The Professional: Part 2 (The Game Maker #1.2)(34)

“Nyet.” Hard no. “It’s a subject I’d rather not discuss.” Softening his tone, he said, “Not tonight of all nights.”

“Fair enough. So . . . any hint about where you’re taking me next?”

“You’re soon to see.”

“Okay, Siberian.” Reining in my curiosity, I took another sip of ambrosia/wine, grinning against the glass.

“You’re . . . happy with me.” He sounded surprised.

“Very.”

“Because you think you’ve won in this, that I capitulated to you.”

I set down my glass. “Not everything’s a game, Sevastyan. Maybe I want us both to win.”

“Then why were you pleased with me?”

“Because you listened to me. You acknowledged that I needed something from our relationship, and I believe you intend in some way to give it to me tonight. You’re trying, and it gives me hope about our future.”

“Whereas before you had nothing but doubts?” A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.

“Sevastyan, you control whether I have doubts. It’s in your hands.”

“It sounds simple when you put it like that. But know that tonight is anything but simple for me.”

And still he was going through with it. “I understand.”

He frowned. “You expect much from me. In many areas of our lives. But perhaps I don’t . . . recognize everything a young woman needs.”

What to make of this perplexing statement? Then I remembered that, beyond sex, he didn’t have a lot of experience with women. He’d never been in a relationship, had no siblings—so no sisters—and hadn’t had a mother since he was thirteen, or younger.

Did he know a woman’s body? Judges’ scores of ten across the board. But her mind? Not so much.

In a wry tone, I said, “From now on, I’ll speak up about what I need—you know, try not to be such a shy and retiring flower with you.”

His expression turned to a look of fascination, again as if I were a creature he’d never seen in the wild before.

We stared at each other for long moments, while I attempted to imagine his thoughts. Was he trying to decipher mine as well?

He dragged his gaze away to check his watch, then signaled for the ma?tre d’. He said something in French to the man, who promptly returned with my stole and a small box that I didn’t remember Sevastyan checking at the front.

I turned toward the entrance, but Sevastyan took my arm. “This way.” Box in hand, he led me toward the rear of the restaurant, right past the other tables . . . then out a back door into a cobblestone alley.

“Is something wrong?” I whispered. “Did you see a threat?” So help me, if some mafiya thug ruins my fantasy night . . .

“No. We go to our next destination,” he said with an enigmatic air.

“Oh.” Excitement rekindled inside me. “What’s in the box?”

He surveyed the area. “I suppose you can have it now,” he said, handing it to me.

With a grin, I tore it open, finding inside the most stunning mask imaginable. The material was a rich green that complemented my gown, the edges lined with what had to be real emeralds.

At the sides, silken flares jutted like a butterfly’s wings. Beneath each of the slanted eye cutouts, the material curved down into a curlicue, a tapering wing.

“This is so gorgeous, Sevastyan!” I eagerly gave him my back when he moved to tie it on. “Is this for a masquerade?” In the last novel I’d read from Jess’s collection, a historical romance by some author with a weird first name, there’d been a courtesans’ masked ball. The French heroine and her Scottish hero had attended, naughtiness ensuing. “Are we going to one?”

“Of a sort,” Sevastyan muttered.

Before I could ask about his odd tone, he’d tied my mask and turned me to face him.

“You’re incomparable,” he said with such solemnity that I blushed.

Who could resist falling for a man like this?

A better woman than I?

Then he pulled a silky onyx domino out of his coat pocket, tying it on.

My mind . . . went . . . temporarily . . . blank.

Once my brain sputtered back to life, a tangle of thoughts hit me. Sexy. Rogue. Lava hot. Spontaneous orgasm.

He couldn’t possibly look more wicked. “Come along.”

As he squired me forward, I kept sneaking glances up at his face.

“It’s not far now, pet.”

I was nearly overwhelmed with curiosity as we made our way toward the end of the foggy alley, the click, click of my heels echoing.

“Here.” He stopped in front of an arched iron gate that looked like it was from the Middle Ages.

“What’s behind there?”

“Our destination.” He turned a lever and opened the gate, ushering me inside a damp tunnel. A torch lit the way deeper within.

“Uh, we’re going in there?”

“Second thoughts?”

I’d asked for this. I was prepared for a free fall with this man. “You won’t lose me that easily, Siberian.”

Was there a whisper of surprise in his expression? Had he thought I’d back out? Or hoped I would?

“At least give me a hint about where we’re going.”