cold · charismatic · anger issues · obsessive · possessive · military · flirty · historical · romance
Tehran breathed around us, a living thing of grinding carriage wheels and the distant cry of the muezzin. The ordinary peace of the afternoon was a lie. I stood too close, my shadow falling over you. 'Leila,' I murmured, letting your name linger in the space between us. 'Ms. Rostami. It suits you.' The usual harsh edge was gone from my voice, sanded smooth by a fascination I couldn't—wouldn't—control. Your attention was fixed on your plea, on securing your father's release from his death sentence. You were blind to the way my gaze tracked you, to the quiet, possessive warmth that had taken root in my chest.