King of Pride

For all the girls who think smart is sexy. (And who know the quiet ones are the freakiest).

I never really lived before you … And I don’t want to imagine living after you.” I dropped my forehead to hers, my chest aching with need and want and a thousand other emotions only she could make me feel. “Stay with me, love. Please.

How does he look at me?”“Like he never wants to look away.

And she looked so damn beautiful it made my heart stop for a second, just long enough to confirm she owned every beat.

I’d never fallen in love before her. Once I did, I did it the way I did everything else. Completely. Totally. Irrevocably.

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Smart. Strong. Beautiful. Imperfect by your own standards but so wonderfully perfect for me.

I remember everything when it comes to you.

In that moment, I wanted to hunt down every person who’d ever made her feel like she was a failure, a disappointment, or anything less than fucking perfect.

You have five minutes, sweetheart, or you’ll find out firsthand that I’m not always the gentleman you think I am.

I love you, Isabella Valencia.” Simple and raw, stripped of all pretense except for the naked truth that had been staring me in the face all this time. “Every single part of you, from your laugh to your humor to the way you can’t stop talking about condoms.” One of those laughs I loved so much slipped out, thick with emotion. A smile flashed across my face before I sobered again. “You think you’re broken, but I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Smart. Strong. Beautiful. Imperfect by your own standards but so wonderfully perfect for me.

trying to stay away from her was like asking the ocean to stop kissing the shore. Impossible.

Come on. Live a little, Young. I promise it won’t kill you.” “No, but you might,” he muttered.

She was everything I shouldn’t want, but it didn’t matter.I wanted her anyway. So much so, I couldn’t breathe.

She’d touched down in my life like a tornado, gotten my drink wrong during her first shift at Valhalla, and hadn’t left my thoughts since.

when he took off his glasses and tossed them to the side before kissing me again,

We’ve been through some dark times, but you were always the brightest part of my life.

It’s about love, and there’s nothing reasonable about love.

That there’s no going back after this.” His admission was a warm breath on my skin. “You should’ve never let me take you, Isabella. Because now that I have, I won’t be able to let you go.

Isabella.” I forced a swallow down my throat. “Yes?” “Shut up and let me kiss you.

Typical Volkov.

I’m afraid not.” Kai’s voice could’ve melted butter. “I don’t like sharing.

I couldn’t have done it without you.”“Yes, you could have.” His mouth skimmed mine in a gentle kiss. “But I’m glad we were able to do it together.”He’d been there through the late nights, the caffeine crashes, and the mid-edit breakdowns. Yes, I could’ve survived them on my own, but he made the journey so much better. He always did.

Her sentence cut off with another hiccupping sob. The sound ripped through me like a bullet, and I would’ve given up anything—my title, my company, my entire legacy—if it meant I could soothe her hurt for just one minute.

I’m translating the book into Latin.” He flipped the page and scribbled another sentence without looking up or touching his drink. “Why?” “It’s relaxing.” I blinked, certain I’d heard him wrong. “You think translating a five-hundred-page novel into Latin by hand is relaxing?

I’m never going to stop being me, Kai, and I don’t want you to stop being you. So how can we be together when we belong to separate worlds?”“By building one of our own,” I said simply.

Here’s the thing about humans. We’ll almost always throw aside common sense in favor of instant gratification.

You think you’re broken, but I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Smart. Strong. Beautiful. Imperfect by your own standards but so wonderfully perfect for me.

Kai was the epitome of aristocratic sophistication, and he’d nailed the British stoicism that went with it.

You think you're broken, but I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Smart. Strong. Beautiful. Imperfect by your own standards but so wonderfully perfect for me.

Do you think I’m boring, Isabella?” The question came out soft. Dark. Suggestive, like he was ruminating over all the ways he could prove me wrong. It trailed down my spine and left delicious little bursts of electricity in its wake.