Straightening my spine, I stepped into the vast dining room.
The silver shone, and the crystal glasses glistened under the great chandeliers. Yuri was already seated at the head of the table and smoking a cigarette.
My eyes skittered over to the other place setting at the other end of the table. The table was so long it seemed as if he was half a mile away, which would be a plus since his effect would be less potent.
“Come and sit next to me,” he invited in that smooth, velvety voice of his.
I stilled. The much-needed distance from him I’d hoped for was fast disappearing. “If you don’t mind,” I began, unable to look directly at him. “I would prefer—”
“But I do mind,” he cut me off.
In that moment, our gazes met. Blue curls of smoke rose around his dark face. His eyes glittered like ice and I felt as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. I found myself sucking in a big gulp of air. It seemed insane, but I had to admit to myself that in the mere space of a day I had missed him. The way his powerful personality affected me was incredible.
Almost unbelievable.
I’d hoped my memory of how strongly he affected me would be rendered inaccurate on second reflection as something that my mind, nervous about the job interview, had exaggerated.
I was wrong.
If anything, he appeared even more swoon-worthy. He must have just had a shower; his sinfully dark hair was damp and swept away from his brow, the top two buttons of his white dress shirt unbuttoned. The exposed, tattoos on the bronzed, toned flesh of his chest made my mouth go dry. His sleeves were folded up his arms. My eyes caressed the corded muscles of his forearms. There were intricate blue tattoos there too.
My gaze shifted up to his face.
A vein in his jaw popped and throbbed as he looked at me through the veil of smoke.
It held my attention for longer than was necessary. Was he as affected by me as I was by him? I couldn’t pull my gaze away. It was as if my eyes needed to drink him in. It seemed almost indecent, this sexual attraction already brimming in the air between us.
He took one last drag of his cigarette and killed it in his ashtray.
Clearing my throat and holding my head up high, I walked to the seat beside him.
Orlov appeared out of nowhere, and with excessive politeness seated me and laid a napkin onto my lap.
I turned my head and looked at Yuri. Our eyes locked. It was like looking into the devil’s eyes. For a few seconds, I became lost in his gaze. I got a sensation as if I was on my hands and knees crawling around on the floor searching. Searching, for my lost heart or soul. It brought back the lines from an old poem:
You remind me of eyes I’ve seen before.
Eyes I’ll always love.
Eyes I’m afraid of.
A noise of cutlery shook me out of my trance and I hurriedly dropped my gaze in confusion. What was happening to me? Why was I so out of control? Did this man possess some kind of magic or was I just losing my mind?
I drew a ragged breath to steady my nerves and his scent filled my senses. It commanded the hairs on my arms to attention. Truly, I hadn’t lied when I told Charlotte I could smell this man’s desire for me. My mind felt restless and my body fevered. I stared straight ahead, as Orlav reset the place setting in front of me.
“Red or white?” he asked from my side.
“Red,” I replied, and my voice sounded raspy, out of control.
Expertly, he filled my glass with wine from a decanter.
“Thank you.”
Yuri lifted his glass in a toast. A slow, knowing smile lifted the corners of his sensuous lips. “To our health.”
“To our health,” I whispered. I tasted the wine, which must have been excellent, but it could have been water, all I knew at this moment that it was wet. I peered at him over the rim of my glass. “I apologize for being late.”
He smiled a perfect smile and he lifted one side of his broad shoulder nonchalantly. “It is the prerogative of a beautiful woman to make an entrance.”
I felt my cheeks burn with ridiculous pleasure at the compliment. “Thank you.” Beneath the table, I made sure to keep my knees away from his and on the table top, I avoided any sort of contact with his hand. It looked dark, masculine, and lazily powerful resting on the snowy white table cloth.
I knew there was only one way this night would end if I didn’t take matters into my own hands and lead the evening the way I wanted it to go. I took my slightly trembling hand away from the table and clasped them on my lap. “Yulia is a lovely girl,” I began. “Talk to me about her. What happened to her parents?”