Chapter 9
Sophie
It had been two weeks since my encounter with Kian Cortes.
I’d come to the conclusion that Albania was everything I didn’t know I needed in my life, which couldn’t be said for Albanian men who were too eager to flirt.
Unlike Americans, Albanians had no qualms about asking personal questions. I learned that Kian wasn’t unique when it came to that because every person, regardless of age or gender, had been prying into my life the last few days.
Like the hotel manager who boldly asked me where my husband was.
When I said I wasn’t married, he stated I better hurry up because it was time to have babies.
His wife chimed in, but in Albanian, and I sure as hell hoped she put him in his place.
I continued my ice cream tasting in this little beachside town, but even there I was grilled on who I was, where I came from, and who my parents were. As if they would recognize their names.
I’d stumbled into this unexpected slice of heaven on earth and had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
And in some lame show of protest, I hadn’t even done a basic web search on this man who’d already taken up too much of my headspace.
If he didn’t want to share basic facts about himself, so be it. I wouldn’t be wasting my energy.
I sighed and pushed open the heavy mahogany door, stepping into the bar just as dusk settled in.
Outside, a few die-hards were still stretched out on the beach, clinging to the fleeting warmth of the day.
I, however, was craving music, conversation, and something cold and strong enough to keep the glow going.
The bar opened out into a vast garden at the back, strung with warm lights that flickered against the deepening sky.
Laughter spilled through the air and somewhere near the far end, a band was playing what I assumed to be local music, the trendy notes carrying my way.
The place buzzed with life, a hive of motion and sound.
“Jackpot,” I murmured, sauntering toward the long mahogany bar lined with worn leather stools that looked as though they’d heard a thousand stories.
I’d barely sat down when the bartender appeared, smiling broadly.
“Good evening, miss.”
I smiled back, slightly surprised. “How did you know to speak English?”
“Lucky guess,” he said with a chuckle. “What can I get for you?”
I scanned the shelves behind him, bottles catching the light like jewels. “A mojito, please.”
He nodded and disappeared, leaving me to take it all in. Everything around me was simple, unpretentious, and quietly beautiful. The language was challenging, sure, but that was on me. Maybe I’d download Duolingo, learn a few words, and make a real effort.
It felt worth it. Every interaction here carried an openness I hadn’t realized I’d been missing. I’d eaten out alone every night since arriving, yet not once had I felt unsafe or out of place. Strangers smiled, servers chatted, locals lingered to help without being asked.
In Albania, I wasn’t just passing through. Somehow, impossibly, I already felt at home.
My mojito arrived and I took my time sipping on it while studying the growing crowd around me.
“Another mojito.” The bartender slid the glass across the counter.
“Oh, but I’m still working…” I trailed off, noting I had sipped it down to nothing. I lifted my eyes and smiled. “Thank you.”
I snatched up the glass and, raising it to my lips, downed it in one gulp.
“Wow, you must be thirsty,” he remarked, smiling as he began mixing another cocktail.
“No more for me,” I told him quickly. Mojitos were somewhat watered down thanks to how much ice went in the glass, but I couldn’t risk getting drunk while alone. I had enough sense to know better. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s on the house."
I arched an eyebrow, then dug into my purse and pulled out a few notes. I placed them on the counter and said, “That’s nice of you, but no.”
“I insist.”
I shook my head.
“My husband’s going to be here soon,” I said, causing his expression to fall instantly. “He’ll think I led you on, and he’s quite possessive, so it’s best I pay for my own drinks.”
His expression instantly changed to that of caution, his eyes scanning behind me. Smart bartender.
“Here I am, love,” a new voice interjected. “Your husband, in the flesh.”
What. The. Actual. Hell?
I glanced to the side to find a man with a thick waistline leaning against the bar, leering at me with invisible drool on his mouth. He was of medium height with a wide, almost nonexistent neck.
Oh, hell no.
Our eyes met and he winked.
I stiffened while the bartender rushed to apologize. “I’m sorry, burrê. I didn’t know she was married.”
“He’s definitely not my husband,” I spat, putting twenty euros on the bar, then drew myself to my full height, tucking my handbag. “Goodbye.”
I sidestepped to pass him, the hair on the nape of my neck rising in warning.
“Leaving so soon?” he slurred, grabbing my wrist with his big, sweaty hand. “Don’t be rude, I haven’t finished talking to you, I—”
“Let go of me!” I tugged myself free from his grasp, my heart in my throat. “My real husband is nearby and he’ll kick your ass if he sees you touching me.”
His features twisted, the easy confidence on his face snapping into something sharp and ugly, and he lunged for me again. I didn’t think. I reacted and drove my knee up hard, burying it where instinct told me the most damage would be done. The impact jarred my leg.
He cried out—a raw, strangled sound that cut through the air.
I stumbled back, the taste of adrenaline bitter on my tongue.
He doubled over, one hand clutching himself as if he could hold the pain in place, but the other shot out and tangled in my hair. My scalp burned as he yanked, dragging my head back.
“You bitch,” he spat through clenched teeth. “I’m a man. Head of my family. You don’t get to do that to me.”
For a split second, disbelief cut through the fear. Talk about Neanderthal manners. And to think I’d been having such a great time so far.
My mind scrambled, searching for my next move, but my body lagged behind. My feet felt glued to the floor, legs trembling, every nerve buzzing too loud to think straight. I twisted, trying to break his grip, the pull on my scalp sending sharp flashes of pain down my neck.
Before I could act, a familiar voice pierced the air.
“That’s enough.”
The world froze for a moment.
My attacker’s fingers loosened slightly, and I sucked in a breath as the pressure on my head eased. Kian stepped between us, broad shoulders blocking my view from the attacker, his sudden presence sending relief through me.
“You dare touch what’s mine?” Kian growled.
Wait. What? I blinked, confused, while it seemed every patron in the vicinity had stopped to watch the drama unfold. My pulse roared in my ears. Then, with a sharp curse, the grip on my hair vanished.
I stumbled back, nearly losing my balance, but firm hands caught my arm, steadying me. The unmistakable musk of a man hit me and oddly made my mouth water.
I turned to look at my savior and found myself staring into Kian’s dark eyes.
I swallowed, soaking up the heat that radiated from him, curling around me like a living thing. Or maybe that was just my embarrassment.
I drew in a sharp breath, and his scent—spice and warmth—seemed to sink deeper into me. The room tilted. I swayed and caught his arm to steady myself.
His muscles were tense under my touch, and I couldn’t help but notice again how hot he was.
“Are you hurt?” Kian asked, not taking his eyes off the other man, while my thoughts scattered in every unhelpful direction.
I shook my head. My scalp throbbed and my throat felt raw, but I was upright and mostly unharmed.
Then, because I clearly had no sense of self-preservation, I leaned into his muscular body, the light fabric of his suit brushing against my skin.
“I’ve been waiting for you all night,” I cried out suddenly, my voice pitching higher and louder than intended—loud enough to carry across the bar. “Um, husband.”
Kian arched an eyebrow in surprise. His body went rigid, the planes of his muscles turning to granite while steady warmth poured off him.
A flicker of doubt sparked in me. Had I just made a terrible mistake announcing to the bar that Kian was my husband?
But then his arm came around me and he tucked me into his side. Against my better judgment, my body melted into him.
Much to my horror, I realized I was getting aroused and my heart was humming with anticipation. Either that or I was developing a serious heart condition.
Tabling that for now, I shifted my attention to my attacker and tipped my chin up.
“See? I told you my husband was nearby. If you value your life, I suggest you get lost.”
“You heard her,” Kian drawled coolly. “Best be off, or I’ll have to rearrange your features.”
His arm tightened around me as if to underline the threat, but the idiot still didn’t seem to grasp it.
“Liar,” he spat.
But then to my shock, Kian’s bodyguards surrounded him, guns in hand, with Kian pulling his own from his holster.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd. No one made a move to call the police. Instead, they backed away, leaving my attacker alone to face his fate.
“Whoa, whoa…” I hissed under my breath. “What’s going on?”
I was all for him saving me, but an army of armed guards really wasn’t necessary.
Without looking at me, he said in a voice edged with something harsh and dangerous, “I’m about to teach this bastard a lesson.”
I grabbed his bicep, my fingers barely managing to wrap halfway around it, and he looked at me.
I gasped.
There was a darkness in his eyes—intense enough to steal my breath. It felt like staring straight into a storm, and for a split second, I wanted to step back.
Instead, I drifted closer.
“Listen, the asshole didn’t hurt me. No foul done, let’s just get out of here before you”—I looked at the five bodyguards surrounding the man who looked about ready to piss himself—“and your men end up in an Albanian prison right alongside me. That’s not on my bucket list.”
One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to any prison.”
“But your gun,” I hissed.
“I’m licensed to carry.”
I rolled my eyes. “But not to shoot people. Come on, leave the idiot to drown in alcohol—”
“And harass another woman?” he gritted. “He yanked you by your hair and insulted you. Nobody gets away with that.”
I shouldn’t feel flattered, yet I did. Jonathan had never done something like this. When his ex spewed insults at me, he just let it go, and it bothered me. For fuck’s sake, I should have been worth more to my boyfriend than peace with his ex.
“I appreciate that,” I whispered. “More than you’ll ever know. But maybe just put the gun away and punch him instead?”
“Wait for me outside, zemer,” he instructed. Zemer? The freaking silver fox forgot my name. When I didn’t move, Kian gritted, “Sophie, wait for me outside.”
Considering the current circumstance, I shouldn’t have been so happy to hear him remember my name.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” I muttered under my breath.
“It’s nothing unusual… since you’re my wife and all,” he drawled.
He returned his attention to the scene while I took him in properly: the high, intelligent forehead; thick, silver-peppered hair that looked impossibly soft; a straight nose; sharp cheekbones that could probably cut glass.
And then his mouth. That mouth—with its full lower lip that made my pulse stutter.
Goose bumps rose on my arms and the heaviness in my stomach intensified.
I’d been attracted to men before, loved them, dated them, but this feeling—whatever it was—felt brand-new.
Then I did something I’d never done before.
I rose onto my toes, my fingers clenching the front of his pristine suit, and tugged him toward me.
The fabric was cool under my palms, but the heat radiating from his body burned through it.
He must have been caught off guard because he lowered his head, and it was just enough for me to close the distance and press my lips against his.
For a heartbeat, he was still—solid as stone.
Then he kissed me back.
One large hand slid to the back of my neck, anchoring me against him, while the other—the one still gripping the gun—curved around my hip, the cold metal pressing through the soft fabric of my summer dress.
It should have brought me to my senses, but instead, I pressed myself against his body, my pulse throbbing between my thighs.
He tilted his head, deepening the kiss. The world around us blurred into nothing—just the heat of his lips, the slight rasp of his breathing, and the steady, grounding strength that held me upright. I could feel the brush of his jaw against mine, the delicious scrape of stubble.
My fingers dug into his jacket, trying to memorize the solid weight of him, the way he was both restraint and release. His lips parted against mine and I followed, every movement sending shivers down my spine.
He tilted my head gently to explore deeper, and the world beyond this man fell away. The roar of my own pulse filled my ears. My mind went blank.
And I lost myself in the best kiss of my life.