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We all cheer loudly, laughing as we clink our fresh drinks together.
Then two ridiculously attractive male strippers appear at the edge of our VIP section, both shirtless, oiled, and wearing nothing but tight black pants. One of them carries a bottle of champagne, the other a tray of shots.
Mabel’s eyes light up. “Yes! This is exactly what I needed!”
Lucy throws her head back as one of the strippers spins her around dramatically. Angie is clapping and cheering, and Mabel, her smile is wide, carefree.
I find myself laughing right along with them.
One of the strippers grabs Mabel’s hand and twirls her, and she squeals, covering her face as we all cheer her on.
“This is your last night of freedom!” Lucy shouts over the music.
Mabel points at us dramatically. “And I intend to enjoy every second of it!”
After a while, we all spill out onto the main dance floor.
The dance floor is packed, and for the first time in the longest time, I let myself loosen up.
I throw my head back, eyes half-closed, and let the rhythm take over. My long hair cascades down my back as I wine my hips to the beat.
I feel a presence behind me.
When I turn, there’s a guy smiling down at me. He’s good-looking, tall, blonde hair, nice jawline, but I’m not interested in anything more than dancing.
I smile back politely and turn around, continuing to move to the beat.
He takes it as an invitation.
His chest presses against my back, his hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer as we sway together.
At first it’s fine, just dancing. But then his palms start drifting upward, skimming over my ribs, getting bolder. I feel the unmistakable press of his crotch against my ass, grinding in time with the music.
Just as I open my mouth to tell him to keep his wandering hands to himself, he’s suddenly ripped away from me.
I spin around, heart jumping.
And I freeze as I stare straight into a pair of mismatched eyes that have haunted my dreams for the last four years. Locked on mine. Andrei.
Chapter Seven
Rosie
My breath stalls in my lungs as I stare into those eyes. Eyes that mirror my daughter’s so perfectly.
For a second, I wonder if I’m dreaming. If the drinks have made me start seeing things.
Then he speaks.
“Good to see you, plamya.”
The word rolls off his tongue low and rough, his accent wrapping around it like velvet.
Oh God. That name. That voice. What it does to me. And the way he says it sends heat rushing down my spine, exactly like it did four years ago.
He’s so close, towering over me in the middle of the crowded dance floor, our bodies nearly pressed together. I can feel the vibration of his voice in my chest, in my bones.
He looks devastatingly handsome. The years haven’t softened him at all. Sharp jawline shadowed with stubble, dark hair slightly tousled, broad shoulders filling out a perfectly tailored black shirt that stretches across his powerful chest.
