Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Wait.
I recognize that sharp jawline and piercing eyes.
And the familiar perpetual scowl. “It’s just me. Relax.”
I blink, trying to clear my brain.
Did he just speak English?
Is he still. . . holding me?
His warm arms around me feel nice. He’s strong and sturdy, and I’ve always fantasized about what it would be like to be held by a strong man. . . like him.
It feels better than it did, even in my wildest fantasies.
I stare into the depths of those green eyes.
He definitely spoke English. There is way more to this man than he lets on.
“Let me go,” I whisper, even though a part of me wants to ask him to hold me tighter. Even though a part of me wants to reach out and run my fingers along the scruff on his strong, masculine jaw. We’re alone, just the two of us. What happens in Russia stays in Russia, right?
I half expect him to drop me on the bed like a sack of potatoes, but instead he gently releases me.
“You have to get ready to go.”
I sit up on the bed and stare at him. “Did you magically learn another language while I napped? Or have you been lying to me, Markov?”
He sits on the edge of the bed, which bows under his weight.
“I made a decision while you were sleeping.” He speaks with a thick Russian accent, but his English is perfect. “We must communicate more clearly if I’m to keep you safe. I never told you I didn’t speak English.”
I stare at him. Yeah, right. “Oh, don’t play that game with me. You know that you led me to believe you didn’t speak English. And here you are. . .” I gesture with my hands in confusion.
He shrugs. “I knew that you and I would be sharing quarters, though I didn’t know it would be”—he gestures to the bed—“quite this close. I thought it would be in your best interest and mine if we had distance between us. If we couldn’t communicate, we could remain professional. But I realize now that puts your safety at risk.”
My cheeks heat with a sudden realization of what he’s implying. “Do you think just because I’ve lived a sheltered life that I’m going to fall for the first hot guy I see as soon as I leave my parents’ home?”
His brows snap together. “Nyet.” It seems even when he’s trying to speak English, his Russian still makes an appearance. “I did not think that about you.”
Oh dear God. The memory of what I said earlier comes back in a rush…how he could take what I’ve said. I spoke too freely. Divulged too much.
I told him I don’t wear clothes to bed.
I told him he looked like Jason Bourne.
I should have kept my damn mouth shut.
Also? Who the hell am I kidding? He’s not just the first hot guy I’ve met, but he is sexy as hell and exudes every vibe of the dominant nature that makes me crazy. He’s the hero of a romance novel in real life, the classic Byronic hero.
If I’m Jane Eyre. . . he’s my Mr. Rochester.
I can’t think like that. I won’t allow myself.
But I have to admit I love hearing him speak.
I cannot allow myself to have a crush on this guy. He works for my father, and anybody who works for my father must be a dick.
Though he’s giving me an earnest look, the sharp cut of his jaw and the deep timbre of his voice remind me that he is no boy. “It is my job to protect you. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. But you’re my boss’s daughter. If I so much as touched you, he would kill me.” His eyes, a striking shade of steel blue, hold mine with an intensity that underscores his solemn vow.
He continues speaking, outlining the boundaries he must never cross, the lines drawn so rigidly by duty and honor. Yet, I’m still caught up in his earlier words—beautiful, intelligent woman. He said it with such natural conviction, as if stating something as undebatable as the sky being blue. No underlying charm, no playful smirk to soften the edges of his professionalism. Just plain fact.
Blood thunders in my ears, a relentless drum that makes it difficult to focus on anything but the man in front of me. His presence is commanding, his commitment palpable, and it sends a flurry of butterflies through my stomach. I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice, to appear as unaffected as he is disciplined. But it’s a formidable challenge, when every fiber of my being reacts to the proximity of him—this man who might see me as more than a duty…
He glances at his phone, the light casting a glow on his steely features. “I’m sorry we started off this way. It’s time that I told you the truth. I speak English as well as anybody here. Maybe then I can… communicate more effectively with the American.” The way he says communicate more effectively sends chills down my spine. The underlying threat in his tone is unmistakable.