Page 27 of Poisoned Roses

“What happens when we, um, return here?”

I’m fascinated and not afraid. If anything, I’m curious and his eyes flash as he tightens his hold on my face and growls, “I make you mine and once that happens you belong to me until I say otherwise.”

“What if it’s the other way around, Titus?”

I don’t know where this woman has come from because I have never been so bold. I smile, catching him off-guard as I place my hand over his and say with no trace of nerves, “Sometimes an opportunity presents itself and you owe it to yourself to act on it. Maybe I want this, maybe I don’t. Perhaps it will break me, then again it could be the making of me. So, when you sit beside me at dinner and hold my hand at the opera, know one thing, Titus Romanov–”

He says nothing as I lean closer and whisper, “I will count down the hours until you show me exactly what I have been missing all these years.”

A slow smile spreads across his usually controlled one and the light dances in his eyes as he pulls back and nods, as if we just signed an agreement.

He drops my hand, and the air rushes between us, fanning the flames with oxygen, causing the flame to burn higher.

I’m not sure if I can get through this evening because of what will happen when we return. He was right about that. I will think of nothing else than what his touch will be like on my naked skin. How it will feel when I allow him inside me and when it’s over. Will it hurt? Will I be ashamed? Will I cope with it?

Bravado is fast being replaced with fear, but my curiosity is fully in charge now and I can only hope that fear doesn’t win in the end because I doubt that Titus Romanov will change his mind even I do.

I have steppedinto a world I don’t belong in. That belief is reinforced several times over as I stand beside Titus in the company of billionaires. The two people we are dining with tonight are well known in the press. Nikolai Mashkov is the owner of Titan oil and responsible for supplying most of the world, sanctions permitting, of course.

His wife is a regular in the gossip columns. She is certainly beautiful and I heard she is descended from royalty and I wouldn’t be surprised. She has a cool reserve that beauty gives you, with an icy smile and apparently no conversation. She stands beside her husband as if she is bored and spends more time glancing around the room to see if anyone more important is around.

I’m not sure why she disliked me on sight because I have never met her, but she does. It’s obvious and I wonder about that.

Her husband doesn’t appear to share her view and heaps a lot of praise on my shoulders for my career, enthusing aboutpast shows he has seen and asking me many questions about the Bolshoi. Possibly that is why she is so cool toward me. Because I am dominating so much of her husband’s attention, whereas my own companion barely glances in her direction.

Dinner is a stilted affair and my mind drifts back to the apartment and to what happens when we return. Titus wasn’t wrong when he told me I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. He was right. I can’t.

I slip many glances his way and my breath hitches every single time. He is astonishingly desirable. His wealth gives him confidence and his clothes are his smokescreen. His dark good looks are entrancing and his masculinity is like a drug. He is everything I pictured a man should be, and I can’t grasp that he ismyman. At least for now.

Nikolai interrupts my thoughts.

“Tell me, Tatiana, how did you both meet?”

My heart rate quickens because the truth is not an option here. I glance nervously at Titus, who appears almost amused as he nods and says slyly, “Yes, Tia, tell Nikolai, it was rather amusing.”

I glare at him, causing him to chuckle because what the hell do I say? Is there an official version that I missed reading?

I clear my throat and reach for the champagne because, as sure as I’m out of my depth right now, I need its reassurance.

“Yes–” I say slowly, “It was rather amusing.”

My mind is working hard because what the hell was amusing about it?

“We were introduced at the Bolshoi. Titus was one of the many admirers who lined up to meet me after the performance.”

I bite back the grin at the image of Titus Romanov lining up for anything and Nikolai appears astonished at that.

“He lined up?” Irina turns and smirks in his direction and I nod.

“Of course. I was told he was a big fan and was desperate to meet me. I mean, I didn’t know who he was at all. He was just one of many who do the same every night.”

I lean forward and smile at Nikolai. “To be honest, it gets kind of boring after a while. There is only so much adulation a woman can take, but I gritted my teeth and got on with the job. Anyway–”

He suppresses his grin and I chance sliding my gaze to Titus, who merely looks amused rather than uncomfortable.

“So–” I roll my eyes. “He made his way to the front of the line and appeared so star-struck he couldn’t speak. He just stared at me in a blind panic, holding a single rose in his hand. I noticed the thorn cutting into his finger and the blood running onto his skin, so I carefully took the flower away and told him I would help clean the wound.”

Irina laughs and appears to be enjoying my tale, and I turn to Titus and smile sweetly. “Well, what can I say? The rest is history because when I helped wash the blood off his hand, something passed between us and if I never believed in love at first sight, I do now.”

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