Page 10 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

I lean back in my chair and drag a hand over my face, trying to scrub away the memory of her lips against mine. It doesn't work. I can still taste her, still feel the way her body pressed against me when I pulled her close. And that sound she made when I gripped her hair? Holy fucking shit! I about lost it then and there.

Fuck.

I shake my head, trying to rid my traitorous brain of sexy memories. The kiss was meant to punish her, not turn me on! Worse, the cool and collected princess got aroused too, which only fueled mine even more.

What a fucking colossal mistake! Am I trying to punish myself for something? If I'd been in my right mind, I never would have laid a hand on her. But then I hadn't been in my right mind. I'd been distracted by her legs, especially when she leaned against my desk and her skirt inched up just enough to give me an enticing view of her thigh.

Holy hell, I'm a fucking idiot! She's practically half my age, and a damn princess to boot. I have no business having the hots for her, no matter how beautiful and sexy she is. She's the exact kind of woman I want to avoid. I've made it this long without getting into a sticky, serious relationship. Now is not the time to lose focus.

But she's also beautiful. Dangerously so. And beneath that princess act, there's real intelligence. Sharp wit. She doesn't back down when challenged, doesn't crumble under pressure. She walked into my office uninvited and held her ground even when I tried to intimidate her into leaving.

Either way, she's dangerous to my peace of mind. I've spent years building walls around myself, maintaining discipline and control. I don't let anyone get close. I don't let anyone distract me from what matters. And I sure as hell don't kiss spoiled princesses who show up unannounced demanding my attention. Yet I did exactly that.

I finally give up on the contract and shove it aside. The restaurant is quiet now, most of the staff gone for the night. I lock up my office and head out through the back entrance where my car is waiting. The drive home takes twenty minutes through city streets that are mostly empty at this hour.

By the time I pull into my driveway, irritation has settled deep beneath my skin. I'm pissed at myself for losing control. Pissed at her for pushing me until I snapped. And just fucking pissed at the whole goddamn situation.

My house is dark and silent when I walk in. I prefer it that way and my security knows this. They go out of their way to make sure they stay out of my way. I head straight upstairs to my bedroom, stripping off my clothes as I go. I'll deal with them tomorrow.

The shower is scalding hot, steam filling the bathroom within seconds. I step under the spray and let the water pound against my shoulders, hoping it'll wash away the tension coiled tight in my muscles. Hoping it'll wash away thoughts of her, but it doesn't work.

The memory of the kiss floods back the moment I close my eyes. The way she felt in my arms, all soft curves and warm skin. The way she kissed me back without hesitation, her hands fisting in my shirt like she couldn't get close enough. The way her body molded against mine, fitting perfectly despite the height difference.

My cock hardens at the memory, and I curse under my breath. This is exactly what I don't need. But my body doesn't give a shit about what I need. It only knows what it wants. Which, of course, is the princess.

I brace one hand against the tile wall and wrap the other around my shaft, stroking slowly. Water cascades down my back as I let myself remember every detail, replaying it over and over in my mind and even adding new details. Like ripping her dress from her body and burying my face between her tits.

My hand moves faster, my grip tightening as the fantasy builds. I picture her beneath me, hair spread across my desk, lips swollen from my kisses. I picture the way she'd look at me with those blue eyes, challenging even as I took her apart piece by piece. Princess Anastasia Rostova, completely undone and begging for more.

The orgasm hits hard and fast, pleasure slamming through me as I come with a low growl. I brace both hands against the wall, breathing hard, watching the evidence of my release wash down the drain.

Fuck. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

I finish my shower quickly and dry off, pulling on black boxer briefs before collapsing into bed. Sleep doesn't come easy. I lie there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, while I try not to think about blue eyes and silk dresses and kisses that never should've happened.

The next day is filled with business. I meet with Gregory first thing in the morning at one of our warehouses on the east side. He's wearing his usual dark suit, looking sharp and professional as always. I've drilled it into his head that presentation is everything. You've got to look the part, so who do you want to be? A slob wearing saggy pants and stained shirts, or a powerful and dangerous man with tailored suits and manners? I'm glad to see he got the point.

We review the latest shipment manifests and discuss distribution routes while standing in my office overlooking the warehouse floor. Gregory nods as the discussion comes to an end, but his eyes linger on my face a moment too long. He doesn't say anything, but I can see it in his eyes just how much he wants to question me. We may be close, but that doesn't mean I tell him everything. Especially not about my failure to control my damn dick.

By afternoon, I'm back at my main office signing off on a major investment project. It's a legitimate business venture, the kind that helps launder money while also turning a profit. Gregory stops by again around four, bringing more paperwork that needs my attention. He sets the stack on my desk and waits while I flip through the first few pages. I can feel him watching me, can sense the questions he's not asking.

"Something on your mind?" I don't look up from the contract I'm reading.

"No." His tone is carefully neutral. "Just making sure everything's in order."

I glance up and catch the knowing look in his eyes. He definitely noticed my distraction. "Everything's fine," I tell him. He nods and leaves without another word.

By the end of the day, I've almost convinced myself that Princess Anastasia is someone else's problem. She'll get bored and move on to the next man who catches her attention. She'll realize I'm not worth the effort. She'll forget about me and find someone more suitable, someone closer to her age, and someone who fits into her world of galas and aristocracy.

By the time I get home, it's nearly seven o'clock. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across my driveway. I'm halfway to the front door when my security chief steps out to meet me. He's a big man, former military, with the kind of presence that makes people think twice about causing trouble.

"Boss." He nods in greeting, but there's tension in his shoulders. "We have a situation."

My jaw tightens. "What kind of situation?"

"Ivan Rostova arrived about twenty minutes ago. No appointment. He insisted on waiting for you." Marcus pauses, choosing his words carefully. "He's in your study."

Fuck. I don't ask how Ivan got past security. He's fucking royalty, and everyone around here knows who he is. Everyone knows I do business with him sometimes. It's not unusual for him to stop by once in a while, but it's the timing that sets off my internal alarms. I'm probably being paranoid, but damn if I don't have a bad feeling about this visit.