Page 32 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

“No. Nothing,” I answer quickly, standing up. “The chef is making stir-fry for dinner tonight.”

“Lovely.”

The conversation is as awkward as it can be, and I throw her one more tight smile before I hurry away.

It’s not like me to feel uncomfortable around women.

It’s also not like me to be so captivated by someone. That kiss is still haunting my thoughts. I am both desperate to feel her lips against mine again, and definitely want to avoid it because of how much it affected me last time.

I’m not used to being out of control like that. The vulnerability she brought out in me was unexpected and new to me.

I didn’t like it. And I don’t want to give anyone that kind of power over me.

***

Over the next few days, the awkwardness between us doesn’t get any better.

Seeing as Lara is now staying here voluntarily, the dynamics have shifted somewhat, and neither of us knows how to handle the other.

It’s like we’re choosing to live together, but we know nothing about each other.

There is a lot of tension every time we bump into each other, and sometimes I find it rather amusing, but other times frustrating. And the chemistry is starting to drive me crazy. No matter what she wears, she’s too beautiful to keep my eyes off of.

It’s late, or very early, depending on how you want to look at it—just past three in the morning on Thursday night.

I can’t sleep, and I’m tired of tossing and turning and getting tangled in my blankets, so I get out of bed and make my way through to the kitchen in the dark.

The house is quiet. I enjoy it when it’s like this. At this time of night, I feel alone in the world. No one is calling. No one is asking me for favors. My phone is mostly quiet, unless it’s an emergency, and even then, Roan handles a lot of it on my behalf.

As I near the kitchen, I hear noises and smile, because it can only be one person.

I step inside and find Lara with her head in the fridge, leaning forward and rummaging around looking for something.

She’s bent over and the long T-shirt she is using as pajamas is not quite long enough to cover her entire ass.

My lips curl into a smile, and I pause in the doorway, leaning on the frame.

“Looking for a midnight snack?” I chuckle.

She jumps up and squeals in fright, spinning around to face me with her hand pressed over her heart.

With a grin, I tease her, “You’re like a thief in the night, stealing my leftover pizza.”

“If you wanted the pizza that badly, you should have finished it when you had the chance,” she chirps back at me, leaning back into the fridge. “Do you always sneak around in the dark?”

“It’s hardly sneaking when it’s my house.”

“Mm,” she says, pulling the pizza box out of the fridge along with a can of flavored soda water.

“I knew it. I knew you were after the pizza.”

“If you’re polite to me, I’ll consider sharing it.” Her eyes glint with mischief as she carries the box to the microwave and sets it down.

She grabs a plate and throws two slices onto it, sliding it into the microwave.

Then she turns to stare me down with her arms folded over her breasts.

“So, what do I have to do to show you I can be polite?” I ask, walking towards her. She shrugs, her eyes tracing up and down my body. I’m shirtless, in a pair of sweatpants. Under the scrutiny of her eyes, I catch myself pulling my stomach muscles tighter, and then laugh inwardly, amused that I’m worried about what she thinks of me.