Page 31 of Dark King Daddy

Dinner ended without bloodshed, which was an achievement.

Lev and Mikhail left the Samovar Room first. Anton followed his father. Ksenia walked beside him. I stayed one pace behind Lev, close enough to intervene without appearing to guard him from men who were supposed to be allies.

The corridor narrowed near the Birch Room, the private space the two men would be retiring to for their discussion.

A service door opened.

It happened fast. Leonid emerged backward carrying a wide tray of dishes cleared from our table. His eyes were on the tray. He did not see Ksenia.

She stepped sideways to avoid him.

Directly into me.

My arm closed around her waist before we collided. I turned with her, taking our combined momentum, and put my back against the wall. The tray passed within inches of her shoulder.

For one moment, she was pressed fully against me.

Her palm braced against my chest. My hand spanned her waist. The fitted dress gave me no illusion of distance. I felt the heat of her body through it. The soft pressure of her breasts. The quick expansion of her ribs as she inhaled.

Her eyes lifted to mine. Hazel near the center. Green toward the edges.

Her lips parted.

My body reacted with immediate, brutal clarity.

The waiter muttered an apology and hurried past. I barely heard him.

Ksenia’s fingers curled slightly against my shirt.

“Do you manhandle all your guests after dinner,” she asked, “or am I receiving special treatment?”

“Anton doesn’t look as good in that dress.”

The words escaped before better sense stopped them.

She stared at me. Then she blushed.

Not the faint trace from downstairs. Color rose from her throat into her cheeks. Her composure cracked just enough to show the woman beneath it.

I wanted to do it again.

I wanted to discover what else would make her lose that careful control.

“Ksenia,” Anton called from ahead.

She stepped away.

My hand shifted from her waist to the small of her back as we began walking. It remained there. A light pressure. Guiding her through the narrow corridor.

Three steps. Four. Five.

I realized what I was doing and removed it.

The absence of contact was immediate. Almost painful.

Lev and Mikhail reached the Birch Room. I opened the door and conducted one final look inside. Table clear. Water set out. No bags. No unnecessary service pieces.

Leonid waited beside the corridor wall with the tea tray.