Page 7 of Bound Vows
“What makes you think I’m interesting?”
“You’ve been standing alone for thirty minutes, rejecting every man who’s approached you, and watching the crowd like you’re planning their funeral arrangements.” Andre sips his drink, and I catch a whiff of expensive vodka. “Either you’re bored out of your mind, or you’re working.”
“Working?”
“Gathering intelligence. Taking note of threats. Planning escape routes.” His eyes never leave mine, even when he adds,“The kind of work that requires someone with your particular background.”
Whoever this man is, he shouldn’t know a damn thing about my background. This conversation needs to end before someone overhears details that could compromise my family’s operations. I start to step away, but Andre moves to block my path without making it obvious.
“Dance with me,” he offers, and it’s not quite a question.
“I don’t dance with strangers who know too much about my business.”
“Then it’s fortunate that I’m not a stranger.” Andre extends his hand again, and this time, I notice a ring on his pinky finger—gold, with a design that looks Russian. “One dance, Maya. What could happen in three minutes?”
Everything in my brain screams that this is a terrible idea. Never mind the fact that my family is being hunted by an unknown Russian threat, Andre knows too much, and he carries himself like someone accustomed to getting what he wants, through force if necessary. Dancing with him would be like waltzing with a cobra—beautiful, hypnotic, and potentially fatal.
But there’s something magnetic about his confidence and the way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room worth his attention. When was the last time someone looked at me and saw something other than Max Mastroni’s dangerous little sister?
“One dance,” I agree, placing my hand in his. “But if you step on my toes, I’ll break your foot.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Andre leads me onto the dance floor as the orchestra begins a waltz that’s older than both of us combined. Other couples move in predictable patterns around us, but I barely notice them. Andre’s hand settles on my waist with possessive familiarity, and when he pulls me closer than propriety allows, I don’t object.
He moves like he was born for this. Every step is perfectly timed, and every turn is executed gracefully. When he spins me away, I feel momentarily bereft of his body heat. When he pulls me back, I resist the urge to melt against his chest.
I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me, but whatever it is, I’m powerless to resist it.
“You’re full of surprises,” I comment, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.
“You have no idea.” Andre’s thumb traces small circles against my lower back, and heat spreads through my body in response. “Tell me, what brings Maya Mastroni to a children’s charity gala? Surely, you have more interesting ways to spend your evening.”
“Family obligations. My brother thinks visible philanthropy makes us look legitimate.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think rich people’s guilt money won’t fix the problems they created.” I let him guide me through another turn, noting how other dancers automatically give us space. “But it pays for hospital equipment, so I suppose everyone wins.”
“Spoken like someone who understands the world’s true nature.” Andre’s voice drops to a whisper that makes me leancloser to hear him. “Most people prefer comfortable lies to uncomfortable truths.”
“And which do you prefer?”
“Truth. Always truth, no matter how brutal.”
Something in his tone makes me look up, but his face reveals nothing beyond polite interest. Still, I get the impression that we’re talking about more than philanthropy and social justice.
The music swells around us, and Andre takes advantage of the crescendo to pull me even closer. Our bodies are pressed together now, and I can feel the solid muscle beneath his expensive suit. He’s stronger than his elegant appearance suggests, and when his hand moves even lower to just above my bottom, I realize he could overpower me if he chose to.
“You smell like jasmine and danger,” Andre mumbles against my ear. “Intoxicating combination.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I certainly hope so.”
The music slows, signaling the end of the waltz, but Andre doesn’t release me. Instead, his hand slides up my spine, and I shiver despite the heat in the crowded ballroom.
“Maya,” he says my name, and for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, my panties grow wetter by the second.
