Page 58 of Russian Rescue

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted quietly.

“I know. But you are the bravest, most badass woman in the world. Literally. And if you can just let your guard down a little, let yourself trust in this... in us, I know I can make you so fucking happy.”

I listened to her soft breathing before she pulled back.

When our eyes met, I slid my hand under her chin and lifted her face toward me. “People always ask me, ‘Why haven’t you settled down with a nice girl? When are you getting married? Why don’t you ever bring a girl home for the holidays?’ I always just shrug and say I haven’t met the right one. But the truth is, I did meet the right one. I met you. All these years, I’ve known it had to be you. No one else. No other woman could ever hold a candle to you, so I chose to be alone rather than settling for someone other than the woman I love. And I do. I love you. Always have, always will. And I know you feel the same fucking way.”

Her mouth opened a little like that admission might fall from her lips, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity, she finally started. “I...I...,”

Say it, Piper. Admit what we both know.

But instead of spitting out the words I knew hovered on her tongue, she dropped her gaze to the ground. “I just... I can’t. I’m sorry, Wes.”

She stepped back and then walked out of the room. My heart sank as I watched her go, but when she paused at the door and looked at me, I saw the pain and the want colliding in her eyes. I wasn’t wrong about her feelings toward me, but I could only hope that she’d realize them before it was too late, and we went our separate ways. If we left Moscow and she went back to her life, a life without me, I’d never get another chance to crack open her impenetrable armor and show her how amazing life could be if she’d just let me in.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Piper

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“Are you sure this thing can stop bullets? It doesn’t feel like it can stop bullets.” Wes tugged at his custom-made bulletproof tux.

I looked over from my passenger seat in the expensive sports car we’d procured for the evening. “It’s bulletproof, and so is my dress. You know this material exists. You’ve seen me take a shot in bulletproof fabric before.”

“Yeah, but this is the first time I’m feeling it. I guess I always thought you had plates or some shit under your slinky clothes somehow. This really doesn’t feel like that at all. It feels like, well, like it ain’t stopping shit.”

“Every inch of this fabric is bulletproof. It’s gonna hurt like hell if we get shot and leave a nasty bruise, but only special caliber bullets can penetrate it.”

I ran a hand down the length of my red dress. Wes’s eyes dipped to the long slit exposing my leg.

Good. Think about that, you stubborn son-of-a-bitch.

Since Wes had admitted his love for me and tried to get me to admit mine for him, it’d been three awkward, lonely nights for both of us as we navigated the strange complexities of our relationship in the hotel room. Our usual natural ease and banter had become forced and awkward, and that mind-blowing sex we’d been having had been obsolete since he’d told me I had to buy the cow.

Buy the cow? Was he serious? I didn’t ever want a cow, or a husband, or whatever the hell he thought he should be to me, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to cave and admit something I didn’t want to admit just so I could get some more of that addictive sex he’d given me.

I glanced over at him, looking impossibly dashing in his tuxedo, and I bit my lip.

Fuck he looks good. Maybe if I just flirt a little more, he’ll cave.

I’d spent the better part of three days marching around the hotel room in towels and slinky clothes, hoping that Wes’s dick would get the better of his brain and we could start things back up again, but he’d just turned away and ignored my attempts to casually seduce him.

Me. Someone was turning me down. It made my blood boil that I couldn’t get Wes to budge from his determination not to touch me again until I admitted my feelings and to hell if I was going to beg.

I’d sooner tell him how I felt before I begged a man for sex—even a man as hot as Wes.

Admit how I felt.

How could I admit something I didn’t even understand myself? Yeah. He was right that I was feeling something for him. How could I not? He was funny, smart, loyal, and damned if he hadn’t grown into the sexiest man I’d ever seen.

But love?

I wasn’t even sure I fully understood the emotion. The only taste I’d had of love that I remembered was when I was being raised in the States by my new parents for a few years. They’d made me feel safe and loved, and slowly I’d started to feel it back. And then, when I’d finally allowed myself to open up and love completely, just like that, they were gone. The pain and agony I’d gone through after they died had nearly wrecked me, and I couldn’t imagine truly opening myself up to feel that pain again. To me, love meant pain. Loss.

I looked over at Wes, and that damn emotion I didn’t want to acknowledge started bubbling up inside me again.

He adjusted the black bowtie and turned those ocean blues on me. “Do I look okay?”