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“I think you look hot.” I shot him a coy smile and bit my lower lip suggestively. “My big bad Wolf.”
“I hate you right now,” he said, completely deadpan.
Laughing, I stopped walking and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He flinched, turning to stone against me. I ignored the ingrained reaction and kept pressing soft kisses to his lips, coaxing them open with flicks of my tongue. Little by little, he softened, returning my kiss gently.
When we pulled apart, I heard a small sigh that made me grin like an idiot. It was still strange to have the man known as the Wolf of Verkhoyansk, a Russian killing machine, be rendered vulnerable by someone as insignificant as me. People whispered his name in the criminal underworld, but somehowIwas the one who brought him to his knees — when he let me.
“Do you want to check out the auction items first or get a drink?” I asked, gesturing between the opposite ends of the massive ballroom.
He started steering me toward the bar before the words fell from his lips. “Why is that even a question?”
“Right. I forgot who I’m talking to.”
We’d no more than grabbed a couple vodkas from the bar when Sasha went rigid again, halting immediately like someone froze him in time. He was staring at something across the room, his jaw shifting.
“What’s wrong?” I tried to see what the problem was, but there was no way I could tell with all of the people moving around. No one else was panicking or seemed to be in distress, so that was a good sign. Right?
“I thought I saw someone.”
Well, that didn’t narrow it down… The room was filled with at least a hundred people — masked people at that. How the hell would he even recognize someone?
“Is that someone a problem?” I prompted.
When the crowd shifted again, I caught sight of a blonde in a red dress staring in our direction. Considering we were in front of the bar with nothing but bottles behind us, I was pretty sure she was ogling my boyfriend right in front of me.
I couldn’t make out much about her, other than the obvious. A diamond necklace glittered around her throat, the large teardrop resting in the middle of her cleavage — a placement I’m sure was intentional. Her lipstick matched her dress, a fact made even more noticeable when she bit her lower lip and gave Sasha a smile that went beyond polite flirting. She looked like she was going to pounce from across the room and devour him in one bite.
I mean, I’d stare too if I wasn’t already lucky enough to be acquainted with him. His height, his build, the five o’clock shadow starting to show on his jaw. Even if you couldn’t see half of his face, there was no denying Sasha radiated sex and danger. But just because I understood all of that didn’t stop a flash of possessiveness from shooting through me.
He swore under his breath in Russian and downed the glass of vodka, practically slamming it onto the bar. “Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
“It’s a problem,” he said before diving into the swarm of bodies. People parted for him, like a school of fish scattering in front of a shark. Right before the crowd came back together, I saw the mystery blonde say something to him, complete with a stunning smile. His steps didn’t even slow as he grabbed her bicep and yanked her out of sight.
Well, shit.Thatprobably wasn’t good. He already didn’t want to be here and now he was manhandling socialites for God knew what reason. Was she from the club? Was that Sergei’s daughter? Since I’d never met her, I could only assume. Otherwise, who else would have Sasha so pissed off without even speaking to him?
So much for a festive night out.
Shaking my head, I leaned one elbow against the bar and sipped my vodka, trying not to gag. It was definitely an acquired taste. Drinking it ice cold helped, but the burn afterward was wicked. Sasha must not have any lining left in his esophagus since he drank it like fucking water. Still, I persevered, watching the crowd for any other people we knew — namely Russian mafia men.
Minutes ticked by and there was no sign of either Sasha or the blonde. I was in the midst of debating with myself on how worried I should be when a lithe man in a peacock mask stepped up next to me and gave me a blatant head-to-toe.
“Roan Sinclair, is that you?” he asked, a half-smile on his face.
I squinted, trying to place the voice. I couldn’t make out much of the man’s face — his mouth, mainly, and his hazel eyes, a mix of olive and amber — but the elaborate three-piece suit that matched the colors in his mask and the heavily-ringed hands could only mean one person. “Bennett?”
“The one and only.” Even behind a peacock mask, Bennett’s charm was on full display. I stepped into his open arms, patting his back in a friendly greeting. “I’d never forget eyes like yours, my boy. Windows to the soul and all that.”
“Shameless flirt as always, I see.”
“Just stating the truth.” When we pulled apart, he kept one hand on my shoulder, reeling me back in for a closer conversation amidst the din in the ballroom. “How is my little songbird these days?”
I shrugged, trying to maintain my smile under the weight of his perceptive stare. “Great. Working on a couple music projects. Freelancing. But it’s great.”
A smile lifted the corner of his mouth again. “I thought your father would have taught you to be a better liar.”
I couldn’t help but bristle at the mere mention of the asshole. “That would require him to be around.”
