Page 21 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

I slip into strappy heels, grab my clutch, and head into the living room. Leonid is already there.

He’s changed too, white shirt open at the collar, black slacks, jacket gone. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower, darker at the edges, giving him a relaxed softness that wasn’t there earlier. He looks less like a ruthless businessman and more like a man who’s looking to enjoy the evening.

His gaze sweeps over me, so slow and deliberate that heat curls low in my belly. “You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I manage.

As we step toward the door, his hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me forward.

The contact is light, but my body absolutely begs to differ. Every nerve ending sparks like someone flipped a switch. And, traitor that it is, my vagina does a full celebratory dance.

Oh, this night is going to be very long.

Chapter Seven

Laurel

Louis drives us through the narrow, lantern-lit streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés until we reach a beautiful 5-star restaurant. The moment we step inside, the maître d’ lights up like he’s greeting royalty.

“Mr. Volkov, bienvenue! Votre table est prête.”

He shakes Leonid’s hand warmly, nods politely to me, and leads us past a handful of candlelit tables to a secluded corner spot right against the window. The view is breathtaking: the Seine glittering under the streetlights, the Louvre glowing across the water like a golden palace.

Leonid pulls out a chair for me and I slide into my seat. The maître d’ bows slightly and leaves us with the menus.

Leonid settles across from me, and my eyes move to the strong column of his throat, then lower to the open collar, the hint of skin beneath. I force my gaze back to the menu, cheeks warm.

The waiter arrives and recites the specials in rapid French. After asking what I’d like, Leonid orders for both of us.

Once we’re alone again, he leans back, forearms resting on the table, sleeves rolled to reveal those tattooed forearms that have been haunting me since the plane.

“How was your day?” he asks. “Enjoying Paris?”

I exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, I am. I spent most of it sightseeing and shopping. Louis was… insistent about paying for everything with the card you gave him.”

Leonid’s mouth curves. “That’s why I gave it to him.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He holds my gaze, eyes darkening. “I wanted to. And I did.”

The heat in his look makes my breath catch. I open my mouth to remind him that we agreed to keep this professional, but he beats me to it.

“Relax, it’s no strings attached. I invited you to Paris,” he says evenly. “Disrupted your schedule. The least I can do is pay for your shopping.” He pauses, voice softening. “Let me.”

When he puts it like that, it’s impossible to argue without sounding ungrateful. I close my mouth, reach for my wine instead. The first sip is velvet and black cherry; it blooms across my tongue like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. I let out an involuntary sound of pleasure.

When he puts it like that, it’s impossible to argue without sounding ungrateful. I close my mouth, reach for my wine instead. I let out an involuntary sound of pleasure.

Leonid’s eyes flick to my lips for half a second before returning to mine.

“I’m sorry, the wine tastes so good.”

“No need to apologize, it’s a great wine.” He takes a sip of his own, gaze holding mine.

“How did your meetings go?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“They went well. I still have a couple more before the deal I came for will be finalized.”