I turned my head slightly, just enough to whisper back, “Who says I’m afraid?”
His smile was slow, dark, and utterly devastating. “I didn’t think so.”
The city glittered around us while I finished my drink, feeling the heat of it bloom low in my stomach. Roman’s eyes lingered on my mouth, his voice barely a murmur when he spoke again.
“Stay awhile,” he said. “You’re not someone who runs, are you?”
“I’m not.”
I walked past him back inside, the echo of my heels trailing through the penthouse.
Then I offered him my glass, meeting his eyes. “One more drink,” I said. “Then I go.”
He nodded, that faint knowing smile still on his lips. “Of course.”
We both knew I was lying.
CHAPTER 2
Kara
I told myself I was staying for the view.
That was the lie I picked first. It was clean, elegant, and easy to swallow, the kind of lie ARCHEON would approve of. It kept the mission at the forefront of my mind and my pulse under control, but it was hard to think about anything else with Roman Markov standing half a room away, loosening his collar and rolling up his sleeves, never taking his eyes off me.
Becausefuckme.
He crossed to a small console table and pressed his finger to the touch screen built into the glass. A low hum filled the space, followed by the quiet crackle of vinyl. Then jazz music.
Ella Fitzgerald, if I wasn’t mistaken.
He poured another two fingers of scotch into my glass and handed it back to me. “You’re quiet now,” he said.
“Just observing you.”
“And what do you see?”
I took the glass, letting my fingers graze his and my eyes meet his. “A man who likes control just as much as I do,” I answered.
He smiled, but it wasn’t the smooth one from before. It was darker and my heart skipped a beat in my chest. “You’re not wrong.”
He moved closer, close enough that the faint heat of his body brushed my skin through the thin lace of my dress.
I didn’t step back.
“Control is overrated sometimes,” I said, my voice lower than I meant it to be.
“Only if you’re afraid of losing it,” he countered.
I laughed softly, because that was exactly the sort of thing men like him said when they thought they were winning. “And areyouafraid?” I asked.
He set his glass down, eyes never leaving mine. “No. I’m curious.”
His hand came up, fingertips grazing my upper arm, light as static. He didn’t push. Just tested the space between us, waiting for me to flinch.
I didn’t.
He took that as permission.
