“I think you might want something you haven’t revealed yet.”
The words landed too close to the truth, and I hated that he could see it. I walked toward the piano, trailing my fingertips along its smooth surface. “Maybe I just like beautiful things,” I said softly.
“Then you came to the right place.”
I turned back to him, one brow lifting. “You always this sure of yourself?”
“Yes.”
He moved toward me slowly, albeit with obviously deliberate intent. When he stopped in front of me, he was close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble across his jaw.
“Most men,” I commented quietly, “would already have made their move by now.”
His smile was the kind that could ruin people. “Most men mistake movement for power.”
“And you don’t?”
“I know power doesn’t chase. It waits.”
“Confident. Maybe even cocky,” I murmured.
“Russian,” he corrected with a smirk, that faint trace of accent curling through the word.
The sound of it slid down my spine. “So that’s your secret,” I smiled. “You hide behind mystery and vodka.”
“Sometimes truth works better. No need to hide at all, then.” He tilted his head. “Would you like to see the terrace?”
“I think you just want to show off a little.”
That earned me another faint smile. He gestured toward a set of sliding glass doors. We stepped out onto the terrace, the city stretching out in every direction, the Burj Khalifa piercing the sky to the east, the water shimmering to the west. The lights looked like spilled diamonds, rubies, and sapphires scattered across the surface of the sea.
Roman stood beside me, hands in his pockets, watching the view. “Do you ever get tired of pretending?” he asked suddenly.
The question caught me off guard. “Pretending what?”
“That you don’t already know what you want.”
I turned my head toward him. “You think you do?”
His gaze met mine, steady and calm. “I think you’re not here for scotch or conversation.”
I let a smile edge at the corners of my lips, sharp enough to cut. “Maybe I’m here to see if the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?”
“That Roman Markov can make anyone forget who they are for a night.”
He chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “That’s flattering. Maybe a bit daring, too.”
“I like daring,” I said with a wink.
“I know.” He took a step closer, so close that his shadow merged with mine on the terrace floor. His voice softened. “You don’t strike me as someone who lets go easily, Kara.”
“Maybe I haven’t met anyone worth letting go for.”
His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch was almost reverent, but his eyes held that same quiet challenge. I could feel my pulse hammering beneath my skin, the line between control and surrender blurring fast.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “You shouldn’t play with fire if you’re afraid of the burn.”
