Page 16 of Dark Embers

The suite is dimly lit, the scent of sandalwood and something darker—somethinghim—curling into my lungs. My eyes adjust, sweeping over the space.

And then I see him.

Oleksi stands near the window, a bottle of champagne in one hand, two flutes on the table beside him. He’s dressed in a white cotton shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the hard slice of muscle down his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, veins bulging against thick, tanned skin. The sight punches the breath out of me.

Jesus. Mary. And all the saints.

He turns at the sound of my heels and smiles—slow, deliberate, lethal.

“Sabrina,” he says, like he’s tasting my name on his tongue. “Right on time.”

I’m suddenly very aware of the ache building between my legs again. And I hate it. I hate that my body reacts before my brain can catch up. That a man like him can make me feel like my skin is two sizes too small just by looking at me.

“I don’t remember agreeing to dinner in your bedroom,” I say, arching a brow to cover my nerves.

“It’s not a bedroom, it's the dining area of my suit,” he corrects me before gesturing toward the table, lit with candles and overflowing with dishes. My stomach growls traitorously.

“I wasn’t sure what you would feel like eating,” he says, as if he didn’t just order every one of my favorite dishes—from lemon butter chicken to truffle mac and cheese to molten lava cake that’s still steaming in its ramekin. “So I ordered a few dishes.”

“And you didn’t know they were all my favorites?” I ask, frowning.

He shrugs. “I remembered a few of your favorite foods from when we were looking for Leigh.”

“You were paying attention?”

He leans closer, lowering his voice. “I always pay attention to what I want.”

The heat in my face spreads lower. I clear my throat and take the seat opposite him, forcing composure into every line of my body even though I feel like I’m slowly unraveling under his gaze.

Shit—I am so, so screwed.

And dinner hasn’t even started yet.

CHAPTER 8

Oleksi

I can’t believe how tense I’ve been today. I’ve been anticipating this evening the whole fucking day like a school boy about to lose his virginity. And then she walked through the door. Head held high gliding across the polished floor on her two inch heels in that little black dress that moved with her, hugging her toned form. Simple, elegant and fucking lethal.

My eyes devour her as she eats her food. Her blonde curls bouncing around her beautiful face with just a lick of mascara highlighting her ridiculously long eyelashes and gloss shining her pink bow shaped lips.

I can see Sabrina is guarded. That’s nothing new. But there’s something else tonight—nerves humming under herskin. Her fingers linger too long on her glass. She’s hyper-aware of me—I saw it in her eyes the moment hers found me in the room. And the thought of it is intoxicating.

I top off her champagne. “Tell me about Tara.”

Her spine straightens, and she glances down at her plate. “What do you want to know?”

“How about starting with the truth of why she ran away.”

She lifts her glass to her lips, stalling. “Who told you she ran away?”

“Do you think she was kidnapped?” My brow furrows. I hadn’t thought of that as an option.

“No.” She shakes her head and looks away—oh yes she’s definitely hiding something. Sabrina takes another sip of champagne before making eye contact again. “Tara had to leave.”

Okay, I was not expecting that. “Why?”

“I think you know that already,” Sabrina fires back.

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