I knew it was coming. But I feel disappointed anyway.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
I try to pull my hand from his. “Then go.”
He does not release me.
Instead, he leads me off the dance floor, through the darker edge of the club, toward a table set into a curved alcove. It gives a clear view of the main room but sits far enough from the crowd that no one can approach casually. A man I recognize from outside the apartment stands nearby. Another one appears near the bar, pretending great interest in his drink.
Roman pulls out the chair for me.
“I can sit by myself,” I say.
“You can do many things. Sit.”
I roll my eyes but sit.
He leans down, one hand on the back of my chair, his face close enough that his cologne cuts through the smell of smoke and perfume around us.
“You stay here.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“No. A dog would obey faster.”
I glare at him. “You’re very close to ruining all the charm you built up during dinner.”
“I will risk it.”
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs.”
I glance toward the balcony level above us. It’s darker there, guarded by two men near a velvet rope. Private rooms line the upper floor, their doors half-hidden behind bronze screens.
“For how long?”
“Not long.”
“Roman.”
His gaze holds mine. “I mean it. This is not a place to explore alone.”
The seriousness in his voice takes some of the argument out of me.
“Fine,” I say. “I will sit here like expensive luggage.”
His mouth shifts. “You’re much more trouble than luggage.”
“And yet, here I am.”
“Yes,” he says, and his gaze drops to my mouth for one dangerous second. “Here you are.”
Then he straightens and walks away.
I watch him cross the club. People notice him without making it obvious. One man stands before Roman reaches the stairs. Another opens the rope. Roman does not look back.
