Page 83 of Gilded Locks

“??????,” she tried again, hyperaware of his skin on hers.

“Better.” His hand lingered a moment too long before pulling away. “Next letter.”

For the next hour, Hunter transformed into someone she didn’t recognize. Patient when she expected frustration. Gentle when she anticipated roughness. He corrected her pronunciation with careful touches, fingers trailing beneath her chin to adjust the angle, a palm against her ribs to demonstrate proper breathing. Each contact lasted seconds but burned for minutes after.

“This word,” he pointed to something scrawled in the margin, “means ‘yearning.’ But not in the manner of wanting food or sleep. It’s...” He paused, searching for the English equivalent while absently dragging his finger over her bare knee. “Soul-deep wanting. The kind that leaves you hollow.”

“Toska,” she whispered, testing the weight of it.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “?????,” he corrected, his voice going rough. When she glanced up, he continued watching her mouth with an intensity that made her stomach dip and flutter.

The room had grown warm despite the frost coating the windows. Or maybe it was just her, burning up from the inside out every time he shifted and pressed against her ever so slightly.

She’d never been so hyperaware of a man’s proximity. Every time his scent wrapped around her, masculine and wild and utterly Hunter, her IQ dropped another notch.

“Try this phrase.” He flipped to a dog-eared page, his arm brushing the swell of her breast as he reached across her. “‘Ya ne mogu dyshat’ bez tebya.’”

She fumbled through the phrase, butchering the pronunciation, and stopped at his low chuckle. Was that an actual laugh from Hunter? The sound was as warm and as rare as summer snow.

“Sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“You’re thinking too hard. Feel the words instead.” His hand covered hers on the book. “Like this. ‘Ya ne mogu dyshat’ bez tebya.’”

His mouth was so close, each consonant teased across her skin like a caress. The words flowed like thick honey from his lips, intoxicating and smooth. She turned her head to watch his lips form the sounds, mesmerized by the way his language transformed him. Gone was the growling beast. In his place sat a man who’d once been young and innocent, a boy with dreams and ambitions that manifested in the margins of this text while he learned to survive in a foreign place.

For the first time, she saw him as human and believed him capable of empathy. “What does it mean?” Her voice came out breathless.

His eyes met hers, darker now, pupils blown wide. “I cannot breathe without you.”

The air between them crackled. Charged. Electric. Her body leaned closer. Hunter’s hand, gentle but firm, pressed against her sternum, stopping her.

“Nyet, Lisichka.” She understood the word no and sank back, embarrassed all over again by his rejection. He stood, putting distance between them.

“I’m sorry.”

He muttered something in Russian that was far beyond her comprehension. “My fault.”

They both knew that was a lie, but she appreciated him freeing her from blame. “Hunter…”

He stilled. It was the first time she’d addressed him by name.

When he turned back, his eyes blazed with scorching intensity.

“Thank you…for teaching me.”

He hesitated, then finally said, “You’re welcome.”

She feared the moment he left the library would be the last time she ever saw this side of him. She wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. “Will you help me again?”

He stepped toward the door, hands clenched, jaw tight, muscles tensing. But he nodded. “Keep practicing. Your pronunciation needs work.”

“I will.”

He looked back and nodded. “Good girl.”

They both stilled. Why did that phrase drill right to her core. She held his stare, wishing she was clean for him, regretting that she’d let Ash convince her to?—

“I have a call to make.” He pivoted toward the door, and then he was gone.