“Yes, sir.”
There were many things I liked about being a part of one of the crime families in New York, many things. Now, meeting Katya Petrenko was one of them.
I’m thirty-three, far from a kid, but I’m almost giddy with the anticipation. What she would wear, her scent, all the expressions she would make.
Her steely eyes.
I didn’t even think that she might not come. Not her. Challenges didn’t faze her, plus I was sure she’d be pissed out of her mind after meeting with Yuri.
She’d probably be coming to start a fight more than to be appeased.
Still, I couldn’t get to the restaurant fast enough.
The table I reserved for two was very private. Nova was the best place for a potential confrontation.
Katya came only minutes after I’d sat down, wearing a classic pink dress that accented her frame. There was no teasing smile, no sly glitter in her eyes. Just that fiercely sensual aura.
Yes, she was pissed off.
As a gentleman, I made to get up and pull out her chair.
“If you get up, I will strike you across your face.”
I paused, fought a smile, then settled back and gestured to her seat. “Then, help yourself. I’m happy that you decided to come.”
She settled quietly and ordered when the waiter came to us. Not a word was uttered, and I decided not to try to start a conversation, at least not until we’d eaten.
“I see you met with my father,” she said, knifing violently into her chicken.
I reached for my champagne flute. “I did. Your father’s a very pleasant man, you know. I think he is starting to grow on me.”
Her eyes flickered to mine predatorily. “You went behind my back.”
“Wrong. I saw a loophole and used it to my advantage. The site is mine again, I didn’t go through any unsavory means, and I know you got every dime back this time.”
Gently, she put down her cutlery. “Your attempt to appease me is downright bullshit.”
“Only because you insist on making it that way. I had a series of events perfectly planned out for you.”
“Oh really? A pathetic lunch in this private dining room, and then what? Hot, back-breaking sex on this worthless oakwood table?”
“I was thinking against the wall,” I said, leaning back into my seat, “but if you’d prefer on the table, adjustments can readily be made.”
Something that could involve me licking a bottle of wine off her body. I wondered how those eyes would be when she was whimpering for more.
Katya glared at me for a moment, as if she would read my thoughts, and the room heated up despite the AC. I could see the heat in her eyes swell. “I hate how you’ve bested me continuously,” she admitted, and I swore there might have been angels blowing trumpets.
Her admission made me adjust in my chair, for comfort.
I cleared my throat because, fuck, now I wanted her on the table, against the wall, under the sun.
In my bed.
I had to down my flute and breathe.
Maybe a private room with this woman wasn’t the best place for a meeting, not when I had intended to have my senses with me throughout.
“I’m not turning down the invitation,”