Page 3 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
“Why not?”
“Because I’m on duty. Because your brother trusted me to keep you safe. Because—”
“Because you’re afraid of what might happen if you touch me?”
The words were out before I could think better of them, bold and reckless and completely true. The vodka had burned away my inhibitions, left me raw and honest in a way that should have terrified me.
Instead, it felt like freedom.
Lev’s jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he might walk away. Leave me standing at the bar with my heart hammering against my ribs and my pride in tatters.
Instead, he stepped closer.
“You have no idea what you’re playing with,” he said, his voice so low I had to lean in to hear him.
“Then show me.”
The challenge hung between us like a lit fuse. I could see the exact moment his control cracked, could watch the careful mask he wore slip just enough to reveal the hunger underneath.
“One dance,” he said finally. “Then you go back to your table and pretend this never happened.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and let him lead me onto the dance floor.
The music was slow, sultry, the kind of rhythm that seemed designed to make people do stupid things. Lev’s hand settled on the small of my back, his fingers spanning the gap where the dress dipped low, and I had to bite back a gasp at the contact.
His other hand found mine, engulfing it completely, and suddenly we were moving together like we’d done this a thousand times before. He was a good dancer—of course, he was—but there was something controlled about it, like even now he was holding himself back.
“Relax,” I murmured, close enough to his ear that I could feel him shiver.
“I can’t.” The confession was barely audible over the music. “Not with you.”
“Why not?”
Instead of answering, he spun me away from him, then pulled me back so my back was pressed against his chest. I could feel the hard line of his body against me, could feel the way his breath hitched when I let my head fall back against his shoulder.
“This is a mistake,” he said, but his arms tightened around me.
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Stop telling me what I should do.” I turned in his arms so we were face to face again, so I could see the war being fought behind his steel-gray eyes. “I’m not a child, Lev.”
“I know.” His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a gentleness that made my chest ache. “That’s the problem.”
The song ended, but neither of us moved. We stood there in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other couples but completely alone, staring at each other like we were trying to memorize every detail.
“I should take you back to your table,” he said finally.
“You should.”
But instead of leading me back to the VIP section, he took my hand and pulled me deeper into the club, away from the lights and the music and the watching eyes. Through a door I hadn’t noticed before, down a hallway that smelled of leather and expensive cigars.
“Where are we going?” I asked, but I didn’t pull away. Couldn’t pull away.
“Somewhere we can’t be seen.”
He pushed open another door, and suddenly we were in a small room lined with bookshelves, a single lamp casting everything in warm, golden light. It was quiet here, peaceful in a way that made the pounding of my heart seem impossibly loud.
