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“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “It was an accident! I swear!”
He backpedals before I can respond.
Weird.
“So, Kitty Cat.” Konstantin smooths the front of his jacket. “Were you looking for me?”
Yes.
But I won’t let him win this easily. So, I cross my arms, cock my hip, and smirk. “That’s bold of you to assume.”
His lip curls into a heart-stopping smile.
“My mistake, then,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it.” He starts to push through the crowd. “Enjoy the Dom.”
“Wait!” I try to keep the desperation from my voice and fail horribly.
He stops, giving me a side-eye and that sexy smile of his widens, sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach.Climb that man like a goddamn tree …
“Yeah, okay,” I admit. “I was coming to find you. I wanted to say thanks for the table.”
“Happy to help your bachelorette have a good time.”
“Well, she’s loving it.”
“And you? Are you having a good time?”
I spread my hands. “That bottle of Dom is the best thing so far.”
“Is that your drink of choice when you go clubbing?”
“Not a fan of clubs, actually, if you can believe that. But what the bachelorette wants …”
“The bachelorette gets.” He rubs his sharp chin, considering me like I’m a fascinating flower he just discovered. “If clubs aren’t your thing, I happen to know somewhere that’s more suited to your tastes. Come.”
My jaw drops at the audacity. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t wait for my permission. Instead, it’s like he’s issuing a command that I’m expected to follow. Somehow, I get the feeling Konstantin Siderov has never heard anyone tell himno.
My feet stick to the floor. Peering over my shoulder at the table, I search for Nadia.I don’t want to leave her behind. But if I tell her I thanked Konstantin and have nothing to show for it …
“Well, Kitty Cat?” He extends his hand to me, lips curling up in a playful smile that sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.
Fuck it.
I unlock my knees. “Lead the way.”
5
EMILY
The secondwe exit the club, I pull in a huge breath of refreshing air. The sea breeze that circulates along the coast is rejuvenating. There’s a line of people snaking by the front door of the club. I marvel at it, thinking again that we were lucky we got inside at all.
Konstantin is someone important, that’s for sure.
A part of me really wants to know more about him.It’s a stupid thing to want. Because odds are good that once I leave, I’ll never see this guy again.
“Down here,” he says, stepping carefully over the cobblestones of a sharply curving street only wide enough for a moped. The walk is short, and I hear music long before I see the small bar. The front of it is covered in greenery. Potted plants hang from twisting ropes or grow from clay basins. Konstantin enters first, waiting for me just inside the doorway. I don’t see a sign with a name anywhere.
I gasp in delight when I enter. A live band is performing on a low stage. Five men play various instruments. I recognize threekinds of guitars and some bongos, but the metal canister that’s being rubbed up and down with a stick is new to me. The tables have been pushed to the edges of the room, allowing the main floor to be used as a dance area.
