Page 14 of Cruel Existence

“I know all the good places to hide.” He winked.

“I don’t see a name anywhere?” I looked for a logo.

“Marguerite’s.”

The champagne was sweet and crisp. It was perfect. The atmosphere was perfect.

“Maybe you can show me where they are. I need good hiding spots.” The piano player stopped playing to light another candle. The wax splatters on the baby grand weren’t appalling. They were charming. Almost eerie. He continued to play when the new flame jumped to life.

“I might be willing to do that. But on one condition.” His voice dropped. It was almost too deep and low to hear. I leaned closer.

“You want to negotiate?” I pressed.

He nodded. “I want another dance. The first one was cut short. It was too crowded.”

“Here?” I placed my champagne glass on the well-worn table. “No one else is dancing.”

I watched as he rose from the table, his tall muscular body straightening. He shirked off the tuxedo jacket and carefully folded it over the back of his chair. I watched every movement. Every flex of muscle when he unclasped his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves above his forearms. God, he had tan gorgeous skin.

He extended his hand. “Come on. The beauty of it is there is no one to bump into. A dancefloor for two.”

Luka’s palm was wide and strong. He had solid fingers, beckoning to accept his proposal. My hand slidagainst his, and I felt the immediate tremor resonate between us. I stepped forward.

His arm circled my waist, and I swayed with the rhythm of his body. I didn’t know if our movements were on beat with the piano. I didn’t know if the few drinkers were watching. I didn’t know dancing in a candlelit bar could change me. Dancing was supposed to be freeing. An expression. A release. Dancing with Luka was none of those things. With every step, I felt more connected to him. With every note from the piano, I felt an invisible thread tying me to him. As if the dance was a way to imprint the feel of his body onto mine. I could smell him. A mix of everything masculine, cologne, liquor, and a trace of tobacco. I wanted to inhale every ounce of him.

As my lashes lifted, I thought he was posed to kiss me. My lips felt heavy and weighted from the way his eyes dragged over them.

The candle on our table flickered before a swirl of smoke circled. The hostess hurried over to light a new one. It was just enough of an interruption to create space between us. I needed space and air. I pushed off Luka to sit.

“More champagne?” I raised my glass.

He sat. His scowl was even sexy. He poured another glass for me.

“Where did you come from Amara Amato?” he asked, his elbows digging into the table. “What brings your family to New Orleans? Is it just you and your dad?”

I always struggled with questions regarding my family. My place in it. My father. It helped that Luka’s family ran a similar way to mine. When I tried to date guys in college, things always ended abruptly the second any guy suspected myfather’s line of work. It was too scary to date a mob boss’s daughter.

“I finished my senior year early. My father wanted to explore expanding his business here. We moved from Philadelphia. It’s only the two of us.” I blinked. “That’s my story. What’s yours?” I knew to keep the details limited. My father trusted no one and as much as I distrusted my father some of his paranoia had rubbed off on me.

Luka ran his index finger along my arm. It was a purposeful stroke as if he had chartered a course on my skin to explore. “I guess I’ll answer short and sweet with short and sweet. Born and raised in New Orleans,” he answered. “My family has been here for generations though some of us are still in Russia. There’s some back and forth you could say.”

“College?”

He nodded. “Tulane. I graduated five years ago.” I knew he was older than me. But twenty-eight seemed almost untouchable. It added another layer to him that seemed to push him farther away.

“You don’t think you’re too old for me?” I asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “To do what?”

A pit opened up in my stomach and I wanted to hide. “I?—”

His finger moved to my knee, gently pressing against my inner thigh. “No, I don’t,” he finally answered, dragging my skin with more force. I gasped.

“Your parents...” I chose my words carefully. “They made sure your sister had a good match. A happy one.” I bit my tongue. “Have they done that for you? Any prospective mergers?”

The darkness in his eyes was consuming. A depth of obsidian I’d never seen. I swallowed hard as if I had stepped into a pit knowingly and willingly. I was wading through it, with no tools to navigate this man’s moods. Hours in, and I was in frightening territory, but I couldn’t stop. I was drawn to him. I wanted to understand his reaction during the toast. I wanted to know what his father’s words had meant to him. Was his life as twisted as mine?

“No. No mergers.” There was bitterness in his tone. “I have privileges Katya doesn’t. I plan to take advantage of them. Fully,” he emphasized.

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