now. Instead, I stood frozen.

Remembering every kiss. Every touch. Every word… But his words were all lies. His actions had shattered my family.

My grip tightened around my champagne glass.

Whatever hold Jetmir had on me bordered on sickness. And I knew it.

“Go to hell, cabron.”

He smiled cruelly, his eyes darkening like a moonless night. “I can tell you missed me, wife. My angel.”

My body instantly responded. The blood in my veins heated and my nipples tightened. My legs shook while my inner thighs trembled and I had to shift on my feet to ease the pressure between my thighs.

I swallowed hard, trying my best to stay composed and keep this fragile peace intact. We’d already cost our families too much.

“I’m no longer your wife. And thank God for that.” My voice came out sharp and clipped, ignoring his comment. I couldn’t admit to anyone—including myself—how much I’d missed this infuriating man over the past three years. “And stop calling me your angel. You lost all rights to call me any nickname.”

It was a petty jab, but satisfying nonetheless.

Jetmir ignored my warning. “I meant it when I spoke my vows, my angel. You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always be yours.”

I winced.

“I don’t want to be yours, and I certainly don’t want you to be mine.” I hissed out the blatant lie, keeping a pleasant mask while my eyes searched the ballroom for anyone who might see us and start shooting. “So cut the shit and stop calling me yours.”

Why was nobody paying attention? Shouldn’t they rush in here and make this situation a little bit less awkward?

Then it dawned on me. I’d been hiding a little too well, which meant I was alone with the devil. Jetmir knew it too.

I silently cursed myself as I went to sidestep him, but he mirrored my movement. “Why are you running, angel?”

“Stop calling me that,” I gritted. “And for your information, Jetmir—” I purposely used his first name, ignoring the way my heart thundered under my ribs. “I’m getting as far away from you because I can’t stand to be close to you.”

He leaned down and brushed a soft kiss against my cheek.

“Oh, Anya. We both know you’re lying to yourself,” he purred, sending goose bumps scattering in his wake. “I can feel your emotions as if they were my own. You want me. You crave me, and I crave you too.” His mouth lowered further, hovering over my neck. “Your neck is the perfect place for my lips. It’s like you were made for me.”

I fluttered my eyes closed, remembering the sensation of Jetmir’s mouth on my body.

Heat. Fire. Danger. Everything I wanted and shouldn’t have.

I hated myself for still craving him. Loving him, damn it.

My thoughts kept returning to the countless little moments that had made our short time together so special. Most of all, I remembered the evening our date ended in a warm evening rain.

We ran through the rain, trying to get somewhere dry and then finally gave up. Instead, I started dancing, loving the way my husband watched me with reverence and love in his eyes. He joined me and we slow danced in the rain, ignoring the passersby and forgetting about the world.