Uh oh.
His eyes had narrowed, too, but his were tiny slits.
“Now, are you finished?”
His voice was low. Soft. It was not a good sound. She thought of that old adage about stopping when you were ahead, but she’d gone too far for that.
“Not quite. And if you so much as touch me, I will have you beaten.” She took a deep breath. “Now we are finished, Mr. Savitch,”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
The silence, the stillness, was more frightening than if he’d yelled or shouted or picked up something and flung it at her, but she knew better than to let her fear show.
What seemed like an eternity slid by.
Then, very slowly, he stepped out from behind the desk and came toward her.
“I know all about you,” he said, very, very quietly.
“You know what you have been told.”
“You are the daughter of Gregor Rostov. A man of great power.”
“Yes. Exactly. And you’d better remember that.”
He was inches from her now. She had backed away when he’d come this close before; she knew better than to do it again. Katie stood her ground despite the fact that she felt as if her legs were going to give out from under her.
“Your father is devoted to success. His own success.”
He was right, but this was hardly the time to admit it.
“Who are you marrying?”
Color striped Ekaterina Rostov’s lovely cheeks. For the very first time, Kaz thought he saw a crack in her composure.
“I don’t see that as any of your business, Mr. Savitch.”
“Everything about you is my business until Christmas Eve.”
“I am to marry the heir to the throne.”
He looked at her as if she’d said she was marrying Dracula.
“Who?”
“The prince of Sardovia.”
Holy shit. This beautiful, fiery woman was marrying his uncle Dmitri? Dmitri, who seemed intent on making Kaz’s dead father look like a saint?
“Do you know him?” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And, what?”