Page 20 of Wicked Embers

Don’t look, Leigh. Keep your eyes ahead—just not too ahead. That will land your gaze right on his pecs, perfectly framed by the four undone buttons on his shirt.

I clear my throat. “Are we just going to stand here all night?” I glance over my shoulder. “You can check for any loose tiles if you want. But all my tunneling tools are in my purse that you confiscated.”

Then, to my utter disbelief, Radomir’s face becomes even more handsome as his lips curl into a smile, and I nearly gasp as a glint of humor flickers in his blue eyes.

“How about we have dinner together first? I’ll check the tiles later,” Radomir suggests, stepping back so I can exit the bathroom.

The dining room is just as plush and modern as the rest of the penthouse, with a crystal chandelier casting a warm glow over the mahogany table. Two place settings are arranged on the table—one at the head of it and the other directly to the right. I’m guessing the throne seat is for the Dark Lord.

Radomir pulls the chair out for me. “Sit,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I ignore the feel of my hackles rising at being treated like a dog. But if he pats me on the head, I swear I will bite him.

Reluctantly, I sink into the chair, watching him take his throne beside me. A server appears, placing a plate of food in front of me. The aroma is tantalizing, and my mouth starts to water. My stomach gives a soft gurgle, reminding me I left my sloshy Chinese takeout at home uneaten.

I’m about to push the food away, ignoring my screaming system, but my hand freezes near the plate.

“You should eat. It’s been a long day,” Radomir says, a suggestive glint in his eyes. “You need your strength.”

His words send a jolt of heat through me, stirring a restless ache a restless ache in my pussy I can’t ignore. I try to press my thighs together, hoping to quell the sensation, but the friction of my jeans only fans the fire.

“Champagne?” Radomir’s question snaps me from my thoughts, and I nod, trying not to squirm under his intense gaze.

He reaches for the bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket beside him, and I can’t help but notice how his shirt strains against his powerful muscles. A persistent heat coils low in my belly, growing stronger with each passing second. I force myself to focus on the food in front of me.

“This looks delicious,” I squeak out.

“My chef does not disappoint,” Radomir says, setting a crystal flute filled with golden liquid bubbling and fizzing in front of me.

As he leans toward me, his knee touches mine beneath the table, making me jump, and another jolt zaps my hungry lady’s part. I can feel I’m starting to get soaking wet, and I have to think of something else, as I would be mortified to stand up and have a damp spot on the front of my jeans. I sense that it will give the fucking bastard great satisfaction to know how my body seems to respond to just a look from him.

I know what will dull my traitorous senses, though—champagne. I’m not a drinker. I’m the person at a party who will walk around with one drink the whole night, sipping at it until Sabrina eventually finishes it for me, and then gags as it’s warm.

I lift the glass, the cool stem slips between my fingers, and take a gulp. I nearly choke when I notice Radomir’s gaze burning into me. A shiver runs down my spine. There’s something about the way he looks at me, like he’s trying to climb into my mind. I find that very unsettling and exciting.

Trying to ignore his stare, I start to eat, andoh my God, it’s as delicious as it smells. I can’t stop the tiny moan of pleasure as the flavors burst across my tongue.

“Good?” Radomir asks, lifting his glass to his lips.

As I have a mouthful, I nod and as soon as I’ve swallowed I answer, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

He starts to eat, and the room descends into an awkward silence. This is why I avoid dating. Small talk and prying into people’s lives aren’t my strengths—unless, of course, it’s intel my father needs me to gather.

I hate awkward silences and because I lack small talk skills I end up babbling on about some random subject I’m interested in or read off the internet—a sure recipe to ensure there is never a second date. Which I know delights my father who thinks I’m going to be an old maid and his side kick for the rest of my life.

The thought of my father sends an instant spurt of hot rage through me. After thinking of him, another memory hits me—the chaos I caused in Radmir’s VIP room. My jaw clenches as I finish another bite. Time to do the right thing, Leigh. I wipe my mouth on a napkin, probably worth more than all the linen in my apartment, and turn to Radomir.

“I’m sorry about the chaos in your VIP room,” I say, watching his brows rise in surprise. “I have a terrible temper, and I regret that my anger at my father cost you.”

Radomir finishes the food he’s chewing. He wipes his mouth and takes a sip of champagne, his eyes never leaving mine, and I feel my breath hitch in my throat. He gives nothing away, and I brace, waiting for him to tell me what I owe or for the punishment he’s sure to dole out.

“Your apology is accepted.” Radomir leans back in his chair. To my surprise, a small smile plays around his sexy lips. “The chaos you caused led to some good.”

My brows shoot up so high in surprise.Did I hear him right?“How?”

“The first man you accused of cheating?” Radomir leans forward. “Not one of mine. But their capture uncovered some valuable information.” Radomir’s lips twitched into a smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something darker, more intense. “My cousin suggested that the next time we have a high-stakes game, we get you to watch out for more imposters.”

I ignore his attempt at teasing as I get an unwanted spurt of concern for my father. “And my father?” I look at him. “Is he…”

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