Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!

That kiss rocked her world, tilted its axis, and threw her orbit into the heart of the unknown universe. Still in shock, she raised a trembling hand to press her fingers against her lips. They were swollen…from his kiss. A tingle of awareness zapped through her, trailing electric fingers up her spine. Mariana gazed across the room to the man who had literally taken her breath away, and her body responded to the sight of him alone. Unlike last time, when he’d stood with his back to her, this time, he stood, staring at her, his eyes lit with an emerald flame—burning so hot she could feel it where she sat. Moisture gathered between her thighs, not a wholly surprising occurrence, the man had basically fucked her with his mouth.

What will it feel like to truly be fucked by this man?

Just then, his words sank in through the haze of wantonness… “I couldn’t stand the thought of some other man having what I’d been slavering over for nearly two years…” The man had set a trap for her—and she really couldn’t be mad about it. Yes, some women would look at his actions as creepy, stalker-like even, but she’d never once felt the ominous fear that usually came with being watched by a malevolent person. And, he hadn’t actually said he’d been watching her, only that he’d been slavering after her—for two years! Dear God! That man—the one who looked like sex incarnate—had seen her and wanted her, had even chased her and captured her. All because of one moment in a courtroom.

If that wasn’t flattering, she couldn’t think of anything that was.

She’d never been deluded about herself; she knew she wasn’t what most men wanted. She wasn’t a size 6 with a tiny waist, a thigh gap, and a manageable set of tits. She was extra in all the wrong places, and had—for years—hidden behind loose-fitting clothes, bulky jackets, and a snarky attitude. It wasn’t until she’d entered law school and seen the plethora of professional women—all shapes, sizes, and colors—making a killing in the courtroom that she’d realized her true potential. Her confidence had taken a 90-degree upturn, and she’d started buying the fitted skirts, the cleavage bearing tops, and the flirty shoes. Despite that, she hadn’t allowed herself to believe that any man would find her attractive enough to want to have sex with her.

And now she knew…this one did. This drop dead sexy man wanted her—had wanted her since seeing her the first time. The thought sent tremors of excitement into her core.

As he spoke in monosyllabic mumbles, he watched her, his gaze roving over her, and her body felt his invisible touch. With a final word in Russian, he hung up the phone, still not looking away from her.

“Well,” he began, “it appears my ability to anticipate my woman’s needs has only gotten better.” A wolfish, sexy smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and her heart thudded at the picture he presented—hungry animal, preparing to appease his appetite.

And I’ll get to appease mine as well.

Straightening, she unclasped her hands and leaned back into the couch, crossing her legs in a manner she knew would tease him; her skirt rode up her thighs, showing glimpses of her caramel skin.

“And…how have you anticipated my needs? How do you even know what I need?” she asked, her voice a throaty murmur. God, what am I doing teasing him? She was totally out of her element. She would need years of expertise to handle this man. And she only had from now until their wedding in what, two, three days?

“One look at you and I knew I couldn’t wait to marry you,” he drawled, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Anxiety and excitement crashed into her chest, making her breath catch. “What do you mean?” Why did she sound so sleep-rumpled?

He stopped, just in front of the couch, his shins brushing against her knees. She looked up at him, not allowing herself to be cowed by how much she wanted him, and he looked right back, unblinking.

“I had Gregor call the priest. He is on his way up.” His smile lit up the room, and subsequently lit her up, too. “We will be married within the next half hour.”

Half. Hour. Half hour. Half hour! Omigod, omigod, omigod! Madre di Dios, Madre di Dios—Hell, the man has me swearing in Spanish! Unable to wrap her mind around what he’d just said, so easily, like he’d just told her he ordered the chicken instead of the fish, she shot to her feet. She needed to be doing something other than sitting; she needed to be moving, ridding herself of the nervous and sexual energies that were pumping through her.

Before she could settle her mind and slow her heart, the elevator dinged, and she stopped breathing. A man of about eighty stepped from the car, followed by the dour-faced Gregor. The man, apparently the priest, was wearing a black suit coat, a white button down, and a collar.

Vitali turned away from her to greet the newcomer.

“Father Itszack, welcome,” he said warmly. “I am so glad you could come at such short notice.”

The short yet reed-thin man beamed a warm smile in return. “Anything for you, my son. To think, Vitali Pavlovich finally settling down…” Father Itszack’s bright brown gaze landed on Mariana. And instead of feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of him performing her wedding to a near stranger, she was strangely comforted. Like if this man could trust Vitali, so could Mariana. It bolstered her decision to go through with the ceremony—rushed as it was.

I hope my trust isn’t misplaced… The slinking, slithering voice of doubt whispered in her mind.

Vitali grinned at Father Itszack. “Believe me, Father, I am not settling,” he drawled, turning to pour heat into Mariana, the green of his eyes burning with an unholy fire. She fought off a full-body tremble, and forcing herself to turn from Vitali, she offered the older man a smile. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, patting it like any old priest would. How adorable.

“I can see what you mean, Vitali. She is breathtaking,” Father Itszack announced, and Vitali grunted.

“You’re damn right she is,” Vitali replied and, unthinkingly, Mariana turned and slapped Vitali on the arm, shocked at his language in front of a man of God. Too late, she realized what she’d done; she’d struck her fiancé. As her stomach bottomed out, she peered up at Vitali from beneath her lashes, terror mixing with trepidation writhing within her. But in a flash, they were replaced with chagrin.

Vitali was grinning at her, that lopsided sexy as hell grin that sent her heart spinning, turning her panties into liquid cotton.

“She has fire! I like her!” Father Itszack said, then chuckled, and Mariana’s cheeks burned with mortification.

His eyes watching her every expression, Vitali chucked, too, the deep timbre of it rumbling through her chest—and straight to her pussy. She was wet and there was a priest there, for God’s sake! A new flush flew up her neck and into her face.

Nearly groaning at the awkwardness of her predicament, she almost missed it when Vitali said, “We’re ready, aren’t we, Mariana…?”

At the sound of her name, her brain stalled, but then kicked into high gear at the look of curious wisdom in the priest’s eyes.

Not trusting her voice just yet, Mariana nodded, offering Vitali a strangled smile.

“Good.” Father Itszack pulled a deep purple and white stole from his leather bag, looped it around his neck, and then retrieved a small black leather book.

With a single nod to Gregor, Vitali summoned the man from the corner. He came forward holding a small Tiffany Blue box. Vitali took the box and turned to her, pulling the lid open to reveal a ring with the largest diamond she’d ever laid eyes on. The setting was a princess cut, and the band was encrusted with eight smaller diamonds. The diamond in the crown of the ring glittered and glinted as the lights from overhead hit it.

She sucked in a breath, numbed by the sheer size of the ring. With a diamond that size, she’d be well and truly claimed by Vitali. As his wife. Like a carbon billboard on her finger.

Mariana didn’t know how to feel about that. The man was certainly putting “a ring on it”.

Vitali reached down and took her hand in his, gripping it tightly, the surprisingly rough skin of his palms seemed to caress the soft flesh of hers. Rough yet gentle. Strong yet soft.

Mariana Sanchez, brassy, bold attorney, turned to living fire at his touch. Images of that same hot, strong hand, trailing, feather light, over her sensitized body nearly made her knees give out.

“All right, then. Let’s get started…”

Father Itszack’s voice disappeared behind the roar of emotions in her head. She listened to the words of the ceremony as if in a bubble, but when the priest turned to her, indicating she recite her vows, everything became clear. She was getting married. She was finally taking that step—the one step she thought impossible, sitting behind her big desk in her big office watching life flash by. It was her chance for a piece of happiness, and she was going to take it by the throat.

Swallowing down the sudden rush of tears, she let the fear fall away. Smiling up into Vitali’s handsome face, she declared, “I, Mariana Louisa, take you Vitali…”