Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Alina wants to argue with me, I can see it, but even she knows it’s not a good idea to push me further right now. She’s become bolder since we left Moscow, freer with her sharp tongue. She thinks that because I temporarily handed over the reins to our brothers, I’ve softened, but she couldn’t be more wrong.
The beast inside me is alive and well… and focused on a sweet new quarry.
“All right,” she says after a tense moment. “In that case, good night. Enjoy your drink.”
She gets up, and Chloe follows her example. “I think I will—”
“Sit,” I say with a commanding gesture, and the girl sinks back down, blinking like a startled fawn as Alina strolls away with one final glare in my direction.
I wait until she’s gone before gracing my quarry with a smile. “So tell me, Chloe…” I reach for the decanters on the tray. “Do you prefer cognac, brandy, or whiskey for your digestif?”
11
Chloe
I stare at Nikolai, my heart thudding heavily. Am I misreading the situation, or did he engineer it so we’d end up alone at the table?
“I… don’t really drink,” I say, my throat dry. The look in his richly colored eyes again makes me feel like a mouse trapped by a very large cat—except no mouse would feel such a pull toward a predatory feline.
I want to touch him almost as much as I want to run away.
He arches his dark eyebrows. “No alcohol ever? I find that hard to believe.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just, you know, usually beer or wine at a party…” My voice trails off as he lifts one of the crystal decanters and pours two fingers’ worth of amber-colored liquid into a whiskey glass, then slides it toward me.
“Try this. It’s one of the finest cognacs in the world.”
I hesitantly lift the glass and sniff its contents. I’ve never actually had cognac. Vodka shots a bunch of times, yes. Tequila on a few memorable occasions, for sure. But not cognac—and judging by the strong liquor fumes hitting my nostrils, it’s not something I should drink around Nikolai tonight or on any other night.
Not when I’m so confused about what’s happening between us.
He pours himself a glass as well. “To our new partnership.” He lifts the drink in a toast, and I have no choice but to clink my glass against his. Bringing it to my lips, I take a sip—and break into a coughing fit, my eyes watering as my throat and chest ignite with fire.
Damn, this stuff is strong.
Nikolai watches me, dark amusement glimmering in his gaze. “You really aren’t much of a drinker,” he says when I’ve finally caught my breath. “Try it again, but slower this time. Let it sit in your mouth for a few seconds before you swallow it. Absorb the taste, the texture… the burn.”
This is a bad idea, I know, but I follow his instructions, taking another sip and holding it for a bit before letting it go down my throat. It still scorches my esophagus, but not as much as the first time, and in the wake of the fiery sensation, a pleasant warmth spreads through my limbs.
“Better?” he inquires softly, and I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from his hypnotic stare. Maybe it’s the alcohol already messing with my inhibitions, or the fact that we’re all alone, but this feels oddly like a date… like there’s a sense of intimacy building between us. I want to reach across the table and trace the sensual curve of his lips, to lay my hand on top of his broad palm and feel its strength and warmth.
I want him to kiss me, and if I’m not misjudging the simmering heat in his eyes, that may be what he wants as well.
“Why did you ask me to stay for a drink?”
I want to take the words back as soon as they leave my mouth, but it’s too late. A sardonic smile appears on his face, and he tips his head to one side, indolently swirling the cognac inside his glass. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t…” I wet my lips. “I don’t know.”
“But if you had to venture a guess?”
My heartbeat kicks up higher. There’s no way I can say what I’m thinking. If I’m wrong, this will go very poorly for me. In fact, I don’t see how this could go well for me. If I’m right and he’s attracted to me, that opens an enormous can of worms. And if I imagined it—
“Don’t overthink it, zaychik.” His voice is deceptively gentle. “This isn’t one of your school exams.”
Right. And I’d much rather it were—because then the only thing I’d have to worry about is a failing grade. The stakes are infinitely higher here. If I get this wrong, if I upset him, I could lose the job, and with it, any hope of safety.