Page 19 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I notice two things right off the bat.

First off, he’s deadly handsome. Handsome in a way that feels raw and primal. It doesn’t hurt that he’s big, muscular—over six feet and built like an athlete.

His features are somewhat exotic but still familiar. Foreign, maybe. His coloring is dark. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark everything, really.

His nose is sharp, proud, aristocratic. His cheekbones are defined, his jaw an aggressive square that offsets the fullness of his lips.

I might have called him “beautiful,” but the word just isn’t appropriate for him. Not with the light stubble coating his jaw, the piercing directness of his eyes, the careless way he rakes his fingers through his hair, as though he hasn’t given it a second thought his entire life.

Other people notice him, too. Their eyes keep flitting his direction, just like mine do.

He’s a man people want to be close to.

But they’re scared of gettingtooclose.

I can understand that feeling. I’m a hundred yards away from him with a thousand people between us and even I’m a little scared.

There’s just something about the reckless way he surveys the crowd, the arrogant way he leans against the doorjamb…

He looks the kind of man who breaks things and laughs about it.

The second thing I notice about him is the way he’s looking atme.

I’m used to being looked at, admired, cat-called. Tam and I have been out for less than three hours and you could already fill a stadium with the number of men who’ve commented on my ass or tits.

Point is, I’m familiar with salacious glances and lust-filled gazes from men.

This is… not that.

Not by a longshot.

The man on the railing isn’t undressing me with his eyes like other men are. His gaze feels thoughtful. Almost curious.

But there’s an edge of possessiveness in his stance. A sense of ownership that I don’t understand.

“Esme? Hello… what are you looking at…? Oh,whoa.” Tamara trails off when she notices who’s got my attention.

I drop my eyes instantly, embarrassed to have been caught.

“Damn… now that’s a man,” Tamara says. She grins wickedly at me. “You know how to pick ‘em, boo.”

I laugh scornfully at that. I can count on two fingers the number of guys I’ve slept with.

There’s Mattias, the assistant of the man who cleaned the pool at my family’s compound. My father had him beaten senseless when he found out we’d slept together.

Then there was Felipe, the son of a supplier Papa used to do business with. Papa found out about him, too. He had the man’s father locked in the basement for a month.

I never saw either of them again.

So it’s safe to say that I have no clue “how to pick ‘em.”

“Come on,” I tell her, grabbing her arm and pulling her deeper into the club. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“Fuck that,” Tamara says, her eyes still fixed on him. “Let’s head over there and say hi to the Greek god with the Superman chin.”

“No,” I say, without hesitation.

“Why not?” Tamara asks, whirling me around to face her. “Oh, I see… Youlikehim.”

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