Page 28 of Stalk Me

“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper.

The restaurant Nikolai chose is exactly his style—exclusive, elegant, and hidden away from prying eyes. The maître d’ leads us to a secluded corner booth where Nikolai can survey the entire room.

“Wine?” He lifts the leather-bound list.

“Please.” I lean back, relaxing into the plush velvet. Without the tension of fighting him, I notice the electric energy crackling in the air.

“Tell me about your first art acquisition.” His question surprises me—most men try to impress with their stories.

“A small Degas sketch.” I smile at the memory. “I found it at an estate sale when I was twenty-two. The family thought it was a reproduction.”

“But you knew better.” His eyes flash with appreciation.

“The paper quality gave it away. That and the distinctive stroke pattern in the corner.” I take a sip of the wine he’s ordered, which is a perfect vintage. “I restored it myself. That’s when I knew I wanted to open my gallery.”

“You have excellent instincts.” His praise warms me more than the wine. “Both in art and other areas.”

“You’re not what I expected,” I observe.

“No?” His mouth quirks up at one corner.

“You’re easier to talk to than I thought.” When I’m not fighting my attraction to him, conversation flows naturally. His intelligence matches mine, and his dry wit keeps me laughing.

“Perhaps because you’ve stopped pretending you don’t want me.” His hand covers mine on the table, thumb stroking my pulse point. “Us.”

Lightning courses through me at his touch, and I welcome the storm this time. “Perhaps.”

Our eyes lock across the table, and the air grows thick with possibility. When his fingers interlock with mine, I don’t fight the intimate gesture. Instead, I savor this deliberate surrender of control.

The waiter sets down my perfectly seared scallops, and the aroma makes my mouth water. Across the table, Nikolai’s steak arrives with a flourish.

My phone buzzes in my clutch. I normally ignore notifications during dinner, but the special alert tone makes my stomach drop. I fish it out, blood running cold as I read the security alert.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” I start gathering my things. “There’s a situation at the gallery.”

Nikolai’s hand closes over mine. “What kind of situation?”

“Multiple armed individuals spotted on the cameras.” My voice shakes as I read the details. “They’re trying to breach the back entrance again.”

“I’m coming with you.” He’s already signaling for the check.

Once he’s settled the check, he guides me out of the restaurant and to his waiting black Mercedes.

“I can handle this myself,” I protest, but Nikolai’s grip is firm.

“You’re under my protection now.” His voice brooks no argument as he guides into the back of his car. “Anton, to the gallery.”

The driver nods and sets us on course for my gallery. Nikolai pulls out his phone, and rapid Russian fills the car. His voice turns harsh, commanding. The foreign words roll off his tongue with a darkness that makes me shiver.

“What did you just do?” I twist in the leather seat to face him.

“Called reinforcements.” His jaw tightens as he checks his watch. “These idiots know you’re under my protection, yet they persist. Time to send a clearer message.”

“Reinforcements?”

“My brothers.” He slides his phone into his pocket. “They’ll meet us there.”

“Brothers?” In all my research about Nikolai Ivanov, I never found mention of siblings. “I didn’t know you had any.”

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