Page 65 of Dance of Devils
“That where you got your James Bond accent?”
Kir’s lips curl at the corners. “I learned quickly that in the circles I wished to move through, and eventually do business with,ze thick Russian accent makes you zound like Bond villain.”
His comically over-the-top accent instantly makes me giggle like an idiot before I catch myself and stop.
Kir shrugs. “I also noticed that when I spoke like the rest of them, doors opened. Opportunities that I had no business getting came my way. I suppose after a while, this way of speaking became my new normal.”
“Well, it’s not abadaccent,” I grin. “I bet it doesn’t hurt with women, either.”
Fucking HELL, self. Really?
I wince, feeling my face burn.
“I mean…not that…” I stammer. “I didn’t mean it’s a sexy accent, or…”
Good evening, foot. Allow me to introduce you to mouth. Jesus.
Kir lifts an amused brow as I trail off, shaking my head.
“Let’s take it from the top again,” he says brusquely, already moving past it. “Get into position. I’m going to go find some water.”
“Oh, here, take mine.”
I stand and abruptly throw my water bottle at Kir with zero heads-up. Luckily, moving with reflexes that shock me, he actuallydoescatch it with one hand before it slams into his face.
Not-so-luckily, I apparently didn’t have the top screwed on properly.
Kir grunts as all the water inside that was inside the bottle crashes into his chest, soaking his shirt as my hands fly to my mouth in horror.
“I amsosorry!” I shriek. “Oh my God, I’m?—”
“It’s fine, Brooklyn,” he murmurs. “It’s just water.”
“Seriously, I had no idea it was unscrewed like that! Let me?—”
“I said it’sfine,” he mutters, looking right at me. He walks over to the iPad and the sound system before turning back to me. “From the top, and donotlet me see you hesitate. Go.”
The music begins to swell through the speakers, and I launch into it. I move with practiced but not stiff movements. I actually shut off the second-guesser inside me. I don’t think, I just dance.
Or at least, I do until I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of Kirpulling off his shirtand tossing it aside.
It totally shatters my concentration. Which, obviously, never works out well.
“Stop,” he snaps, shutting the music down.
“Sorry,” I mumble, not looking at him. Ican'tright now. “I didn’t center properly before we started.”
“Well, do it now.”
I nod, but when I turn to get into position my gaze lands squarely on him, andholy shit,there’s no stopping my eyes from bulging out of my head.
Fuck, is he hot.
Standing there in black gym pants and no shirt, Kir looks like a fuckinggod. Or more accurately, a devil dripping in sin and temptation.
Broad, sculpted shoulders. Thickly muscled biceps and veined forearms. A chest carved from wood, a chiseled six-pack, and he’s even got those sexy grooves going down his hips and plunging into the waistband of his gym pants.
And the man isforty-fucking-fouryears old.
