“I admit nothing. It takes a hell of a lot more than a pretty lake to impress me.”
“Liar,” he teases, tugging me gently toward the edge.
“Wait… what are you doing?” I blurt, tugging his hand just enough to halt him before he steps forward.
“We’re going to dance, you and I.”
“Dance? Are you joking?”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Besides, isn’t that what we’ve been doing all along? Dancing around each other?”
My lips press into a thin line, refusing to even engage with such a loaded question. There’s a fine line between wanting to kill him and wanting to kiss him, and I’ve been toeing it since theday I met him. And to my bitter resentment, the asshole knows it.
“Come,milaya. I’m not going to bite.”
“No promises here,” I groan, letting him pull me along for the third time tonight. But when the heel of my boot meets the ice, I falter, a thin crack of fear whispering up my spine.
“Wait—”
“Quit stalling,” he laughs.
“I’m serious. I can’t do this.”
“And why not? Afraid again, are we?”
“I’m not afraid, asshole.” I slap his chest—his very taut, muscular chest. It takes me a second to realize my hand lingers longer than it should. Kirill’s smug smirk makes the slip feel ten times worse, so before he can say anything, I pull my hand back and clear my throat. “I can’t go on the ice because my heels have been… modified.”
“And by modified, you mean…?” he asks, one brow lifting.
“There’s a small razor built into the heel,” I explain. “I’d rather not chop a hole through the lake and drown us both.”
“You added razors to your heels?”
“Tiny ones,” I clarify. “You’d have to look closely to even see the alterations.”
Kirill groans, his eyes darkening as if I’d just confessed something filthy. He then shakes his head as that familiar teasing smile returns.
“Take your heels off.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“You can wear my shoes.”
I glance at his black boots and laugh. “You mean break my neck trying to walk in those? They look five sizes too big.”
“I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve walked in a man’s shoes and made them your bitch.”
That earns a real laugh out of me. “You want to give me your boots? Fine. But what are you going to wear?”
“Just hand me the damn heels,” he says with a lightness I haven’t seen from him before.
I steady myself with a hand on his shoulder while his hand automatically finds my waist, steadying me as I slip off each heel and slide my feet into his boots.
“You look good in my things,” he teases, coaxing another laugh out of me.
“Sure, I do.” I roll my eyes because I’m pretty sure I look ridiculous.
“I’m serious.” His eyes soften as he looks at me, his hand still resting at my waist.
