Page 35 of Wicked Vow

His voice is smooth, rich as silk, and I look at him–really look at him–for the first time. He’s sharply handsome, with a chiseled face and smooth, strong jaw, short dark hair, and dark blue eyes that are fixed on me with an intensity that makes the nerves I’d felt before reappear in a flash, curdling in my stomach.

There’s only one pair of blue eyes I want looking at me like that.

The thought is startling, and I blink at the man, forcing myself to look at him again.

He’s dressed in a sleek grey suit, impeccably tailored, every inch of him screamingmoney, from the minimalist Swiss watch on his wrist to the signet ring on his finger and the subtle hint of the cologne wafting towards me. He’s every inch the sort of man I would have met in my old life, the kind of man who would have been pushed towards me as a possible suitor, and it should make me resent him.

But he seems friendly enough. The way he’s looking at me isn’t really all that strange–plenty of men have looked at me that way in my life. He seems genuinely pleased to meet me, and he hadn’t reacted to my last name, which makes me think he’s not really aware of my family–a relief in and of itself.

“Would you like to dance?” Erik asks as the music picks up and couples start to leave their tables to go out to the floor. “Viktor mentioned to me that he had a lovely guest who was a ballerina. I’d be honored to be your dance partner for a little while.”

He stands up, holding out his hand, and I know there’s no reason for me to say no. I’m not even sure that Iwantto say no. He’s handsome and pleasant and interested in me, and there’s nothing about him that suggests that I won’t enjoy his company.

From the way Caterina is looking at me, I can tell that she wants me to dance with him. In fact, looking between her face and Viktor’s slightly pleased expression, I have a feeling that this has been set up–that Viktor invited him over to the table specifically to meet me.

I should be annoyed by it. But I know if that’s what happened, they mean well, at the very least.It might take my mind off of Mikhail,I tell myself as I stand up, smiling at him as I take his hand.What’s the harm? I should be looking at other men. I should be looking at, thinking about anyone else.

“I can’t hope to match your skills, of course,” Erik says as he leads me to the dance floor. “But maybe I won’t be too much of a disappointment.”

“Well, this kind of dancingisvery different from ballet. Not that I’m not accomplished at both.” I grin at him. “But I have faith you won’t humiliate yourself on this dance floor.”

He laughs, his hand sliding around to the small of my back. “Are you saying Iwouldhumiliate myself on the ballet stage?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Erik’s laugh deepens at that, a genuine, full-throated sound that might have garnered us some looks from the others on the dance floor if the music weren’t growing loud enough to muffle it. “I can’t argue with that. If only I had some talent that would astonish you.”

His eyes twinkle at me as he looks down, his fingers lacing through mine as we start to dance. His other hand is warm against my back through my dress, long-fingered and solid, and there’s a calm, sure confidence in the way he holds me as we move across the dance floor that should make me feel something. I know Ishouldbe attracted to him in a way that goes beyond the sort of aesthetic acknowledgment that he’s an objectively good-looking man. But his touch makes me feel nothing.

It makes me feel as if Mikhail broke something inside of me.

Or awakened you to something that you didn’t know you wanted–or needed.

The thought is sharp and unwelcome, and I try to push it aside as we dance. I know very well what Viktor and Caterina were thinking in introducing us. Erik is handsome, certainly wealthy if he’s doing business with Viktor, and undoubtedly well-connected. I’m a woman with a name and a lost fortune, and a baby on the way. I can see how this would make perfect sense–to introduce me to him.

The problem, of course, is that I can’t stop thinking about a man that I shouldn’t want.

Try. Just try. What harm can it do?

“How long have you been staying with Viktor?” Erik asks as he spins me in a circle and pulls me back towards him, closer this time than I was before. “I can’t believe he’s had such a lovely houseguest for long and neglected to introduce me to you before this.”

“Not long. A week and a half, maybe. And it’s been a bit of a whirlwind,” I admit. “I had a friend who came with me who we had to get settled. So that’s taken up a lot of my attention, and Caterina’s.”

“And you came from–”

“Moscow.” I feel a brief tug of anxiety in my chest as I say it, wondering if I shouldn’t have told him, but I can’t see the harm in it. For all I know, Viktor already told him, and he was asking to be polite. It’s not as if coming from Moscow in and of itself is suspicious.

“Ah. I’ve been there a few times. Can’t say it’s a city I particularly enjoy.”

“But you enjoy New York?”

He smiles, spinning me again and pulling me nearly up against his chest this time as he draws me back in. “I adore New York. It’s the most vibrant city in all the world, in my opinion. I have a penthouse here, downtown, that I’d love to show you.”

The insinuation is clear, but all I can think of as he says it is a different penthouse, the view of Moscow at night spreading out in front of me as Mikhail’s hand touched my waist, the bite of whiskey on my tongue, the possibility of what would happen next between him and I hanging heavily in the air, a line that I hadn’t been sure I should cross.

A line that I know now I shouldneverhave crossed.

“Well, I think I’d have to get to know you a bit better for that,” I deflect, giving him the most charming smile I can muster.

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