Charlie
It takesover forty minutes to make our way across the city to where the party is being held, a townhouse in Gramercy Park. Traffic in the city is something to be feared, I’ve decided. Cars weave in and out as though they have some sort of bubble around them that will allow them to bounce off objects unharmed.
Viktor slams on the brakes yelling out his window in Russian. I don’t understand any of it, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t giving well wishes to the driver that just cut us off.
“Are you all right?” he asks me, looking at me through the rearview. Nikolai isn’t with us. He’s meeting me at this party—where I don’t know anyone.
“Yes. Thanks.” I blow out a long breath. “Are we almost there?” I ask.
He nods. “Two more blocks.”
I lean over to get a better look at the navigation screen. 18th Street and Park Avenue. This part of town is foreign to me. The shops, the restaurants, these townhomes, all too much for me. The extravagances that I would never bother to dream about. And here I am rolling up to a party being given in one of them.
Finally, Viktor pulls up in front of the house, behind other cars also dropping off guests. I spot Nikolai standing on the steps. He’s wearing a dark suit. Does he have a closet of clothes at his office? Does he have an office?
Nikolai steps down and makes his way to the car just as Viktor rolls forward. I have my hand on the handle when Nikolai pulls the door open, and I nearly spill out onto the concrete. I recover my balance quickly and manage to slide out of the SUV without embarrassing myself.
His eyes darken when he looks me over. I smile at the way his jaw tenses and run my hand over the skirt of the blue dress I chose for the evening. It’s a petty rebellion, ignoring his instruction on which dress to wear this evening, but a satisfying one. The silver heels give me some height, so I won’t have to tilt my head back far when I’m glaring up at him.
“Thank you,” I say then step around him to move further onto the sidewalk. He has a quick conversation with Viktor, in Russian of course so I can’t understand them, then shuts the door and turns back to me.
“Have a good day, dear?” I ask, putting my hand on my hip and smoothing out a flyaway hair from the updo I spent an hour putting together. Thank God for internet tutorials.
His eyes narrow on me, and he runs his tongue along his teeth. I’m not sure if he’s going to yell at me or grab me by my hair and kiss me. A small part of me wants the kiss. No, I’m lying. A big part of me wants it.
The summer air is warm tonight; even with the sun nearly asleep I can feel heat on my cheeks.
A woman passes us, giving Nikolai a long stare as she does. He doesn’t seem to notice her. He doesn’t seem to notice anything right now except me. The longer he stares quietly at me, the faster my bravado slips away.
Finally, he steps to me, slipping his arm around my waist. “You’re a naughty girl, Charlotte,” he whispers into my ear then presses a kiss to my temple.
The way he says it, in that sultry, deep voice, makes my spine tingle. Hell, it makes all of me tingle.
He leads me up the steps and into the townhouse. The place is full of people already. Soft music is playing from the living room when we pass it, but he doesn’t take me in there. He keeps us moving toward another room. Here he finds a waiter and plucks a glass of wine off his tray and hands it to me.
I thank him and take a sip, painfully aware I am completely outside my element. The rug alone in this room would make my credit line laugh.
“What is the party for?” I ask, taking a larger sip.
“My father’s celebrating his sixty-fifth birthday.”
I choke on the wine.
“You brought me to your father’s birthday party?” My eyes have to be bugging out of my head; at least it feels that way. His whole family will be here. This isn’t a casual party of business associates or whatever I thought this was going to be. His actual family. And their associates.
My skin heats up.
He cracks a smile, obviously happy with my reaction to his news.
“I did.” He takes the now empty glass from my hand and places it on a buffet table behind me against the wall.
“Nikolai.” A man as tall as Nikolai walks up to us, and he’s the spitting image of him too. Except there’s a scar over his left eyebrow.
“Arman.” Nikolai inclines his head in greeting but doesn’t offer a hand.
Arman takes a step toward him then turns his attention to me. “And who have you brought with you tonight?” he asks with a wry smile.
“This is Charlotte. Charlotte, my brother Arman.” He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me to his side, as though laying claim on me.