“Roman…brother…just having a little fun. With the entertainment, you know? I didn’t mean anything—”
Frankie falls silent as my protector growls. An actual growl. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man growl like a wild animal before, but it does something. Changes something inside me. I’m no longer seeing him as a threat. He’s a knight, protecting the damsel in distress, and I feel like I’ve never felt before. There’s a dampness between my legs as I shift against the floor.
“Don’t even fucking look at her, Fyodor. I mean it. Your eyes go to her, I’ll pull them out and feed them to you.”
“Uspokoitsya, Roman… Fyodor said he was sorry.” Egor’s voice is calm, placating, respectful and fearful. “He sees an attractive girl, he gets excited. He means no harm or disrespect.”
The man, Roman, turns, and Fyodor drops to the floor like forgotten trash. He glares at the two men still sitting at the table, his eyes unreadable, his jaw set. He’s like a gladiator surveying the competition sent to fight him and finding it wanting.
With a dismissive grunt, his gaze turns to me, and I draw a breath as our eyes meet.
He isn’t so scary.
The thought occurs to me as I stare into his eyes. He’s big, sure. Powerful. A force of nature. But he won’t hurt me. He would never hurt me. I’m as certain of it as if he’d just said so. His face may be hard, but it’s beautiful, his eyes are the gentlest, most calming ocean-blue. The scar that cuts through his lips only makes me want to press mine against them, to taste them, to feel their coarseness.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice gentle.
I shake my head. Words? I’m not sure how to string them together into a sentence. My hands flutter to my chest, trying to calm my breathing. I gulp air as I feel my heart thudding through the dress, my fingers finding the patch where the drink spilled on me.
“Wet,” I say, distractedly, running my fingertips over the spill.
“Wet…” he repeats, slowly.
I can barely drag my eyes away from his, and when I do I see it. I don’t even want to think about the bulge Frankie tried to taunt me with just a few moments ago, but I can’t help comparing his pathetic display with the ridge I see against Roman’s leg. The urge to set it free, to get my hands on it, to taste the tip…
What is happening to me?
I’ve never had thoughts like this before. I’ve never seen a man the way I’m seeing him. It’s like we’re suddenly the only two people in the world and I’m free to think whatever I want to think. I bite into my lip as his gaze travels down my body, making me tingle and shiver as I clench every muscle. A trickle of liquid spills from between my legs and I mewl at the feel of it.
And finally, that sends him over the edge.
“Everybody out. Now. I want you all gone.”
“Chyort! Roman, come on, we’re here for business.”
“Not anymore. I said get the fuck out.” In a couple of strides he’s across the room, throwing the door open. “I won’t ask again.”
Mikhail stands from the table, but he doesn’t move for the door. “Roman, be reasonable, your father won’t stand for this. It is by his invitation we’re here, and this is how you treat us? We’re honored guests, you should be—”
“My father isn’t here. This isn’t his casino. Now get the fuck out or I’ll call security and have you thrown out. I’ll call the fucking police if I have to.”
“Nyet! Call the police on us? Nobody will do business with your family again!”
I watch as Roman reaches into his silk dinner jacket, my heart in my throat. Is he going for a gun?
Instead, he pulls out a cell phone. “Nine. One… You want me to press the one again? I will if I have to.”
Mikhail blows out a breath through his nose, shaking his head, but he holds up his hands. “Pidaras. Whatever you say, Roman. I will be talking to Apollo about how you treat his guests.” He turns to me and his lips twist into a snarl. “Shluha vokzal’naja,” he mutters as he grabs what’s left of the tray of vol-au-vents and hurls it at the wall above me.
Apparently, he shouldn’t have said whatever he just said.
Even Egor and Frankie look shocked as they silently turn their eyes on Roman. And following their gaze, I see the blind fury written on his face. Mikhail straightens his tie, attempting to look unflustered, but when he takes a step forward, it’s like the spell has been broken.
As Roman thunders across the room, drawing his fist back, Egor and Frankie flee out of the open door, and I pull myself back into a crouch against the wall, drawing my knees up to my chest. Glancing at the kitchen, I see Becca, her eyes wide as she watches what’s going on, and where the dealer went is anyone’s guess. Roman’s fist connects with Mikhail’s jaw like a battering ram, Mikhail’s head whipping around so fast it’s surprising it doesn’t break his neck. Blood spatters across the wall as I yelp in fear.