Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (4)

He turns to leave, then pivots back like he wants to say something. Then turns to leave again. He looks like he’s walking the plank off a pirate ship as he shuffles towards the exit.

The bell over the door chimes. Like one chapter is closing and another one is now beginning.

I’m aware of the stranger still standing next to me. Suddenly, he bends in my direction.

For one wild second, I swear he’s going to kiss me. His cologne rushes over me. Cool and spicy. I have to clench my thighs together immediately. If Brianna only knew what I was feeling right now, she’d be ecstatic that her little sister isn’t some unfeeling robot.

Then, instead, he keeps on bending, reaching past me to pick up my fallen napkin from the floor.

“You dropped this,” he murmurs in my ear.

He straightens up. When he sees the fire-hydrant-red blush in my cheeks, I catch the tiniest glimmer of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. It’s gone as soon as it appeared.

The man in the suit slides gracefully into Reggie’s vacated seat. My stomach does a backflip as his gaze rakes over me.

It’s so strange—when Reggie glanced at my cleavage, I felt creeped out. But when this man does the exact same thing, I clench up from head to toe like I just stuck a fork in a wall socket.

“He’s gone,” I sigh. “Thank you for that.”

“My pleasure.”

I shuffle my feet under the table, feeling extremely self-conscious. Everything about him screams “sex appeal.” Even the way his lips form the word “pleasure” feels like foreplay.

“Were you eavesdropping on me?” I ask. The silence is too much to bear.

He nods solemnly. “Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because you caught my attention, kiska.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

He nods, his expression growing thoughtful. “That makes two of us.”

After about five seconds of another very pregnant silence, I clear my throat. “Well, thank you again for rescuing me. But I should, you know, head back now…”

Of course, that exact moment is when the waiter arrives with the drinks Reggie had ordered for us. “Sorry for the delay, ma’am,” she says, setting the drinks down on the table.

“Head back? It would be a shame to waste a good drink,” the man in the suit remarks.

Brianna’s words flash through my head again. You’re not even giving him a chance. When was the last time you were attracted to any man?

One thing is very obvious: this man does it for me. And she’s right—I’ve spent years hiding from everyone with a Y chromosome.

This guy is here. He’s hot. And he’s looking at me like he wants to swallow me whole.

“Okay,” I concede guiltily. “One drink. But first, tell me your name.”

He grins and leans forward. “My name is Isaak,” he says. “Isaak Vorobev.”





2





Isaak





“Your turn,” I say.

“Huh?” She wrinkles her nose in confusion. It’s an adorable quirk, and so utterly unfamiliar to me that I almost laugh out loud.

The women I usually fuck don’t wrinkle their noses. They purr, they smile, they stroke your arm seductively. They know their power and how to use it.

This girl? She doesn’t have a fucking clue.

But maybe that’s why I’m here with her, instead of in bed with any of the other dozens of playthings at my disposal.

“Tell me your name,” I explain. “I heard ‘Cami.’ I want to know all of it.”

“Oh.” She blushes. Again, fucking adorable. “Right. Cami. Short for Camila. Camila Ferrara.”

“You prefer Camila?”

The dress she’s wearing is simple but it hugs her figure deliciously. Her cleavage is subtle, almost teasing. I’d already imagined ripping down the neckline numerous times during my business meeting. The one I bailed on to come over here and rescue her from her idiot date.

“My family and friends call me Cami,” she mumbles.

“Cami it is. After all, we did grow up next to each other.”

She smiles. That’s when I notice the dimple on her right cheek. Such an innocent little kiska, I think to myself. Kiska—Russian for kitten. A tiny, helpless little creature begging to be devoured. The name suits her.

I lean back in my seat and adjust my pants—mostly because my throbbing erection is starting to get distracting.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she says. “Save me, I mean.”

“As I said, it was my pleasure.”

She cocks her head to the side. A spray of glossy blonde hair falls across one shoulder. “Do you make a habit of saving every stranger who looks like they’re having a miserable time?”

“Only the beautiful ones.”

She blushes and looks down nervously in her lap.

“You must’ve known what you were getting into the second he asked you out,” I chuckle. “Based on the way he slinked to the exit, I’m surprised he had the balls to ask in the first place.”

“He didn’t ask,” she says. “Not exactly.”

I arch my eyebrow. “Explain.”