“Si. Come for me. Come for me while I taste you.”
His mouth seals over me again, sucking gently on my clit while his fingers do their incredible work inside. I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me with a level of intensity that I wasn’t ready for. I’m vaguely aware of crying out, my hands fisted in his hair, my hips grinding against his mouth as he guides me through every last pulse and tremor.
I let out one last sigh, finally going limp, gasping for air. He presses soft kisses to my inner thighs, then goes back, tasting every last drop of me. When he sits up, his hair is disheveled, his mouth glistening. The satisfied heat in his eyes makes me want him all over again.
"Perfect," he says, smoothing my dress back down with gentle hands. "Absolutely perfect."
I'm still floating, still trying to catch my breath, when the car pulls through the familiar gates of the mansion.
“Can you walk?” Gabriel asks. His tone is one of amusement.
“I think so.”
“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
CHAPTER 38
GABRIEL
Ichose The Grill at the Seagram Building for the location of my meeting with Max Federov. As I approach the building, the sheer glass of the façade catching the gray slate of the sky above, I know I’ve made the right choice.
It’s public—very public. Too public for Kolya to take a chance doing anything stupid. And that’s assuming he even knows where I am or what I’m doing.
I enter The Grill, the waitstaff flicking their eyes in my direction, then looking away just as quickly. They know who I am. The staff knows to give me space, to not make a show about my entrance. Another reason why I chose this place.
Max Federov is already seated when I arrive. He’s in a back corner booth against the wall, the preferred location of men like us. He looks older than I remember. He’s sixty-three now, if memory serves. He has thinning silver hair and marionette lines bracketing his mouth. He’s dressed in a nondescript navy suit.
“Gabriel.” He stands and extends a hand. Max might be getting up there in years, but he’s still a formidable figure. He spentyears as an operative in the KGB and was an amateur boxer before that. He’s still solid, the kind of man who knows how to handle himself.
“You look well,” he says as we shake.
“Max.” I take the seat across from him. “You look semiretired.”
He chuckles. “I’ll take that to mean you think I look old.” He fixes his ice-blue eyes on me, giving me a true assessment. “And you look like your father.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Your father was a smart man. Sharp. But he could also be reckless. I’m curious which of those traits were handed down to you.”
“I suppose you’ll have to be the judge of that. But I can tell you this—I’m a very patient man.”
A ghost of a smile forms on his lips. “A necessary skill when dealing with men like Kolya.”
A waiter appears. I order a Barolo. Max asks for vodka, neat. Then he changes his mind, asking for sparkling water instead. Interesting. I stick with the wine. The waiter nods before walking away.
“Do you know why I asked for this meeting?”
“I know what Alexei told me.” He leans back, with one arm draped across the booth. He’s casual. Sovereign. It’s the easy posture for a man who’s held court in rooms far more dangerous than this. “He told me that you found something, someone, to be specific. And that this someone changes the posture between me and Kolya Sokolov.”
“That a basic synopsis of it.”
The waiter returns, bringing our drinks. A quick toast, and we’re back to business.
“Let’s not dance around the issue,” he says. “I didn’t fly 6,000 miles to play coy.” He tilts his head. “Is it true?”
I nod. “The youngest. Teodora. She’s alive.”
