Page 18 of Twilight Sins

I smile and point to a plaque a few shelves down. “I knew it. Even with all the elaborate setup, placing fake awards with your name on it, as if you would ever…” I lean in closer so I can read the engraved text. Then I whip back to him, eyes wide. “You donated a cancer research hospital? Like… a whole hospital?”

“I thought a whole hospital would be better than half of one,” he replies casually, taking a drink.

“I feel like a good person when I round up my grocery purchase to the nearest dollar for…” I frown. “I actually don’t know what that’s for. But it’s some kind of charity. Meanwhile, you’re donating entire hospitals and curing cancer!”

“I paid for the building. The research is publicly funded.” He shrugs. “It’s a tax deduction.”

If any other man I’ve ever been out with or dated had donated a hospital, it’s all they would have talked about. They probably would have taken me to the hospital for our first date. The cafeteria here is first rate. Trust me. I funded the building.

Yet Yakov didn’t even bring it up. I brought it up and he doesn’t even want to talk about it.

Unbelievable.

This man is hot, wealthy, and generous with a dash of humble (despite my crack on the car ride over). He’s ticking boxes I didn’t even know I had.

Yakov leans against the door frame, one ankle crossed over the other, watching me. I bring my glass to my lips, but freeze the moment I get a whiff. “This isn’t water.”

“That’s a sophisticated palate you have there.” He raises his glass in a sarcastic toast. “You should get out of the plastics business and become a chef.”

“Ha ha. What I mean is, I don’t like vodka.”

He stands up and walks towards me. “Did you try it?”

“I don’t need to. The smell alone brought gruesome flashbacks of nights spent hugging the toilet in my college dorm’s communal bathroom.”

He sets his glass down on the shelf nearest and reaches for mine. He swirls it with surprisingly delicate fingers. “Don’t compare this to the cheap American shit you could afford in college.”

“So the men at my school didn’t spring for the nice stuff. Is that such a surprise?”

“Boys,” Yakov corrects. “If you ended the night slung over a toilet, then they weren’t men. They weren’t taking care of you the way they should have.”

I was teasing, but his words slice straight to the heart of me.

And how should I be taken care of, Yakov?

He takes a sip from my glass and then holds it out to me. “Try this. It’s better.”

I don’t want to drink vodka. Partially because my head is already swimming just from standing so close to him.

But I can see where his lips touched the rim of the glass. Even though we’ve already kissed, the thought of putting my mouth in that same spot is exciting. I take the glass and meet his eyes. He watches me closely as I take a tentative sip.

I wait for the painful bite.

But it doesn’t happen.

“That’s… good.” I take another sip to be sure. “Wow. That’s actually good. Smooth. Maybe a little sweet.”

“I told you.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re always right. How could I forget?”

He smiles and taps the side of my glass. “If you want to drink it properly, you’d drink it all at once.”

“It’s almost like you’re trying to get me drunk, Yakov. Should I be scared?”

“Of me?” he asks. “Definitely.”

I believe him. I do. He’s dodged so many questions and made so many sly comments that I know there’s something he isn’t telling me. I know I should be worried.

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