The bouncer opens it without a word.
Katerina raises one brow. “This is where you have your meetings?”
I look down at her.
“In Moscow,” I say, “the best conversations happen where everyone is pretending not to listen.”
Her eyes move to the doorway, then back to me. “And you brought me here because?”
Because I did not want to leave you behind.
Because I trust myself less when you’re not where I can see you.
Because tonight may be the beginning of a war, and I’m still thinking about your mouth.
I offer my hand instead of answering.
After a moment, she takes it.
We descend into the club together.
12
KATERINA
The club isnothing like I expect.
I’ve never been inside an American club, not a real one, but I have seen enough films to imagine flashing lights, drunk girls screaming over music, men shouting into each other’s ears, the whole room designed to make everyone look younger, louder, and more foolish than they are.
This place is darker than that.
Older, too, though I can tell at once that nothing in it is old by accident. The walls are black lacquer and smoked mirror. The ceiling is low over the bar, then opens into a high, shadowed space where chandeliers hang like cages of gold light. Music moves through the room with a deep, steady pulse, not frantic, not cheerful. People do not dance as if they are trying to be seen. They dance as if being watched is part of the transaction.
Women in silk dresses lean over small round tables with men in dark suits. Cigarette smoke drifts from a private room somewhere beyond the main floor, though I’m almost certainsmoking is not allowed. No one looks drunk, exactly. They look expensive and alert, which is somehow much more intimidating.
Roman seems completely at home.
He keeps one hand on the small of my back as we move through the club, not pushing, not displaying me, only making it very clear to anyone looking that I’m with him. The crowd changes around us as we pass. Men shift aside before he reaches them. Women glance up from their drinks. A few people smile, but carefully, the way Elena smiles.
I lean closer to him. “Do people always move for you like that?”
He looks down at me. “Only the sensible ones.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I say.
“It was not meant to be.” He raises a brow.
I can’t help but stare at him. This is probably insane. I’ve known this guy for forty-eight hours, but he already has my stomach doing cartwheels.
I can’t be falling for him. It’s too early for that, absolutely crazy. So, I shake myself out of the thought. Just because he fucked me that good doesn’t mean he’s my prince charming. And no, I don’t want to think about our dance earlier today. There was nothing lustful about that, only tenderness, raw and aching.
Get a grip on yourself, lady, I think to myself.I’m Katerina Markova, not a desperate hoe. I deserve better than this.
I should be more nervous, but the music is warm under my skin, and the evening has already done something strange to me. Dinner had been beautiful. The city lights had blurred past the windows. Roman had been quieter after one of his calls, but notdistant. Whenever I looked at him, he looked back as if the room, the road, the city, all of it was less important than my face.
So, when he leads me to the edge of the dance floor, I let him.
“You dance in clubs too?” I ask.
