Page 2 of Stalk Me

Her eyes snap to mine, and a flush creeps up her neck, but her voice remains steady. “That’s generous.”

“I can be very generous, Ms. Henley.”

Electricity crackles between us as she shifts in her chair, crossing her legs. The whisper of silk against her creamy skin draws my attention.

“The paperwork will take a few days.” She slides a contract across the desk. Her perfume drifts across—something subtle, expensive.

I scan the document, aware of her gaze on me. The way she taps her pen against the desk. The slight intake of breath when I look up.

“Everything appears in order.” I sign with deliberate strokes. My hand brushes hers as I return the papers, and she jerks back as if burned. Fear and something darker flash in her alluring eyes.

“Your reputation precedes you,” I say, watching her file away the contract with methodical precision. “Particularly your expertise in art authentication.”

“I’m thorough.” Sofia straightens a pen on her desk that’s already perfectly aligned. The movement draws attention to her slender wrists and the delicate bones beneath her smooth skin.

“Thorough enough to spot a Malevich forgery that fooled Christie’s experts last year.”

Her fingers freeze. “You follow art world gossip?”

“I follow excellence.” I rest my elbows on her desk, invading her space without moving from my chair. “Tell me, what gave it away?”

“The canvas.” Our eyes lock, and I detect a challenge in them. “The weave pattern was period-correct, but the threading showed micro-variations consistent with modern manufacturing.”

I let my approval show. “Most would have missed that.”

“Most don’t look closely enough.” Her tongue ghosts her lower lip. “Is that why you’re here, Mr. Ivanov? To discuss thread counts?”

“Nikolai,” I correct her, noting how her pupils dilate. “And I’m here because you intrigue me.”

“Professional curiosity?” Her attempt at casual dismissal fails when I lean closer.

“Let’s call it personal interest in professional matters.” My fingertip grazes her planner on the desk. “Have dinner with me.”

“I keep my business and personal lives separate.”

“And yet here you are, alone in your office after hours with a client.” I stand, smoothing my jacket. “Shall we say tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”

Sofia rises too, her heels bringing her closer to my height. Her scent hits me again—jasmine and something sweet underneath.

“I haven’t agreed.”

“You haven’t refused either.” I reach for her business card holder, selecting one with deliberate slowness. Our fingers brush as she tries to hand it to me. This time, she doesn’t pull away.

“Unfortunately, I have a private showing tomorrow evening.” Sofia’s fingers drum against her desk, betraying her tension. “Several important clients.”

“Another night then.” I step closer. “I’m a patient man.”

“Mr. Ivanov?—”

“Nikolai.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but my schedule is full.” She shifts, angling her body away. A defensive gesture that only draws my attention to her shapely figure.

“You haven’t even checked your calendar.” I nod toward the leather-bound planner. “Surely you can spare one evening.”

Her lips part, then press together. “I’ll have to check my commitments.”

“Of course.” I extend my hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

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