Page 11 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

As I get closer, I can see the sharp angles of his face, the way his jaw is set like he's constantly prepared for a fight. He's wearing a black shirt that stretches across his broad chest, and I can see more tattoos peeking out from beneath the fabric.

"Mind if I sit?" I ask when I reach his table.

"Sit." It's not an invitation. It's a command, delivered in a deep voice that sends a shiver down my spine.

I slide into the seat across from him, suddenly very aware of how intently he's studying me. It's not the appreciative assessment Alex gave me or the playful interest in Russ's eyes. This man is watching me like he's cataloging every single detail about me.

"I'm Marla," I say, trying to break the tension.

"Nick." He doesn't offer a last name, and I don't ask. His gaze travels over me slowly, deliberately, and I feel exposed under his scrutiny. "You've been here before."

Again, it's not a question. He knows. They all seem to know everything that happens in this place.

"A couple times," I admit, keeping my voice casual.

His eyes narrow slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. "Interesting." He pauses, his gaze never leaving mine. "What are you looking for?"

The question is direct, almost invasive, and I feel heat creep up my neck. I can't exactly tell him the truth about my research project.

"Just enjoying the atmosphere," I say, taking a sip of my drink to avoid his penetrating stare.

"Bullshit." The word is delivered without malice, just flat certainty. "You don't come to a place like this for the atmosphere. You come here hunting, or you come here hiding. Which one are you?"

My breath catches. There's something about the way he sees through me that's both terrifying and thrilling.

"Maybe a little of both," I admit.

The corner of his mouth lifts, but it's not quite a smile. More like acknowledgment of a worthy opponent. "At least you're honest about being evasive." He leans forward, his forearms resting on the table, and the movement brings him closer. "You're not like the other women here. You watch people. You're careful. Deliberate."

"Is that a problem?"

"No." His voice drops lower. "It's fucking intriguing."

The intensity in his green eyes makes my stomach tighten. This man misses nothing, and I have the distinct feeling that trying to keep secrets from him would be impossible. Good thing I'm only looking for one night and not a relationship.

"So what now?" I ask, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.

He stands in one fluid motion.

He doesn't offer me his hand. He simply looks down at me with those intense green eyes, a command implicit in his posture.

"Now you come with me."

It's not a request. It's an expectation, delivered with such quiet authority that I find myself standing before I've consciously decided to comply.

There's something about him that demands obedience, not through force but through sheer presence.

We walk out of the Ivory Wolf together, and I'm acutely aware of the eyes that follow us.

Sharon catches my gaze and gives me a thumbs-up, but there's something in her expression that looks almost worried. I push the thought aside.

When we reach his floor and he leads me into his penthouse, the space is modern and austere, all clean lines and minimal furniture.

There's no warmth here, no personal touches. It's a display of power, pure and simple.

Suddenly he's right there, his hand gripping my jaw, tilting my face up to his.

"You sure about this?" His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and the touch sends electricity through my body. "Once we start, I'm not stopping until I'm done with you."