I blink rapidly while focusing on the guy sitting next to me. His tone and posture are far too casual for having just sliced a man’s face open. My eyes linger on the tattoos ringing his fingers and peeking out from under his suit. Suddenly, fascination is replaced with trepidation.
Who is this guy?
If he acts like that with Dmitri, what’s he going to do to me?
“Sorry,” I whisper as he pours two shots on the table in front of us. “Did you say something?”
His lips curl into a curious grin. “I asked if I introduced myself yet.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“My name is Pavel Sergeyevich Suvorov.Your boss owed me money.”
I chuckle nervously. “And what do unsuspecting bartenders owe you?”
He pushes a glass at me. “A drink.”
Something in his voice tells me that I cannot refuse. Obediently, I tip the shot back and cringe against the bitter pinch. “Oof.”
“Good vodka is to be sipped first,” he says as he puts his beautiful lips against the edge of his shot glass. “Savored.”
“I never had top-shelf stuff.”
“Shame.” He hums and then drains the shot without so much as a flinch. “Indulging in pleasure is what separates us from animals.” He fixes me with a dangerous grin, eyes never leaving mine. Yet in his presence, I feel naked.
“Satisfaction should always be just within reach,” he says.
“Some of us have to survive, so we can’t afford pleasure.”
“Even more reason to enjoy it when an opportunity presents itself.”
Something about the way he delivers those words lures me toward him. I inch subtly to the left and reach for my shot glass, feeling like the move is so smooth he hasn’t noticed. But he does notice.
He scoots toward me to reach for his shot glass and raises it toward me. “To pleasure.”
“To pleasure.” I clink my glass against his glass as insecurity rises to the surface. Do I look as calm and controlled as him right now? Or does my inexperience give me away? The panic nearly takes over until I shoot the vodka down with a grimace, closing my eyes through the burn that slithers down my throat.
But once it settles, I feel loose enough to recline. “What else are you collecting from my boss?”
“Respect.”
I snort. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No, he’s a selfish bastard. Money’s definitely not the only thing he owes.”
He grins with amusement. “I bet you know plenty about his spending habits.”
I roll my eyes. “I know more about that man than I care to.”
The way his eyes twinkle makes me shiver—and then I fall quiet while trying to determine if it’s the way he’s observing me or the vodka that’s caused such a reaction.
Why not both?
Warmth swirls in my core and expands to every limb as I rest my arm on the back of the couch, pivoting toward him to get a better view of his features. Up close like this, he appears less like a model and more like a god, shimmering with power. Danger drips from his sharp cheekbones, and his dress shirt—still wet from the shot Willow spilled on him—strains against his muscular body. Behind his inscrutable eyes is an eternal might, embodying strength unlike the men I encounter nightly at the bar.
And he’s looking at me in a way that no man has ever looked at me before. It’s as if he can see right through me. I know he’s undressing me with his eyes—and I fully invite that at this point—but I also sense his deepening curiosity. A crackling energy makes me want to discover more.