Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
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.
Breathless and burning, her hand closed around her throat where the phantom pressure of his fingers still lingered. The book lay open in her lap. She traced the words he’d written as a boy and reached for her wine but the glass was empty.
Slamming the book shut, she left the library and returned to the kitchen, stealing the bottle and taking it, along with the book, up to the privacy of her room.
Chapter 16
Lisichka
Hunter stalked through the halls, blood running hot, hands still trembling from what he’d almost done. His room lay at the end of the north wing, far from the others and exactly how he needed it.
The heavy oak door slammed behind him.
Home. It was a sanctuary as much as a predator’s den.
Exposed wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, dark as old blood. The walls were made of raw stone, interrupted only by a massive window that overlooked the frozen forest. No curtains so he could see any threats coming head-on.
The only one he missed approaching was the little blonde currently testing his control. Stalking to the window, he stared out at the choppy sea, wondering how anyone so fragile could manage that on the scrap wood she called a boat.
But she wasn’t fragile was she? There was something determined under that ultra-feminine surface. A survivor. Maybe even a moral compass. The longer she was here, the harder it became to form a connection between her and Jordan Calder. She was nothing like her filthy brother.
He gripped the thick custom-built bed frame that dominated the adjacent wall. A hand-carved bear faced growled back at him with a lethal stare. His gaze dropped to the black sheets and pelts.
He’d gotten too close. Shared too much. He should have never given her that book. The language barrier was a form of protection, a wall she couldn’t penetrate, and he’d just given her the fucking key.
What did it matter if she wanted to learn Russian? Why did that trigger some endearing response in him? She was a thief and the sister of his enemy. She was not to be trusted.
Speaking of which, he withdrew his phone and opened the surveillance app, scrolling through the various feeds to search for her. She was no longer in the library.