The Master (The Game Maker #2)(17)

I followed him, accepting the money. This would be twelve grand in two nights! Plus the phone number fee! Still, when I thought of how miserable I’d been over the last two days—and his high-handedness today—I found myself saying, “No haggling. With the late-booking fee, it’s ten thousand. Or I take the party in my tiny dress somewhere else.”

I knew I’d aimed too low when he handed me another stack—as if I’d asked him to pass the salt.

My anger faded. I could afford to get another number. Wasn’t like I would need to update my contact info with all my friends and family, since I had neither. Once I left town, I’d toss the phone anyway.

As if in a dream, I floated toward my purse to stash my windfall.

When I returned, his gaze raked over me in a way that made me want to fan myself. My nipples were already straining against the silk.

“I thought I told you to wear something sexy.” A joke out of the Russian? “Why didn’t you dress like this last time? I only turned you away because you appeared almost . . . wholesome. At least from the front.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would take me out. Now I know you won’t.”

He crossed to stand in front of me, seeming to make a visible effort to keep his eyes on my face. “Perhaps I would if I had no time limit.”

“You’re the one who called at the last minute.”

“I began calling late this afternoon.”

I tapped my chin. “Then that sounds like a you problem.”

“Where were you tonight?”

“I told you. Here and there.”

“Do you have a standing date?”

“Boundaries, Sevastyan. That’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business when your schedule affects my plans.”

His plans consisted of depositing sperm into a condom, then dozing off. How nice life must be for him.

“And following another is not my style.” He stalked even closer.

“You aren’t, okay? Not that you’ll believe me. I haven’t had sex with anyone but you in a while.”

“Have you thought about me?”

“Fleetingly.”

His lips curled again. Not surprisingly, he had a sexy grin. Everything about him was sexy to me. When charming and warm like this, he was a different man. One I found myself dangerously attracted to.

He pulled me closer, lowering his head. His scent washed over me, sending shivers over my body. “I think you missed me, Katya.”

Oh, my name in his accent made my toes curl!

Right at my ear, he said, “I think you replayed what we did, and it made your soft little * wet.”

His rasped words turned me on so fast and so hard, I gasped. His mouth descended over mine. I tasted a bite of vodka as he gave me sensuous flicks of his tongue.

So much for my wall and boundaries. I welcomed his kiss, lapping back. Just like that, the fire raged, and my fingers dug into his shoulders. When he clamped my thigh to his hip, I rocked my hips to him.

He broke from the kiss to ask, “Did you miss this”—he thrust his hard cock against me—“for two days?”

I moaned, nodding, grinding back.

“It wouldn’t take much to make you come, would it?” He nuzzled my neck. “Rub your sweet clit with my thumb and you’d go off.”

“Try me—”

My stomach growled. Loudly.

He drew back, releasing my leg. “You haven’t eaten dinner?”

I shook my head.

Seeming to wrestle with a huge decision—which involved peering at my legs, my lips, my hard nipples—he sighed and said, “Let’s go down to the bar for some food.”

Why not call for room service? “Are you wanting to feed me, or show me off in this dress?”

“Maybe both.”





CHAPTER 9




In the elevator, his towering frame and palpable energy took over the space. He trailed the backs of his fingers up my spine, making me shiver again. “So sensitive.”

Downstairs, as we headed to the outside bar, he kept a proprietary hand on my back. Taller than all the other men, he walked with his chin up and his shoulders squared—utterly arrogant. Which I kind of enjoyed, when it wasn’t directed at me.

The Seltane’s outdoor area was breathtaking, with giant palms, multiple small pools, and luxurious seating nestled in romantic alcoves. He squired me away from others, closer to the ocean. Though two sofas wrapped around the candlelit table, we sat on the same one.

Our server—Tiffani!—was a tall blonde with a striking face. I expected Sevastyan to drool over her, but he was very attentive to me. He selected a white wine, a specific vintage that must be expensive; Tiffani raised her brows. He ordered a vodka martini for himself, telling her, “We need something to eat, something quick. Have the chef surprise us.”

As we waited for drinks, I relaxed back on the sofa, determined to enjoy the lavish setting. My lids went heavy as a breeze wafted over us, dancing with the table’s candle flame. Palm fronds fanned above. The now full moon was tinged with yellow and painted the waves.

While I was gazing at the ocean, he’d been gazing at me.

“What?”

“I can’t figure you out. I can figure everyone out. I’ve met spies less secretive than you.” Spies? As a politician— or mafiya heavy—did he mean that literally? “Are you so secretive because you fear another besotted client? I’m sure you’ve had your share.”