Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
The bold, predatory look he gives me makes me draw in a breath and I wish I had somewhere to hide. I’m practically sweltering under the heat of his gaze.
“Maybe you should reserve your judgment on that,” he says in a low drawl I feel way, way, low in my belly.
My jaw drops. Did he just…go there? I set him up for that, though, and walked right into it.
I’m not good in bed. I have no idea what I’m doing, and we barely know each other. If he thinks — no.
“Maybe.” I swallow as he continues to doctor me with surprising patience.
Our voices echo in this enormous room. I haven’t been here long, but it’s already a little unnerving, not hearing any sounds other than the two of us in this enormous estate.
He presses damp gauze to my forehead and finally nods, as if satisfied.
“Now it’s your turn,” I tell him, rising and pointing to the seat.
“I’m fine.”
I snort. “You’re fine compared to who? I’m no doctor but I think it’s probably best you prevent…I dunno, infection or something by cleaning these wounds. And maybe we should…get some clean clothes.”
“Fine,” he finally agrees. “But we won’t be needing clothes.”
Je-SUS. Ack.
My injuries were superficial and his likely are, too, but I need him to take these clothes off.
“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” I ask, as I turn my back to him so he doesn’t see the way my hand trembles when I put saline on the gauze.
“Yeah.”
So this is the world I’m in for. “Do you have a family medic or someone you trust?”
“Not yet. We will. Polina’s studying nursing.”
Interesting.
Armed with what I need, I turn to face him. “Alright, sir. Off with the shirt, please.”
The heat of his gaze skates across my skin. There’s stubble along his jaw that wasn’t there this morning. I have the sudden, compelling need to reach out and stroke it. I want to feel the rough prickle against my fingers.
“We only took vows a few hours ago. Already, you’re undressing me?” he says as he reaches for the buttons on his shirt.
I have to pretend the sight of his skin bared to me doesn’t make my belly dip. “Of course I’m undressing you. If I’m going to perform my wifely duty, you’ll have to perform your husbandly duty.”
I can’t believe I just said that. Why did I just say that? The sudden vision of me naked, flat on my back on his bed makes my cheeks heat— wait, there’s no way this man’s vanilla and favors missionary sex. My cheeks burn even hotter.
The sound of his chuckle hardens my nipples. Oh God, I haven’t heard him laugh before. A part of me wondered if he even knew how. His laugh is deep, dark, and wicked, as golden as his skin.
“My husbandly duty is teaching you your place, woman. Keeping you in line. Making sure you learn there are consequences for disobedience.”
“That’s old-fashioned and chauvinistic, you Neanderthal.”
“Your point?”
As he talks, I help him out of his shredded shirt, trying to steady the trembling of my hands fruitlessly. It doesn’t help that I’m met with the vision of his temptingly naked skin.
“We’ve gone over that,” I say with a haughty toss of my head.
Small talk helps distract me from the fact that he’s getting naked in front of me.
I stare at his flawless arm, the sculpted biceps and sturdy forearms with visible veins beneath his tanned skin. His rugged hand rests casually on his knee, fingers strong and fingertips calloused.
When he shrugs out of his second sleeve, his ragged shirt falls, a tiny shred still tucked into his pants, but his back on full display. I stifle a gasp.
“Wow.” A stunning image stares back at me, taking up his entire back. Unlike his arms, this is the only tattoo on his back, somehow making the bold lines of his muscles look more intimidating. I stare at the distinct features — bold orange and black with accents of amber. Indomitable eyes, powerful muscles, vertical stripes meant for camouflage. The background of snowy mountains and a full moon accentuate the brightness of the focal point.
“It’s a…tiger,” I say, as I walk around him, intentionally keeping my eyes averted from the tapered waist and little dimple in the small of his back.
“It’s a Siberian tiger. My father called me the Siberian tiger when I was kid,” he says. I sometimes forget he has a Russian accent, but it comes back in full force when he talks of his family. “It was my first tattoo.”
I gape. “First? Your first tattoo takes up your entire back.”
“It does.”
I swallow and pretend this doesn’t awe me. With a gentle tug, I take off the remains of his shirt and toss it. I stand awkwardly in front of him, pretending I don’t want to stare at him. I remind myself why we’re here.