Page 9 of The Pakhan’s Forced Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #3)

Belle is extra grumpy.

She’s pouting and moody as she sits opposite me at the Pier restaurant. I thought I was going to surprise her here and find a cheerful, mischievous Belle—maybe proud of herself for sneaking out so easily.

The truth is that the guards informed me as soon as she started the car, and I told them to let her through the gate.

But she doesn’t know that, and I can’t work out what’s got her so tense. No matter how much effort I put into the conversation, she’s disinterested, closed off, and building a wall around herself to block me out.

While we eat, I rack my brain, trying to recall if I did or said anything that might have offended her, but nothing comes to mind. We’ve been getting on incredibly well. Things were going great, actually. This doesn’t make any sense.

After a tense lunch, with me trying to coax information out of her, she stands up and says she’s ready to go home.

“Don’t you want any dessert?” I ask, not wanting our first outing to end like this.

“No. I want to go home. You stay, have dessert. I can drive myself,” she sasses, turning away from the table.

“Wait.” I stand up and grab her arm, tugging her back towards me, pulling her against my chest. “I actually need a lift. Drake dropped me off. I don’t have a car here.” Her body feels good against mine. She scrunches her nose, clearly not wanting to be this close to me.

Belle rolls her eyes and lets out an annoyed sigh. I do my best to hide my grin, but she catches it and narrows her eyes at me as though she’s shooting daggers in my direction.

“Fine,” she huffs, stepping away from me.

“I’ll settle the bill, then we can go. Were there any other places you wanted to stop? Any stores or special places you want to see?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. Not with you.”

Not with me? I must have done something. What was it?

“It’s still early. We can walk along the beach or—"

“No, thank you. I said I wanted to go home.” Her annoyance has escalated into anger. I can’t push my luck anymore with her.

After settling the bill, we leave the restaurant together, and I resist the urge to wrap my arm around her as we walk along the sidewalk past the stores, weaving our way through a popular street in LA.

The air smells of the ocean, fresh and warm. Every now and then, I steal a glance at Belle. Her face is pulled tight as she marches with purpose, not bothering to enjoy the walk or the views.

What has gotten into her?

When we reach the car, I quickly step in front of her, blocking her from opening the driver’s side. “No, little bunny. I drive.” I say sternly.

“I am perfectly capable of driving a car, Ardalion. Don’t be that sexist idiot who believes women can’t drive,” she snaps, heated, confronting me with her chin tilted high.

“It’s not about that, Belle. It’s my job to make sure you are comfortable.

A princess sits in the passenger seat and enjoys the views.

That’s how it works.” I lean over to grab the keys from her hand, and she pulls them away.

It turns into an amusing, silly wrestle that ends with her pinned beneath me, her back against the driver’s side door.

Her cheeks are bright pink as I press my body harder into hers.

“Give me the keys, bunny,” I whisper against her ear, still smiling, enjoying the close proximity.

She glances left and right, her cheeks glowing brighter as she realizes people are watching.

“Ugh. You’re impossible,” she blurts out, waving the keys in my face. I take them from her hand, letting my fingers brush over hers before I reluctantly step away. The electricity is undeniable. But she’s determined to ignore the chemistry between us.

She storms around the car, and I run to get to her door before her, pulling it open and holding it for her.

Again, she rolls her eyes, a habit I find rather endearing.

If she knew how cute she looked when she got this upset, she might rethink ever being angry in front of me again.

I don’t think it’s her goal to have me thinking she’s cute, not right now.

Strong, forceful, determined—but not cute.

Belle ducks into the car, and I climb into the driver’s side.

“Are you sure I can’t take you somewhere else? My custom jeweler has a workshop around the corner from here; he could design something for you to wear with that dress you bought.”

She folds her arms across her chest and pointedly stares forward, not acknowledging me.

I had to try one last time.

I take the long way home, the scenic route through town, past some key tourist attractions, hoping to entice her into enjoying herself, but it doesn’t work. Still, it’s a nice drive. Even grumpy, I like being around her.

Back at the mansion, she disappears into her room and closes the door.

I head back to my office to get the rest of my work done. It’s not much, but I left it half-finished to rush out and join Belle at lunch.

I’m busy reading through next week’s schedule when Drake steps into my office, knocking on the door and then walking in to place a security report on my desk.

“You had a visitor today,” he remarks, tapping a printout from one of the cameras.

For a moment, I don’t recognize her. It’s been almost two years since I last saw Lydia.

“Lydia Alcove. What was she doing here?” I ask, surprised, because I never invited her to my home.

She was a very short-lived fling. We met up at hotels.

It wasn’t anything more than a bit of fun that I got bored with quite quickly when I realized she wanted more.

She’s beautiful, but shallow. Empty conversations and a lot of gossip about the LA scene. That’s not my style. While I come across to most people as brutish and cold, I crave genuine connection and deep conversations. The kind I have with Belle.

“Isn’t she the one who stalked you for a while after you split?” Drake asks.

“Stalks is a strong word. She annoyingly didn’t get the hint, but I wouldn’t say she stalked me.”

“And showing up at your private home uninvited?” Drake muses, his brows raised.

“Okay, fair point. I guess she figured out where I lived and stopped by to say hello?”

“Dressed like that? I think she wanted more than a simple hello.” Drake isn’t letting this go. I shake my head, laughing at him.

“Well, she wasn’t going to get what she came for.” I push the photograph back across my desk towards him. “How did she get past security?”

“She showed them a message from you saying to meet her for brunch.”

“That message must have been really old, and referring to a hotel, not my home. That’s sneaky of her. How did you get rid of her in the end?”

Drake shrugs. “I didn’t. She spoke with Belle, then left.”

“She spoke with Belle?” I blurt out, standing up, knocking my desk chair backwards.

Drake narrows his eyes. “Is there a problem, sir?” he asks, confused.

“No, uh, it just might explain why Belle was so off today at lunch.”

“I see.” He nods, picking up the photo and slipping it into the file with the rest of the report. “You have to watch out for women like that. They stir drama like they're being paid to do it,” he says, tapping the top of the file.

I chuckle, narrowing my eyes, trying to remember something. “Like that show—I can’t understand why it’s so popular, something about housewives—"

“Desperate ones,” Drake laughs.

“Ha. That’s the one. Listen, man, don’t let her back on the property, please. I don’t think she’s dangerous, but I don’t want her walking into my private space. Things ended between us a long time ago.”

“Noted. I’ll inform the security team.”

Drake leaves my office, and I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face and then pushing my fingers through my hair. So, Lydia spoke with Belle. I wonder if she said something rude. It has to be why Belle was cold to me today. Why didn’t she tell me Lydia came by. That’s odd, isn’t it?

I march over to her room, knocking loudly on the door.

She should have told me.

“I’m busy,” she calls out from inside.

I push the door open anyway.

Belle is sitting by the window, drawing. She quickly slams the book closed and glares at me with those beautiful blue eyes.

She says nothing, even when I walk in, taking my time looking around her room.

Finally, when I reach her, I fold my arms over my chest and glare down at her. She crosses her legs on the armchair and glares right back.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Lydia came to the house?” I ask.

For a second, I see fire in her eyes as she unfolds her legs and sits up straighter.

“Do I look like your personal receptionist?” she snaps, standing up, taking her sketch book with her. One day, I want to see what’s inside there.

I follow after her, and she pauses at her dresser to place the book in the top drawer. “I don’t understand why it would be an issue to let me know I had someone stopped by. You spoke to her, didn’t you?”

She turns to face me, her mouth pursed, her hands clenched. Her cheeks are starting to glow.

“Listen here, Ardalion , it’s one thing to kidnap me and force me to be your wife, but I refuse to also be your messenger. If your girlfriends want to come and, as she rather blatantly put it, enjoy your usual fun time , you can respectfully leave me the hell out of it altogether.”

She’s fuming.

And suddenly it all makes sense.

“Are you jealous, Belle?” I ask, taking another step towards her.

She backs up against the dresser.

“Jealous of what—Lydia, the one and only? Please. She came here looking like Little Red Riding Hood.” She rolls her eyes, and I step even closer, my body pressing into hers, my mind savoring her obvious grudge towards this woman she doesn’t even know.

There can be only one reason for this type of reaction from her.

“It looks very much like you’re jealous,” I say, my voice low, touched with amusement.

“And why would I be jealous, Ardalion? Because it’s not like there’s something going on between us . I’m your tool for revenge. Nothing more. Right? Why would I care who you’re hooking up with when you leave the mansion to go to work or wherever you go?”

“So, you’re not jealous?” I tease.

My face is close to hers, her breath is sweet against my lips, I could lean another few inches and kiss her.

“No,” she answers tightly. “I’m not.”

“But you’re my wife,” I offer her a reason.

She snorts, laughing softly, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Am I?” she sasses, tilting her head to the side.

“My wife should be jealous if another woman challenges her place at my side.”

“Do you expect me to duel her?” she giggles. “A sword fight for your attention?” Belle shakes her head.

Loud laughter rolls from my chest, and Belle starts laughing, too.

My body is alive with an intense current of desire.

That’s when I realize my hand is on her waist, my cock is already growing hard against her, and she hasn’t pushed me away. My other arm is pushing into the dresser, blocking her escape.

Belle takes a soft breath in, her lips parting as she looks up at me.

I lean closer, almost tasting her, ready to feel her perfect mouth against mine.

Belle squeals and ducks away from me, beneath my arm, leaving me leaning against the dresser on my own. I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the urge to chase after her and grab her. I’ve wanted to kiss her for so long now.

When I turn to face her, she’s standing near the window again, swaying a little, shy or nervous.

“Belle—"

“Can you teach me to box?” she asks, interrupting me and redirecting the topic.

“Are you serious?” I ask. “Have you ever done any kind of fighting or self-defense?”

“No. Nothing. I’d love to learn. When I saw you in the gym the other day, you looked, um, like you knew what you were doing.”

I nod, smiling. “I can teach you to box. But you have to do something for me in return. A fair trade. Something I want.”

She puts her hands on her hips and pulls the corner of her mouth up as she raises her brows.

I laugh. “Nothing like that .”

“What then?”

“Come with me to a dance tomorrow night. As my date.”

“Oh. That actually sounds like fun. I can wear my new dress,” she says, suddenly back to her usually bubbly self.

“So, we have a deal?” I ask.

She nods, holding out her hand to shake mine. “We have a deal,” she agrees. I take her hand in mine, and she shakes firmly as our eyes lock.

This woman is driving me crazy.

Why won’t she let me get close to her?

It’s probably for the best that it never gets to that point. Boundaries will keep us both safe in the end.

But dammit—it’s not what I want. I want her. I want her softness pinned beneath me and those wide, doll-like eyes staring up at me as she moans in pleasure.

“Belle,” I say, my voice low.

“Mm?” She hasn’t let go of my hand yet, so I pull her closer to me.

“Lydia is from my past. A brief fling that meant nothing. I haven’t seen her in almost two years. I don’t know what she was doing here, but I didn’t invite her, and I’ve already told the guards not to let her back into my home.”

Her eyes soften.

She presses her lips together to hide her smile. But the relief and warmth in her expression are clear.

I let go of her hand, and she bites her lower lip.

Nothing more needs to be said about Lydia. I just wanted her to understand that.

“Come down at have dessert with me. We didn’t have any at the restaurant.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” she smiles happily.