Page 37 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

It doesn’t work.

Every time I close my eyes, I see his face.

I increase the speed. My legs are burning now, but I push through it. Sweat drips down my back and my breathing comes in harsh gasps.

You belong to me.

The words replay in my head like a song I can’t get out of my mind. They make me want things I shouldn’t want.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear the door open. It’s only when a shadow falls across the treadmill that I realize I’m not alone.

Roman stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He’s changed again, this time into a dark suit that fits his shoulders perfectly. His eyes move over my body in a way that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

“You’ve been in here for an hour,” he says.

I don’t slow down. “So?”

“So I was starting to wonder if you were trying to run your way out of the penthouse.”

“I’m exercising. It’s a normal thing that normal people do.”

He pushes off the doorframe and walks toward me. I can feel him getting closer even though I’m not looking at him.

“Normal people don’t run like they’re being chased.”

I hit the stop button and the treadmill slows. When it comes to a halt, I step off and grab my towel, wiping the sweat from my face.

He smirks.

I turn to face him. He’s standing close enough that I can smell his cologne over the scent of my own sweat.

“Always so stubborn. I’m trying to protect you.”

“By controlling me.”

“By keeping you alive.” He steps closer and I step back. My shoulders hit the wall of the gym. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

His hand comes up and rests on the wall beside my head. He doesn’t touch me, but I can feel the heat of his body. My pulse is racing again, and this time it has nothing to do with the treadmill.

“Tell me to move,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“Tell me to move and I will. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk away.”

“You’re shaking,” he observes.

I want to deny it. I want to push him away and walk out and pretend this never happened. But I can’t.

His mouth hovers over mine, close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. He’s waiting for something. Permission, maybe. Or surrender.

I shake off his touch, even though it burns. I won’t let him kiss me again.

He steps back, putting distance between us. The loss of his body heat makes me feel cold despite the sweat still drying on my skin. At least he took the hint.

“Three weeks, Vera. I expect your answer by then.”