Page 11 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

I turn back to Arina, and our knees touch as we sit cross-legged on the cushions. Her face is flushed, her pupils are dilated, and I wonder if she has the same kind of thoughts I do.

“In tantric tradition, the joining of breath represents the joining of souls,” the instructor continues. “We will seal our connection with a kiss. Something gentle, something mindful. Not a taking, but a giving.”

Arina’s eyes fly to mine, and the panic in them is as clear as day. For a brief moment, I feel hurt. Would it be so bad… to kiss me?

Around us, couples are already leaning toward each other, sharing soft kisses.

“We don’t have to—” Arina starts.

“Kiss me,” I say, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice.

She stares at me, lips parted in surprise. “What?”

“Kiss me,” I repeat, softer this time. “They’re still out there. We can’t go out and in here; we need to look like we belong, in case they glance in.”

The moment I say the words, a voice in my head hisses: Liar. I shut it down, tell the voice it’s got my intentions all wrong.

I’m only trying to protect us.

Arina nods and leans forward. I do too, my hands resting on her knees as I angle my head toward her.

Our eyes remain open when our lips meet, but the cloud-like softness of her lips pulls me away into a dream, and I close my eyes.

A second later, I feel her lashes flutter against mine and sense her closing her eyes too.

The kiss is sweet, polite, but this position is causing me pain. I inch closer and gently cup her cheeks in my palms to anchor myself, and then she lets out a little whimper.

The world stops.

The kiss mutates from a ploy into something dangerously close to real, and I feel a warm, fuzzy feeling inch through me at the taste of her lips.

Long gone is brief and perfunctory, replaced by a raging fire that makes me slide my tongue across the slit of her lips, that makes her open for me until our tongues slither together like criminals having a great time.

That spark I felt earlier is now a full-blown storm. Arina makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and her hands reach for my T-shirt. She arches her back, pulling me flush against herself.

My hands slide from her face to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as I deepen the kiss.

She responds with unexpected passion, her hands gripping my shoulders. She sighs, and the sound goes straight to my core. I forget where we are, who we are, until we hear the instructor gently ask us all to pull away.

When we break apart, for a second, I drink in her face. Arina, with her swollen lips, her dazed eyes, is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight,” the instructor is saying. “May your connection remain strong for all time to come.”

I check the window and see with relief that the men are gone. But the relief is short-lived as I realize what just happened between Arina and me.

That wasn’t just a cover. That was real.

“They’re gone,” I say, my voice unsteady. “We should go.”

Arina nods, avoiding my eyes as she stands. I follow her out the door, and we ignore the products on display for sale. I pull out my phone, not wanting to talk about what just happened, and see a text from one of my men.

“They found us a hotel,” I tell Arina.

She sighs and nods, but still avoids my gaze. “We should go,” she mumbles.

“What about dinner?” I ask, remembering I promised her a meal.

“We’ll just order at the hotel,” she says, and this time around, she looks at me, like she’s assessing if I might be hurt or something.

“Of course,” I say, covering up the pang of disappointment. “It’s been a long day.”

We step out and hail the first cab we can find.

***

We settle into our new hotel suite with adjoining rooms. My men chose to forego a villa due to security concerns from the infiltration that happened at the last resort. I didn’t argue because an enclosed room seems like a safer option.

I’m flicking through the room service menu when Arina comes and sits by me on the couch.

“What would you like to eat?” I ask, handing her the menu. “I’m thinking I’ll have a steak.”

“The grilled pomfret is fine,” she says, picking the first thing off the specials.

I nod and call room service, placing our orders. When I’m done, I turn to find her watching me.

“What’s up?” I ask casually. “Want to watch a movie or something?”

A flicker of weakness crosses her face, but then she shakes her head as if what I suggest is an absurd idea.

“No,” she says. “I want to know what you meant when you said the hotel was compromised. I want to know who those men chasing us were.”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “It’s complicated. A long story.”

“I’ve got time.” She crosses her arms.

It would be so easy to just tell her now and see how disappointed she’ll be in me. I don’t know what she thinks of me, but if she truly knew how dangerous I am, she wouldn’t be asking these questions.

So, for now, while we’re here in this beautiful resort, I’d rather just avoid that disappointment altogether. I’d rather not tell her what it’s like being married to a Bratva man, let alone that I am the Bratva.

“Look, it’s been a long day. How about you let me take you out for dinner tomorrow? Someplace nice. Someplace private.” My throat dries at how this sounds, like I’m asking her for a date or something.

“And you’ll tell me tomorrow?” she asks, her shoulders settling at last.

“Let me wrap up my business deals tomorrow. And then we’ll talk,” I lie, buying myself time.

She considers it for a moment, a moment too long that allows me to feel guilty. She doesn’t pick up on the fact that I said we’ll talk. Not that I’ll give her the answers she seeks.

“Deal,” she says, breaking into a smile.

And once again, I feel like the biggest liar on the planet.