Crown of the Empire

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

By noon, I had convinced myself that restraint was possible. That after last night's... siege, and this morning's battlefield of hickeys, Nikolai and I could actually exist like normal human beings. We were in Thailand, after all. Beaches. Food. Sun. Surely one could go a whole afternoon without being mauled alive by her fiancé.

Then I made the mistake of putting on a bikini.

To be clear, I hadn't chosen it for him. It was Versace, strappy and gold-lined, the kind of swimwear that screamed banking heiress on vacation. I wore it because it made me look like I had my life together, not because I wanted a certain half-Russian half-Japanese CEO to forget how to breathe.

Except when I stepped onto the private beach, sunglasses perched like armor, Nikolai was already waiting there shirtless, sitting on a lounger as if he owned the sand itself. And the way his gaze slid down, then back up, slow and deliberate—

"Stop staring," I snapped, even though my pulse betrayed me.

"I'm not staring." He didn't blink. "I'm studying."

"Studying," I repeated flatly. "Do I look like a science project to you?"

"Yes. One worth publishing."

I nearly tripped over the sand. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're blushing."

"I am not—"

He rose, smooth and lethal, and just like that the air shifted. One second he was on the lounger, the next his shadow fell over me, tall and unrelenting. My sunglasses felt like a joke now, flimsy shields against his dark, knowing eyes.

"Nikolai," I warned, though my voice wavered.

"Yes, Mariya?" His accent curled around my name, soft, dangerous.

"This is a beach. Public. People can see."

He tilted his head, amused. "Private beach."

I opened my mouth, ready to argue—then his hand slid around my waist, tugging me closer. Heat erupted where his skin met mine, and I forgot how sentences worked.

"This is harassment," I muttered weakly.

"This is inevitability."

Cocky. Arrogant. Infuriating. And yet when his mouth brushed my shoulder, I melted like butter on hot toast.

"Nikolai—"

He silenced me with a kiss, not gentle, not asking. Demanding. Deep. The taste of salt and sun and him invaded, and before I knew it, my arms were around his neck, pulling, greedy.

We stumbled back toward the villa, lips never breaking, his hands everywhere—back, thighs, the curve of my ass as he lifted me like I weighed nothing. I gasped against his mouth, half in outrage, half in need.

"You can't just—" I tried.

"I can," he growled, kissing me harder. "And I will."

By the time we crashed into the villa bedroom again, I was done protesting. My bikini was a lost cause, strings untied, fabric discarded. He pressed me to the cool glass window overlooking the ocean, and I moaned at the contrast—heat of him, chill of glass, the world watching but unable to touch.

"You're insane," I whispered against his lips, trembling.

"For you," he admitted, raw. "Only you."

My heart clenched. Stupid, reckless heart. But my body? It had already surrendered.