Page 27

It’s as if the dark clouds that have hung over me for the past several years have lifted for a moment, revealing a sliver of sunlit sky.

The sensation persists the entire way to our destination, aided by her occasional grumbling about foolish macho men and their egos. I’m sure she means to be insulting, but all I feel is amusement mixed with relief. I like her snarky and grumpy; it means she’s feeling safe with me, forgetting the things she’s heard and seen me do.

Forgetting that I’m a monster.

When we get to a small, wildflower-dotted meadow, I put her down to let her gather the flowers. Despite the sling, she’s quick and efficient in her task, her nimble fingers plucking the straggly plants and arranging them into something beautiful. By the time she’s done, I have to admit that it was a good gift idea—my sister will love this unusual, forest-scented bouquet.

“I’m ready for my ride home,” she says with faux haughtiness, and I laugh as I pick her up, careful not to crush the flowers she’s holding. Their aroma mingles with the fresh, intoxicating scent of her hair, and my body ignites with a surge of arousal, my cock hardening as she lays her head on my shoulder, her nose brushing my neck.

“Harder uphill, isn’t it?” she says gleefully as I start up the path leading back to the house. Raising her head, she places her palm over my chest and grins. “Your heart is beating faster already.”

So it is—but not for the reason she thinks. It’s all I can do not to pin her against the nearest tree and drive deep into her tight little body. The feel of her, the smell of her, that mischievous sparkle in her eyes—it all adds fuel to the fire burning inside me, to the violent hunger I’ve been trying so hard to suppress.

My pace slows as my gaze falls to her lips, so pretty and plush, so temptingly curved in that bright, teasing smile.

Don’t do it.

My thudding heartbeats intensify to a roar in my ears.

Don’t fucking do it.

My vision turns tunnel-like, the world around us blurring out of focus. All I can see is her smile, as brilliant and warm as the sun; all I can feel is the carnal heat scorching my veins.

Do not fucking do it.

Her smile fades, a wary look entering her soft brown eyes as I stop completely, staring at her. “Nikolai, I didn’t mean—”

My lips cover hers, swallowing the rest of her words. Fuck, she tastes good. Like apples and berries and flowers, something wholesome and wild and fresh. The heady flavor feeds the dark hunger inside me, adding to the ferocious need thrumming under my skin.

Her lips part under the pressure of mine, and my tongue invades the slick, warm depths of her mouth, seeking every bit of that flavor, of the sweet, clean essence of her. Greedily, I breathe in her panting exhales, reveling in the moan that vibrates her throat as I tug on her lower lip with my teeth, nearly breaking the fragile skin in the process.

Mine. She’s fucking mine. I want to consume her, devour her, brand her… take her, savage her, destroy her. No, not destroy—possess, though with my being a Molotov, it’s basically one and the same. My need for her is obsessive and dark, dangerous to her and to me. But I refuse to think of that now, refuse to remember my parents’ fights and my grandmother’s warnings. Fate has brought Chloe to me, and fate will determine our path. For now, she’s mine to claim, mine to own.

Ravenously, I deepen the kiss, and she responds with equal ardor, her tongue dueling with mine as her left arm loops around my neck. My arms tighten around her, crushing her against my chest—and wrenching a pained cry from her throat.

Fuck. Her sling.

What am I doing?

With superhuman effort, I tear my mouth away and set her down on her feet. Breathing hard, I back away as she stares at me, eyes wide and kiss-swollen lips parted.

Shocked. She’s shocked by what happened, and so am I. Shocked that I let her go, that I found the strength to release her when the beast inside me is howling and raging, demanding that I take her here and now, no matter how hurt and fragile she is.

“Nikolai, I…” She swallows hard, bringing her left hand to her chest. The bouquet she’s holding is damaged, some flowers torn and bent in half. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, you and me—”

“I know what you mean.” My tone is as sharp as the blade-like hunger twisting inside me, whittling away at my self-control.

I came so close to fucking her. Another minute, and I would’ve been plunging deep inside her tight, wet heat, having forgotten all about her injuries.