When he trailed his lips down to my neck, I threaded my fingers through his thick hair, arching to his mouth.
Between kisses, he rasped against my damp skin, “Ya lyublyu tebya.” I love you.
A log popped in the fire; I grinned like an idiot.
He tensed when I didn’t answer, raising his head with an alarmed expression. “What is it?”
Still grinning, I said, “It’s nice to hear those words.” I leaned up and kissed the bridge of his nose.
His lips curled. “I can only imagine.”
With all my heart, I told him, “Ya lyublyu tebya, Aleks.”
“Aleks?” He cupped my face with his rough palms, eyes lively. “Of all the names, this is what you’ve decided to call me?”
“You don’t like it?” I asked, though I could tell he did.
Molten gold. “I like it.” Then he leaned down to give me a lover’s kiss like no other. . . .
The night I’d met Aleks Sevastyan, I’d wished for someone to snuggle up with through the winter.
I’d never imagined that the winter nights would be this cold—or that the warm arms around me could be so strong.