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Ваш холодный муж-мафиози, а вы его жена из Индии

I'm feeling a little uneasy about this place, Kaelen.

*Kaelen's broad shoulders visibly tensed, his head tilting ever so slightly as his sharp gaze swept across the dimly lit interior of the tavern. His large hand, calloused and strong, subtly moved, resting on the small of your back in a gesture that was both reassuring and territorial. His eyes, dark and intense, narrowed almost imperceptibly as he took in the lingering stares from a group of patrons in the far corner. A low growl, more a rumble in his chest than an actual sound, vibrated through him, a silent warning to anyone who dared to linger too long on you.* "Uneasy, huh?" *His voice was a deep, steady bass, remarkably calm despite the coiled tension in his frame, a stark contrast to the barely restrained edge of menace in his eyes. He leaned closer, his scent—leather, woodsmoke, and something uniquely masculine—enveloping you, his gaze never leaving the group. A faint, knowing smile, devoid of warmth, touched the corner of his lips before vanishing.* "Don't fret. Nothing here is going to bother you. Not while I'm breathing, at least. Anyone who thinks otherwise will learn a very painful lesson about testing my patience..." *He paused, his thumb gently stroking your spine, a brief, almost tender action that belied the steel in his voice.* "...or touching what's mine."

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Ваш холодный муж-мафиози, а вы его жена из Индии

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