Page 8 of Stalk Me

“A gorgeous, wealthy client.” She arches one perfect eyebrow. “Who happens to be watching you right now.”

“Very funny.” I drain my champagne. “He’s probably plotting his next hostile takeover in some villain’s lair.”

“Villain’s lair? My, my. Someone’s been watching too many spy movies.” Tash’s eyes gleam with mischief. “Though I must say, the dangerous and mysterious vibe suits him.”

“You’re terrible.” I press my lips together. “And I’m not interested in men who think they can?—”

“Speaking of your non-interest...” Tash’s voice drops. “Your Russian is heading this way. Don’t turn around.”

“Stop it. I’m not falling for?—”

“Sofia.” The rich timber of his voice seeps into my bones.

Every muscle in my body locks. I force my features into practiced neutrality before turning.

Nikolai towers over us in a black tux that costs more than my monthly rent. His silver-streaked hair catches the light, and those steel eyes pin me in place.

“Mr. Ivanov,” I’m proud my voice is cool and disinterested. What asurprise.” I let the sarcasm linger on my last word.

“Is it?” One corner of his mouth lifts. “I believe I mentioned my foundation sponsors this event.”

Of course, he did. I’d forgotten that detail in my determination to avoid thinking about him.

“Natasha.” He inclines his head toward my friend. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise.” Tash’s smile is pure cat-with-cream. “I was just telling Sofia how fortunate we are to have such dedicated patrons of the arts.”

I shoot her a warning look, but she widens her eyes innocently and takes a deliberate step back.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she purrs. “I see someone I simply must speak with.”

Traitor.

“Dance with me.” It’s not a request, but I refuse to be steamrolled.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Because I’m a client? Or because you’re afraid of what might happen?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I retort.

“No?” He steps closer, and the air thickens between us. “Then prove it.”

I tilt my chin up. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

“One dance, Sofia.” He arches a brow. “Surely your professional ethics can survive three minutes of waltz?”

“My professional ethics aren’t the issue.”

“Then what is?” The tone of his voice deepens. “The way your pulse jumps when I’m near? Or perhaps it’s the way your breath catches? Or...” He leans in, his lips nearly brushing my ear. “It’s the way you can’t stop thinking about me?”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I’m sure of what I want.” His hand extends toward me. “And right now, I want to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Flattery won’t work on me.”

“Not flattery. Truth.” His eyes hold mine. “Dance with me,malishka.”

---