Page 10 of The Pakhan’s Forced Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #3)

It doesn’t matter what city you’re in, Las Vegas or Los Angeles, the mafia events are all the same. It’s only the faces around me that have changed. I recognize one or two of them, probably men who are part of the bigger alliance with Nestor, but mostly I’m a stranger here.

Despite that, I feel quite at home in this environment.

And I’m enjoying myself.

It’s good to be out and to have a chance to dress up and do my hair and strut around in high heels for a while.

This little black dress is even more beautiful than I thought when I first chose it. I feel like I stepped right out of a fashion magazine.

Everything at this event is familiar to me—except for one glaring difference.

My husband.

I’m not used to having a gorgeous man at my side, making a point of letting everyone know we’re together by constantly brushing his hand down my back or along my arm. Slow, seductive touches that leave my skin heated and my heart racing.

His fingers move up my spine, and he cups his hand around the back of my neck, holding me possessively as he speaks to one of his business partners.

I sip my champagne, focusing on the conversation, trying desperately to ignore the heat building between my legs and the way my heart keeps fluttering when Ardalion glances at me with that devilishly sexy smile.

I wish this were all real.

I wish a man as gorgeous as him wasn’t just parading me to make a show of it in front of his colleagues, but was doing so because he had genuine affection for me.

I keep reminding myself that this isn’t real. But it doesn’t stop my hormones from raging and my body from responding to each brush of his hand against me.

When he slips his arm around my waist and pulls me to his side, whispering in my ear, it almost has my knees so weak I want to fall into him.

“Are you doing okay, little bunny? Having fun?” The smooth deepness of his tone, his voice a soft growl, causes goosebumps to flare over my arms.

Embarrassed by my reaction, I answer quickly, “I think I need another drink. I’m going to the bar if you want anything?”

“Sure. I’ll have a vodka. Thanks, gorgeous.” He says, his eyes roaming over me, filled with hunger that for a moment I could believe is entirely real.

I bite my lip, a nervous giggle spilling from my mouth. “I’ll be right back,” I say, turning away from him.

Once I have some distance between us and his hands no longer driving me crazy with lust, I can think a bit more clearly.

Pull yourself together, Belle. He’s putting on a show for everyone else. Stop falling for his charm. It’s going to hurt you in the end.

Leaning against the bar, I ask the barman for a gin and a vodka. He takes his time, and I don't mind at all. I need a moment to breathe, to get my thoughts in line. And it’s all going very well until I spot Lydia. The one and only.

She walks into the event, and immediately, my body tenses. Her long gold dress is elegant and beautiful as she moves across the room with her blonde hair loose around her shoulders.

She walks directly to Ardalion like a lioness stalking her prey.

A wildly intense possessiveness bolts through me as she slides up against his side, gushing over him. I can hear her laughter from here.

Ardalion politely steps back from her, his hand on her shoulder, forcing distance between them. She doesn’t seem to catch the hint as she reaches out to touch his face, those red nails flaring more intense anger in me.

I leave the drinks I’ve ordered at the bar, forgotten in my urgency to get back to my husband’s side and tell this pompous bitch that she’s messing with the wrong girl.

Ardalion turns his face away from her touch.

“Go and get yourself a drink, Lydia,” he says sternly. “Mingle, enjoy the party.” It’s a blatant, yet polite, way of telling her to leave.

She giggles and nods. “I would love a champagne. Let me grab one and I’ll be right back.” She’s utterly clueless.

Lydia steps away from Ardalion, walking towards the bar—towards me.

She doesn’t seem to recognize me. Although, to be fair, she caught me in my sweatpants and a T-shirt at home, and right now I look like a supermodel. As she nears me, I call her name.

“Lydia,” I snap.

She pauses, confused. Then recognition floods her face.

“Oh, it’s you , sweetie. How lovely that Ardalion brought his assistant here—or, um—” She looks me up and down, this time with insecurity hidden in her expression.

“You do look lovely when you put some effort in,” she says, as bitchy as ever. “Who exactly are you?”

I swallow away the urge to punch her in the throat.

“Ardalion’s wife,” I say coldly, despite the smile on my face.

“W-wife?” she stammers. “Ardalion wouldn’t ever get married. He didn’t even want to date. He made that clear when we—when—he’s not the type of man a girl can take, you know—” She’s tripping over her words, denial and confusion flowing through her.

I slowly brush a curl from my face, tucking it behind my ear, letting her see the magnificent ring Ardalion purchased for me this morning.

It’s funny, because when he gave it to me, I told him straight that I didn’t want to wear it. But he insisted it was part of the deal we’d made when I agreed to come to the party with him. He said he couldn't show off his wife at the event if I wasn’t wearing a ring. It wouldn’t be authentic.

I wore it with reluctance. It felt like a trap.

But right now, I’m absolutely thrilled. The diamond is so massive, the weight of it is visible as I lift my hand.

Lydia’s eyes don’t leave it for a second. I can see the glimmer of the stone reflected in her stare.

“Hmph,” she huffs, shaking her head, still not wanting to believe me.

Then she steps around me and walks to the bar without another word.

She won’t give up that easily. She isn’t the type. She’ll want to test the waters despite what I’ve told her.

She can try.

I can sense Lydia’s eyes on me as I walk back to Ardalion. When I reach him, I slip my arm around his back and stand on my tiptoes to kiss his neck. It takes him by surprise. I can feel his body tense, but he plays it off well, and no one else seems to notice his reaction.

I snuggle closer to him as Lydia arrives back in the conversation.

Her eyes are tight on Ardalion.

“I was just talking to…" she throws me a glare.

“His wife,” I remind her again, a warning edged into my words.

“Lydia, this is Belle, my wife,” Ardalion says. “I believe you two met at the house yesterday.”

Lydia’s jaw is hanging open. “You got married,” she snaps, almost angry, trying to hide it.

“I met the right woman,” Ardalion says, and my heart flares with triumph. I run my hand up his chest and lean my cheek against him, making a show of claiming him.

Lydia carries on talking to Ardalion, but I no longer care. I slip my hand into his back pocket, groping his ass as I stand on my tiptoes again to nuzzle my face into his neck.

“I’m sorry I got distracted and didn’t get you a drink,” I whisper.

He stops listening to Lydia and turns to me, his lips inches from mine. “What are you doing?” he whispers.

I grin. “Just being authentic.”

His eyes flare.

Lydia has given up talking to either of us; her face is an expression of disgust as she watches us being affectionate with each other.

Ardalion reaches up and wraps his hand around my jaw, sending a thrilling pulse through me.

“You’re playing with fire, little bunny,” he growls, sounding angry.

Maybe I pushed it too far.

I smile nervously and stand quietly at his side again, removing my hand from his back pocket.

Lydia is talking to other people, and now I just feel silly about the whole thing. I got carried away, that’s all.

Ardalion is shifting next to me, fidgety, annoyed.

He takes my hand, his grip firm as he pulls me. “Come with me,” he demands. “We need to talk in private.”

He pulls me through the crowd to the edge of the room, then down a passage lit with a single red light.

I’m miserable, prepared for a heavy lecture on my actions and how I probably embarrassed him in front of his ex-fling and colleagues.

He grabs my hips and pushes me hard against the wall.

“Wha—” I stammer, as the air is pushed from my lungs. “You don’t need to be so—"

“This is your fault, Belle. You want to tease me with your hands all over me—don’t expect me to control myself.” He grabs my jaw again, and before I have a chance to fully understand, his lips lock over mine.

The world disappears.

It’s just him and me, standing beneath erotic red lights, his body pinning me to a wall, and his hands moving up my hips as his lips force mine open so that he can push his tongue inside my mouth.

My heart is racing. Every inch of me is on fire, feverish with desire.

I wrap my hands around his thick, solid neck and pull myself up towards him, wanting more.

He groans as he rocks his hips forwards, rubbing his massive, rock-hard cock against my stomach.

I gasp against his lips.

He wasn’t angry.

He was turned on by my touch.

Turned on to the point where he had to drag me from the party and release that growing desire.

He threads his hand along the back of my head, through my hair, holding me closer and kissing me deeper. One hand slips beneath the line of my dress, then moves up again, pulling the dress higher as his touch grazes my thigh and over my hip.

I groan in desperation, lifting my leg against his as he slips his hand around my thigh.

Never in my life have I felt this intensity.

This much need.

I am not in control of myself, and if he wanted to take me, right now, in this open hallway, I wouldn’t stop him.

I tilt my head back as his lips graze over my neck, leaving a heated trail in their wake.