“You’re the kind of woman who carries the weight of her whole world on her shoulders,” he said easily. “The kind who thinks she has to save everyone alone. The kind who looks at someone like me and thinks, ‘No, thank you, that looks like trouble.’”
“You are trouble,” I replied smoothly.
“I’m the fun kind,” he smiled. “The kind you haven’t let yourself enjoy yet.”
My cheeks warmed before I could stop them. I cursed myself quietly.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His grin widened. “There it is.”
“There what is?” I snapped.
“The part where you stop pretending you don’t see me.”
I should have shut him down cold. But Viktor Dragunov radiated the kind of energy that drew people in whether they wanted to be drawn or not, all dangerous charm wrapped in lazy confidence.
He leaned one shoulder against the glass, arms and ankles crossed, studying me like I was another puzzle he intended to solve.
“Why don’t we stop this dance,” he continued, voice dropping, “and I’ll take you back to my suite and give you what you really need.”
The air punched out of my lungs at the same time heat rushed up my neck.
I recovered fast. “What I need is sleep, not whatever you think is happening right now.”
He chuckled. “That’s adorable. Truly. But you’re looking at me like you want to study my anatomy, and I’m happy to offer a practical demonstration.”
I shoved him, not hard, but enough. He barely moved, but the grin that spread across his face was wickedly devious.
“You’re arrogant,” I hissed.
“So I’ve been told.”
“And conceited.”
“Also true.”
“And you think you can flirt your way into anything.”
“Usually works.”
“It won’t work on me.”
His eyes dropped very deliberately to my mouth, then back up.
“It already has.”
The temperature in the courtyard felt ten degrees hotter. My whole body tightened with frustration, desire, anger, and then all three braided together in a way I absolutely didnotwant to analyze.
I stepped back.
Viktor didn’t move to follow me. He didn’t crowd me. Didn’t touch me. He just stood there in that easy, infuriatingly relaxed posture that made me want to climb him like a goddamn tree to kiss and strangle him at the same time.
His gaze stayed on me, warm and slow, assessing rather than predatory, which somehow made it worse. Like he was cataloging everything about me from the way I crossed my arms to the way I held my breath when he looked too closely.
“Still angry?” he asked softly. “Or did I finally make you think about something other than your mission?”
