He’s older—in his forties—and well groomed. The tailoring on his pinstripe suit is precise and flattering. This is a man who takes pride in his appearance.
The sound of my heels clicking on the marble floor alerts him to my approach. As I stop across from him, his gaze lifts to meet mine over the top of the display.
He considers me for a moment before asking, “Are you a collector?”
“No,” I reply with a smile. “Just a book lover.”
“That’s how it starts,” he says, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I must compliment your intuition. You’re looking at a second-editionEugene Oneginby Pushkin, the greatest Russian poet who ever lived. Have you read any of his work?”
“I haven’t.”
He tsks. “You must. The translations are never as good as the original, but there’s some literature that simply cannot be ignored.” He drags his thumb over his mustache. “I was prepared to love the world, but no one understood me, so I learned to hate.”
Goosebumps scatter over the backs of my arms. “A quote?”
“Indeed. Onegin was a cynic, disillusioned with society.” He steps around the display, his eyes gliding over me with a subtle, unnerving interest. I feel a sticky unease creeping over my skin.
“That’s a beautiful dress,” he murmurs.
“Thank you.”
Without asking, he reaches into my personal space and flicks his finger over the beaded moon embroidered on my hip. “I’m a man who appreciates good craftsmanship.”
I force myself to stay still, resisting the urge to step back.
“You must give me the name of the designer so I can get something for my wife. I promised her a gift tonight, but nothing at the auction has caught her eye.”
I swallow, hoping he can’t sense the deception beneath my uncertain smile. “My husband wants to get me something too. I haven’t picked yet.” My gaze drifts back to the old book.
“I’m afraid it won’t be the Pushkin. I’ve been waiting to add him to my collection for a very long time, and tonight is the night.”
“What if someone outbids you?”
“They won’t.” He clasps his hands, contemplating the book with quiet confidence. “When I see something I want, I always find a way to get it.” His gaze slides back to me, and my instincts flare, warning me of the predator behind his polished exterior.
This man is dangerous. It’s not that I didn’t already know that, but now Ifeelit.
A drop of cold sweat rolls down the valley of my spine.
“So where is your husband?” Maksim asks.
“Finishing his meal. I was too excited to wait.”
“It’s better to look at everything when there aren’t so many people around. I dislike crowds, but even they weren’t enough to keep me away tonight. Did you know there are only ten known copies of this edition left on the planet?”
That would explain why the bidding on the book starts at three hundred thousand dollars.
“I had no ide—”
“Maks! There you are.”
A dark-haired woman teeters over to us.
Ekaterina.
She’s got a glass in one hand, and judging by her unsteady balance, it’s far from the first one she’s had tonight.
Maksim’s lips thin for a moment, but when Ekaterina reaches us, he masks his irritation with an obliging smile.
