Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(66)

My heart sinks. I think I’ve known this all along about Timo. I just hoped it wasn’t true.

He reaches for his wine. “I’d take him out of Vegas if I thought it’d help, but he was this way in New York.” He takes a larger swig of his drink.

No holding back, I reach out and place my hand on his, beside my knife and fork.

He doesn’t seem too surprised, and I wonder if he was waiting for me to do it. He traces the lines in my palm, his eyes flitting to mine, a smile behind them. It warms my soul.

He says a few words in deep Russian, and he even kisses my fingers.

“What’d you say?” I ask with a growing smile, one I can’t suppress now. The pull between us is mellow, but hot, like magma that slowly rolls down volcanic rock.

“I said, you’re very beautiful.”

He could have his pick of any girl in Vegas. It’s hard to believe he’d fall for me. “What do you see when you look at me?” I ask in a whisper.

He’s quiet for a moment, soaking in my features.

And his expression only floods with more and more intensity, the kind that says I am attracted to you on many, many levels. It shallows my breath.

“I can’t describe my demon,” he tells me with rising lips. “I just feel her.”

I scowl. “And I’d say you avoided the question, but I think I can read you now.”

“You can?” His brows rise in surprise. “What am I thinking then?”

His penetrating eyes descend to my lips, to my collarbones, to my breasts, creating a sweltering trail. All the way until the table blocks the rest of my frame.

My eyes widen. You want to fuck me.

It’s clearly the answer, but I struggle to say it out loud. I open my mouth, close it, open it, close it.

He smiles into his sip of wine, knowing the effect he has on me and possibly every girl he’s ever encountered.

“And now?” he asks, setting down his drink and looking at me with the most sincerity, the most genuine sentiments, traversing into me, like a gunshot that propels clean through.

I can’t put words to that expression. “I don’t know,” I say softly.

“I admire you.”

“That’s funny,” I say, “because I admire you.”

He tries to hide a smile. “Why is that?”

“You raised your siblings. You realize that, right?”

He lets out a short laugh. “Not well enough.”

I frown and shake my head. The waiter comes around and takes our orders. A salmon dish for me, and chicken for him.

“You’re wrong,” I tell him, the flames creating shadows over his strong features in the dark. He looks like a devil dressed in black at first sight, but coming to know him, he’s the god that everyone describes. “Katya is sweet and friendly.” I think about his brother, the one who offered me mints and stole Skittles for his little sister. “Luka is generous and kind.” And Timo—magnetic. There are no just words to define him. I smile, staring off. “And Timo is…captivating, more full of life than anyone I’ve ever met.”

When I look up at Nikolai, his brows are furrowed, overwhelmed. He combs his fingers through his hair, turning his head as he processes my words.

He lets out another short laugh, this time in disbelief. “When people first meet my siblings, they see the worst in them.” Lines crease his forehead. “Katya is too na?ve. Luka is too irresponsible. And Timo is…” He shakes his head. “Timo is chaos.”

“That’s rude,” I state.

He laughs into a bigger smile. “Where did you come from?”

“I think the same thing about you, you know.” He’s given me so much in a short amount of time. Determination, motivation. I am overflowing with better, brighter sentiments.

“According to you, I came from hell.” There is light behind his gunmetal eyes.

Technically that was John, but that thought has definitely impacted me. I struggle for a response. He’s distracting. Everything about him—his unshaven jaw, his soul-bearing gaze, his masculinity. I can’t concentrate, even if I was good at bantering.

I mutter, “Demons are from hell.” It sounds lame.

“Thank God for that.”

Maybe I’m not so bad at this. I stir my straw, the ice cubes melting. There are so many mysteries to him still. Stones left unturned. “Can I ask you something personal?” I wonder.

He stays relaxed. “Sure.”

“What happened with your family?” I pause to clarify. “I mean, your parents and other brothers are at Noctis, but it’s a new show. You said you haven’t seen them for six years, so…”

He lets go of my hand on the table, and I almost regret bringing it up. He sighs heavily like the past bears down on him, a weighted pressure that I can’t even begin to understand.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to—”

“No, I can,” he interjects. He rubs his jaw in thought, of how to start. He must not explain this often. “When I grew up, we were traveling with Nova Vega and then Celeste mostly in North America. All together. It’d been that way until my parents were recruited for Somnio, to oversee the Russian swing. It would go on a five-year tour, through Asia, Europe and South America.”