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I’m hardly about to stand here on the steps of a five-star restaurant negotiating the cost of his hand on my back, but when he touches me, I almost wish I had. This is all new to me, a dance that I’m not accustomed to, and I hadn’t expected the way it would feel.
It’s a light touch, just on the small of my back, nothing even remotely erogenous. His hand barely rests against my skin, but it feels as if his touch burns through the silk, making my heart skip a beat in my chest. I almost falter on the steps, and at the slight hitch in my gait, I feel his hand press more firmly against my back, urging me forward.
“Good thing you let me,” he whispers against my ear.
Natalia
The warmth of his breath against my ear sends a shiver through me again, and I feel a little dizzy at the sudden desire that floods through me.
I swallow hard, picking up my pace a little, suddenly wanting his hand away from my skin. I hadn’t expected such a simple touch to affect me like that, or I would never have allowed it.
“Table for two,” Mikhail says as we step up to the hostess stand. “Under Kasilov.”
We’re led into the gorgeous restaurant, all white marble and black iron with chandeliers hanging throughout, dimly lighting the space. Mikhail’s hand never leaves my back, all the way until we reach the table in a secluded corner, where a bottle of champagne is already on ice. Only then does he step away, pulling out my chair so I can sink into it, like the perfect gentleman.
He must see the expression on my face, because he smirks at me, reaching for the champagne. “I told you that you had nothingto fear from me,” he says with a laugh. “That I would behave tonight, and I only wanted to spoil you.”
He reaches for the flutes, pouring out the champagne. I can feel my mouth water a little at the sight of it–I can already imagine the dry, sharp taste, the fizz of the bubbles on my tongue. It feels like such a long time since I’ve had good champagne.
Mikhail hands one to me, tapping his glass against mine. “To finally getting you alone,” he says with a grin, and I raise an eyebrow, laughing.
“We’ve been alone before,” I remind him. “In fact, we were more alone in the champagne room than we are here, in a restaurant.”
He smirks. “Well, I suppose you’re right. Then–” he taps his glass against mine again. “To a date with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen–and actual champagne.”
“I can definitely toast to that last part,” I say with a soft laugh. “I can’t remember the last time I had actual champagne.”
His eyes narrow just a fraction, and I feel my heart stutter in my chest as I realize my mistake–that the role I’m playing means I shouldn’t haveevertasted something this good before.Maybe he won’t call me on it,I think, a ball of ice forming in the pit of my stomach, but I’m not so lucky.
“So you’ve had champagne like this before?” He swirls it lightly in his flute, a smile still twitching at the corners of his mouth. “What other man has been taking you out for fine dinners?”
I lift my own flute to my lips, buying myself time. I played myself off as being new to this kind of transaction–which Iam–and now I can see the corner I’ve backed myself into. “A birthday party, a long time ago,” I manage, setting the flute down anddoing my best to look not at all unsettled by the conversation. “Not as good as this, though. I’m sorry–I don’t like to talk much about my past. It’s not the happiest story.”
There’s a beat where I wonder if he’ll push, if he’ll try to pry apart the cracks in my story. His icy eyes hold mine, the flute still held gingerly between his fingertips, and I can feel the beat of my heart in my chest like never before.
And then he gives me a pleasant smile, his face softening. “Well, I want this to be a good night for you. That was the point of it all, wasn’t it? To spend an evening together away from all the depravity of that club.” He gives a light shudder as if just thinking about it makes him feel slightly dirty. “We don’t have to talk about anything that you don’t want to.”
“Thank you.” I take another sip of my champagne as he sips from his, but it’s hard to take the same pleasure from it that I might have before. The conversation was a reminder of the fine line I’m walking, how quickly I could give away the truth of who I am, if I’m not careful.
The server comes to the table then, giving me a moment to escape any further conversation, as Mikhail orders caviar for an appetizer. “Something new for you to try,” he says, a glint in his eyes, and I have a sudden feeling that it’s a test.
I’ve had caviar before. Of course, I have. But I force a smile onto my face, twirling my champagne flute. “What if I don’t like it? I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
An expression that I can’t quite read slides over his face. “Not every new experience is a good one. But you should be willing to try anything–at least once.”
That shivery, icy feeling in the pit of my stomach makes a reappearance. I can’t help feeling that there’s a hint of a threat to his words, and I try to calm myself down, before my paranoia rears its head.There’s no reason to think that. He’s just being playful. Flirtatious. You’re reading too much into all of this.
I’m a dancer, not an actress, but I do my best to come across as if I’m tasting caviar for the first time when it comes to the table. I don’t have to fake how much I enjoy it, at least–I’ve always liked it, and it’s just another pleasure of being back in a world that I’ve missed…at least parts of it, anyway.
“Would you like to place your dinner order?” the server asks, and Mikhail glances upwards at him.
“We’ll do the tasting menu,” he says firmly, handing over the leather-backed menus to the man. “For both of us, with wine pairings.”
“I hope you don’t mind my ordering for you,” Mikhail adds as the server walks away, his gaze sliding over my face, down to my slight cleavage in the low-cut dress. I can see that glint of possessiveness again, the heat in his face, and I try to recollect myself.This I can handle. This, I’m familiar with.“I just enjoy spoiling beautiful women, and I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve chosen. The chef’s menu here really is delightful, and it changes frequently.”
In reality, I’m irritated by the high-handedness of it all. I would never have allowed a man to order for me in my old life. But I push it aside, forcing that same smile. “I’m happy to try whatever you think I’ll like,” I say softly, and that strange expression flickers across his face again.
I can’t quite figure out what it is that he wants–if helikesit when I snap back at him, if my fire and feistiness are part of what attracts him to me, or if he wants me sweet and compliant, thankful for being plucked out of my usual dingy environment.I would be so bad at doing this regularly,I think to myself as the first course, and the wine arrives, glancing across the table at Mikhail.I could never do what Ruby does.
