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“I guess I could do that.”
“So, why don’t you?”
She looks hesitant but replies, “Vodka isn’t usually my thing.”
I lift the glass and sniff the liquid, wrinkling my nose when I set it back down. “Because this shit is cheap.” I glance at her necklace, then meet her gaze, arching my right brow as I do so. “And you don’t strike me as cheap.”
Her cheeks redden. “Cheap is all I can afford.”
“Your boyfriend doesn’t buy you drinks?”
“Don’t have one to buy them for me.”
“I find that hard to believe.” My eyes drift down her body, lingering in all the right places to make her squirm.
“Yeah, well. Believe it!” She smiles nervously as she grabs a fresh rag from beneath the counter to wipe the bar, even though it’s already clean. I can smell the fresh cleaner she used just minutes ago. She steals a glance at the inked rings near my knuckles. Then at the skulls peeking out on my forearms underneath the tailored suit I’m wearing.
“You know, it’s rude to stare,” I tell her.
“I’m not staring!” She shoots me a daring glance, one that still harbors a bashful grin.
“You’ve been undressing me with your eyes since I walked in.” My smile widens as my eyes drill into hers.
My fingers drum against the counter, allowing her to take in the full details of the ink on them.She has no idea what she’s staring at.Because if she knew, she’d know better than to keep talking.
“You can’t prove that.” She bites her lower lip. I can feel the desire lingering in her irises as her cheeks grow redder each time she steals a glance at me. “It’s rude to undress people, you know.”
“And yet…” I shrug. “Here we are.”
Her face blooms various shades of crimson and I laugh, enjoying how flustered she’s getting. She’s shy, yes. But she’s easily keeping up.
“All right, fine. Iwasstaring. Happy?”
“Almost. Now, what I need from you…” I pause for effect, letting ideas roll through her brain, each dirtier than the last. “Where is Dmitri Alekseyevich?”
“Dmitri?” A flash of displeasure comes and goes in her eyes. So fast that it might not have happened at all. “Sure, I can go get him.”
“Thank you.” I nod. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Liya.”
I repeat her name slowly, letting the syllables drip off my tongue like rich caviar. Another flush rises on her face. She casts me a furtive glance and then disappears to the back without saying another word, leaving behind the scent of bubbly champagne with a dash of something floral.
My interested grin shifts into a scowl when Liya returns with Dmitri’s hand on her ass. He doesn’t seem to notice me at first, his gaze hooked to her rear with a mischievous leer that makes me want to slam my elbow into his cheekbone.
The strange surge of anger surprises me. I’m usually not one for white knighting random bartenders. But something about Dmitri’s hand on Liya makes me feel like he’s touching something that he has no right to.
Something that belongs to me.
I take savage pleasure in the sight of his face going white when he sees me. He retracts his hand and recoils slightly as I hop over the bar and stand as uncomfortably close to him as possible.
“Dmitri Alekseyevich,” I greet him in Russian. “We need to talk privately.”
A nod from me sends him in the direction of his office with unusual light-footedness. I pause near Liya, realizing she’s looking at me with bated curiosity. Fear or wonder? I can’t tell.
“Bring a bottle of your best vodka on the house,” I tell her.
Her eyes roam after Dmitri, looking for advice. I snap my fingers, and one of my men places several hundred-dollar bills from his jacket onto the bar.
