“
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.
”
”