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16
Kira looked into the pot on the stove and studied the contents. She’d followed all the steps in Lina’s recipe, but she couldn’t help feeling she’d made a mistake somewhere along the way.
“It’s not a puzzle to solve,” Zoya said, entering the kitchen.
“Says you,” Kira said. “I’m not exactly experienced in the kitchen, as you well know.”
Zoya laughed. “Yes, I remember the time Lina went to visit her son and you set the toaster on fire.”
Kira scowled. “I was only thirteen.”
“This is true,” Zoya said, patting her shoulder. “Here, let me taste for you.”
She opened one of the drawers and pulled out a spoon. She dipped it into the pot and took a small bite.
“Tastes just like Lina’s,” Zoya said. “This is good.”
Kira smiled. “Really?”
Zoya nodded. “I’ll take some to my room.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Kira said. “I can set you a place.”
Zoya eyed the dining table, set with two plates and candles next to the wall of glass, all of it a complement to the soft music that streamed through the house’s hidden speaker system. “No, thank you. Enjoy dinner with your husband.”
She hesitated and a frown crossed her features.
“What?” Kira asked.
Zoya put the spoon in the sink and got a bowl from the cupboard. “Lyonya is your husband, but he is also a cunning man. Be careful Kira.”
“You’re the one who said to get close to him,” Kira said.
Zoya pointed at her. “Close enough to gain knowledge, close enough to influence. Not to trust.”
“We’re just having dinner together. It doesn’t mean I trust him.”
Zoya finished dishing her food and turned to look at Kira. “Maybe, but it’s difficult not to trust the man who’s in your bed.”
Heat flooded Kira’s face. “Then you’ll be happy to know he’s not in my bed.”
“Yet.” The elevator dinged at the front of the apartment and Zoya patted Kira’s cheek like she was still a child. “You’re a young woman. Lyonya Antonov is a handsome man. Have a nice dinner. Just be careful.”
She disappeared around the corner just as Lyonya appeared in the kitchen.
Kira’s mouth went dry at the sight of him. His presence changed the atmosphere of the room, charging it with electricity she could almost hear humming in the air.
“Hello,” he said. She thought he might take in the room, the set table and candles. But his eyes were glued to hers.
“Hello,” she said.
He was still wearing the trousers he’d worn that morning in her suite. They stretched taut across his thighs, leaving little to the imagination, and she had to force herself not to look at the significant bulge between his legs. Focusing on his broad shoulders, pulling at the seams of his white button-down shirt, didn’t help. She had the sudden urge to go to him, to touch her lips to the sliver of skin visible at the top of his chest.
How did the man manage to look as virile and in-command at the end of a long day as he’d looked when he left her suite that morning?
“Dinner’s ready,” she said, “but you can change if you’d like.”
She’d chosen a sleeveless black sheath dress that skimmed her curves without being too tight. The neckline was high, but the hem was on the short side, something she’d debated for nearly a half hour when she’d gotten dressed.
