He was using the excuse I had once before, so I couldn’t even complain. I loved hearing Russian from his lips so much it melted my insides, but I couldn’t be distracted right now. I needed to think.
“English.”
“Nyet. I can’t say this in English.” His gaze flickered with conflict, like this wasn’t easy for him to vocalize.
“Say what?”
The fire, the turmoil, the truth in his eyes—it told me everything, and my heart floated in my chest.
I ran my thumb across the scar on his bottom lip. “Ya lyublyu tebya . . . Those words?” Then I realized he’d probably never said them. I’d even bet he’d never heard them either. The knowledge constricted my chest.
“Ya lyublyu tebya,” I said softly. “So much.”
His grip on my throat tightened possessively while my caress across his lips grew softer. I didn’t need the words from him. I didn’t want to make him feel as if he had to say something he wasn’t comfortable with.
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to—”
“Fuck, woman.” He pulled me in to kiss me deeply—just to shut me up, I think. Still, I sighed into his mouth, heat washing to my toes. I went in for more, but he pulled back and skimmed his lips across mine. “Ya lyublyu tebya. Tak sil’no chto ne mogu dumat’ kogda ty daleko ot menya.” I love you. So much I can’t think when you’re away from me.
Months ago, I didn’t believe in suspicions. Yet so much had convinced me otherwise. Maybe I was wrong about happily ever afters too. Maybe they really did exist. Just not with a shining knight in armor, but with the villain.
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I brushed my lips against his. “Yes.”
He tilted my head back to see my eyes. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, I’ll be your wife.”
He groaned in satisfaction and kissed me so deeply he stole my breath. I was burning up on the lawn, and it wasn’t from the Miami heat
. I pulled back breathlessly to say, “But I have some conditions.”
Slightly amused, he waited for me to continue.
“The TV thing. I really want to watch it whenever I want.”
He laughed. “Tough negotiator.”
“And I have a career now. I model for—”
“I know.”
I raised a brow, and then suspicion set in and popped my bubble. I had doubts about how I got into the modeling industry so quickly, and it was confirmed by a single passing flicker in his eyes.
“I thought it was divine intervention,” I grumbled. “Now I know it was diabolic intervention.”
He chuckled.
“You really don’t have a problem with the modeling?”
“I don’t like the idea of the world staring at your body.” His eyes narrowed. “And if someone tells you to lose your ass, there’ll be a new missing person’s report added to the list. But if you like what you do, I’ll deal.”
I fought a smile. “That was a more aggressive response than I expected, but somehow more passive as well.”
“You won’t call me passive when we’re not on the street and you’re reminded of making me wait four months.”
I raised a brow. “I didn’t make you wait.”
“Theoretically,” he returned. “I configured how much space a woman would need from her kidnapper before he proposed to her.”