Page 9 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"I'm not most men." His voice drops lower, rougher. "And you need to leave."

"I don't want to leave." I move closer still, close enough now that I can smell his cologne. I recognize it as a top male brand, very expensive, and quite the turn-on. "I want to get to know you better. Is that really so terrible?"

"Yes." He uncrosses his arms, and I can see the tension coiling tighter in his shoulders. "

I look up at him through my lashes, letting my voice go soft and inviting. "Lunch, dinner, or even just a drink here in your office. I'm not picky."

"The answer is no, Anastasia." He says my name like a warning. "How many times do I need to say it?"

"Until you give me a real reason." Frustration bleeds into my tone now, and I don't bother hiding it. "You keep refusing without explaining why. Do you have a girlfriend? A wife? Some other woman waiting for you?"

"No."

"Then what's the problem?" I step even closer, and now we're almost touching. I have to tilt my head back to look at him, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "Why won't you just have one meal with me?"

"Because you're Ivan Rostova's daughter." His eyes are locked on mine, dark and intense. "Because you're twenty-five years old and I'm forty-seven. Because this is a waste of both our time."

"Those aren't reasons." My hands curl into fists at my sides. "Those are excuses. You're avoiding me." I cock my head to the side, seriously confused by his refusal to spend any time with me. This has never happened in my life.

"I'm not avoiding you." His voice is tight with barely controlled patience. "I'm telling you no. There's a difference."

"Is there?" I lift my chin, refusing to back down even though every instinct tells me I'm pushing too hard. "Because it seems like you're going out of your way to stay away from me. That takes effort, Samuil."

"You're acting like a spoiled child who's never been told no." The words come out harsh, cutting. "You can't handle the fact that I'm not interested."

The accusation stings more than I want to admit, and I feel heat rising to my cheeks. He takes a step closer, and suddenly, the air between us feels charged with something dangerous. "You think this is some romantic game where the princess charms the reluctant suitor. It's not. I'm not some prize for you to win."

"I never said you were." My tone is a bit sharp.

Something snaps in him. I see it happen, see the moment his control fractures. His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, pulling me against him with enough force to make me gasp, my breasts practically smashed against his hard chest. His other hand tangles in my hair, and he tilts my head back. And then his mouth crashes down on mine.

The kiss is rough and demanding, his lips hard against mine, almost punishing. He's probably trying to scare me, but the kiss is having the opposite effect. My legs tremble as my heart races, beating against my rib cage as if it's going to break through.

I kiss him back just as hard, my hands fisting in his shirt. I pull him closer until even a strand of hair can't get between us. His chest is solid against mine, all hard muscle and controlled strength. I can feel the rapid beat of his heart and how his body responds even as he tries to maintain that iron control. His hand tightens in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it, and I let him take what he needs.

God, this is like no kiss I've ever experienced. Other men have been respectful and dull when I've allowed them to kiss me. Some have been clumsy and sloppy. But Samuil's kiss… it's better than I ever even dreamed. I had a feeling he'd be fantastic, but I had no idea just how much. And this from an angry, hard kiss. What would the kiss be like if he was trying to seduce me? My knees go weak at the thought.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it's over. He releases me and steps back, his breathing harsh. We stare at each other for a long moment, both of us stunned by what just happened.

My lips feel swollen, my heart is racing, and I have to struggle to catch my breath. The man damn near knocked my socks off in seconds and I'm having a hard time trying to regain my composure.

I take a shaky breath and turn away, trying to compose myself. A framed photograph on one of the bookshelves, partially hidden by other books, captures my attention. It shows a younger Samuil, maybe in his thirties, with his hand on the shoulder of a teenage boy. They're both smiling, and there's something warm in Samuil's expression. Something almost paternal.

I move closer without thinking, drawn to the photograph. At the bottom there's an inscription that's just a little too small for me to read, so I lean in closer.

"Number 1 Dad."

My mind goes blank for a moment, trying to process what I'm seeing. I stare at the photograph in surprise. Samuil has a son?

Oh, hell no.

6

SAMUIL

Istay in my office for nearly an hour after Princess Anastasia leaves, staring at the same contract I've been trying to review since she walked out. The words blur together on the page. I can't focus worth a damn.

The kiss was a mistake. A massive fucking mistake.