Page 7 of Bound By Revenge

“I'd love to stay longer, but I happen to know my carriage will turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

“A pumpkin coach, is it? I’m a little rusty on my fairytales, but I’m pretty sure Cinderella stuck around for a dance.”

“Oh!” I gasp theatrically, pressing my free hand to my chest. “Wait, are you trying to tell me you're my Prince Charming, and we're going to live happily ever after?” Maybe If I act really weird and overly excited, he'll go away and let me leave.

“Stay with me tonight,kiska, and I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

His intense tone catches me off guard, giving me pause. “You’re dangerous,” I say after a while. I don't even bother hiding how much he's affecting me.

Bizarrely, he seems to take my words seriously. “Not to you. Not tonight,” he says a few heartbeats later. His tone is surprisingly sincere.

I take a second toreallylook at him. The guy’s obviously devastatingly handsome. He’s also too charming for his own good—or mine, I guess. Clearly, he’s well aware of his talents and won’t hesitate to use them against me. And on top of that, his refusal to let me go can only mean one thing—he’s into me. He stares at me like he can't get enough, his gaze scorchingly caressing my lips, neck, and body as he looks his fill.

Once again, I resist the urge to sigh. The only thing more irresistible than a distractingly attractive man is a distractingly attractive man who wants me bad.

But something beyond his compelling magnetic field makes me uneasy. My heart pounds with desperation as I notice a few people nearby peeking and gossiping, their whispers echoing inmy ears, intensifying my sense of urgency. The last thing I want or need is to attract undue attention.

Nikolai must be someone important or famous to score an invite to this gala. His bespoke tuxedo alone must’ve cost him a small fortune. He totally fits in at this start-studded party, surrounded by people I often spot on magazines or TV. He must be a big deal—why else would people keep staring and whispering?

The way our banter catches the attention of the guests, making me feel increasingly uneasy, doesn’t go unnoticed by him. After raising an eyebrow, he locks eyes with a couple of them. To my immense amusement and surprise, they quickly glance away.

Fascinating.

I study him with renewed interest—and maybe a bit of curiosity. He squeezes my hand tighter, making it clear he's not going to let me go, and an extraordinary amount of excitement bubbles up inside me.

“Fine. You win,” I sigh. “One dance, Charming. No more.”Or so I fervently hope for my sake.

He pulls me closer, a triumphant look on his face, and my legs threaten to turn into jelly. No man should be this hot. It simply isn’t fair to womenfolk everywhere.

Without a word, he wraps his arm around my waist and leads me to the dance floor as the orchestra finishes a lively song I don't know.

I take a deep breath and brace myself. If the mere weight of his arm on my back is this intoxicating, then I dread to imagine what I’ll feel when he holds me closer to his body during our dance—or underneath it, in a different type of dance altogether.

As he guides me to a darkened corner of the dance floor, he steals a quick glance at me, making my heart race with anticipation.

The first notes of a slow melody fill the air as the band shifts gears, and he leans in and whispers in my ear. “What will it take to get you to tell me your name?”

His warm breath tickles my ear as I inhale his addictive scent, sending me straight to heaven—or, in this case, hell. He smells of man, whiskey, and sin. My mouth waters and I rise on my toes, unable to resist the urge to let my lips flutter against his ear as I whisper, “Nothing you have.”

Appreciatively, he casts a glance in my direction. Too late, it dawns on me he’s not the type of guy to shy away from a challenge like the one I just gave him. He pulls me closer as we sway to the tune played by the orchestra. “I don’t know about that,kiska. I’m a pretty resourceful guy.”

“What does that word mean?Kiska?”

He leads me through a languid dance, and I relish the feel of his right hand enveloping mine while his left one rests dangerously low on my bare back. I touch the hair on the back of his neck, unable to stop myself. It’s unexpectedly soft. His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “Give me your name, and I’ll tell you.”

“My name doesn't matter. Who cares about names? You know what they say—a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

“Cute, but I bet even Shakespeare's Juliet didn't smell as sweet as you.”

“Sweet talker. Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”

“Funny you should say that, because I happen to know exactly where I want to go.”Smoothly, he brings my body flush against his. I can feel almost every inch of his deliciously masculine frame—including the distractingly large bulge pressing against my stomach.

I try to play it cool. With my best smile in place, I smooth my hand down his muscular chest. “Really? Well, don’t leave me hanging. The suspense’s killing me.”

Not even for a single second does he avert his eyes from mine. “I’d rather just show you. You see, if all I get is one dance, then I have to insist we move it somewhere private.”

His hand moves confidently to my hip, filling me with an exhilarating rush. It comes as no shock. I’ve always appreciated the finer things in life. Well, few things are as fine as a gorgeous man who’d like nothing better than to show me a good time.

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