Page 31 of Dark Promise

“Exactly.”

I stare at his hands as he reaches for the bottle of vodka. Strong hands. Long fingers. Nails neatly trimmed. I shouldn’t notice his hands, shouldn’t want to feel the rough pads of his fingers trail over my skin…

“Truth is a dangerous thing, Sabina.” The way he says my name feels like a dark caress.

“Is that a yes?” I feel breathless, restless.

His gaze locks with mine, and for a moment, the firelight dances in his pale blue eyes, making them seem molten. He looks at me like I’m already his and he’s just waiting for me to figure that out.

“Yes,” he says softly.

“All right,” I say, summoning every ounce of confidence. “Who’s your favorite Kardashian?”

Nikolai blinks. “That’s the question you’re leading with?”

“Warm-up question,” I reply breezily.

He leans back slightly, helps himself to some cheese and crackers. “Kim.”

“Why?”

“She’s beautiful, savvy, successful, and ruthless when she needs to be. My type.” His voice drops on the last two words, slow and deliberate, and they land low in my belly, curling like smoke.

He lifts the vodka, drinking it even though he answered, his gaze never leaving mine. The casual confidence of it—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me—is maddening. When he sets the glass down, his lips curve in a slow, dangerous smile. Dark stubble. Perfect lips. White teeth.

“My turn,” he says.

My stomach flips. I grip my glass tighter, as if it can ground me.

He takes his time coming up with a question, taking some nuts, then peaches, then more cheese and crackers. Tension winds through me as I wonder what he’s going to throw at me.

Finally, he asks, “What do you prefer, cats or dogs?”

The question is so unexpected, so mundane, it catches me off guard. And then I realize that was probably his intent. He’s playing with me, testing my reactions, keeping me off balance.

I let him wait for my answer, helping myself to some food.

“Both,” I say.

“That’s cheating,” he counters smoothly. “Drink.”

I roll my eyes an take a sip, the warmth of the wine doing little to soothe the tension coiled in my chest. “Okay, real question this time. Do you have siblings?”

“No.” His answer is immediate, his tone clipped.

“That was too fast,” I challenge. “Elaborate.”

“No siblings,” he repeats, his voice steady. “Only cousins, of a sort.”

“Of a sort?”

“My Uncle Vlasta had no children. My mother had no siblings. My cousins are the sons of family allies. Maxim, Dimitri, and Alexei. We’re not close.”

There’s a story there. I can sense it.

“Why aren’t you close?” I ask, poking the bear.

“That’s more than one question,” he points out, offering that precious flash of a smile, there, then gone.

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