ASYA'S POV
My body goes rigid at Pasha's words. I look up; his eyes are fixed on me, concern etched into every line of his face. Just a couple of inches separate our mouths. If I'm quick, I could steal one kiss, even if he doesn't want it.
But another thought hits me. No. I know what it's like to have something taken against your will. I can't do that to him.
"Why not?" I ask. "You don't want spoiled goods—is that it?"
His eyes widen, and the next instant his hand shoots up, gripping my chin. "Don't you ever say that again," he growls. "Ever."
"Then why, Pasha? Is it wrong that I want to kiss you?" I lean toward him, but he holds me at bay. He says nothing, only stares at me, nostrils flaring. I notice his right hand still caressing my cheek while the other keeps me away. I sigh, straighten, and let go of his hair.
