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“Like you wouldn’t believe,kisa.”
My heart stutters. I take a casual sip of my drink. I’m delighted to find it’s a simple vodka cranberry. “What does that mean?” I ask easily. “Kisa.”
Konstantin’s grin sends me through a loop. He looks so damn familiar. I swear to God if I squint just enough, all I see is Mikhail. Is the alcohol already getting to me? Is my brain so desperate for him that I’m projecting his image onto other people?
“It means kitten,” Konstantin explains. “Rather fitting, since you’re cute like one.”
My cheeks pool with heat, though I’m not sure if it’s because Konstantin has a way with words or because the knowledge that Mikhail has been calling me hiskittenthis entire time makes feel some type of way. Why can’t I get him out of my head? Why does my chest ache every time I think about him?
“Oh, shoot!” Charlotte says, looking around for something. “I think I left my purse on the bar counter. I’ll be right back.” She scurries off, her eyes set on the other end of the bar, leaving Konstantin and me alone together.
“Tell me, Aurora. What bringsyouout this evening?”
“Honestly? I’m trying to get over a guy.”
Konstantin frowns slightly. “Some bastard broke your heart?”
I shrug. “Not quite broken, but definitely bruised.”
He reaches out, grazing the side of my arm with the tips of his fingers. There’s something magnetic about him. Konstantin gives me a sympathetic look. Once again, it looks incredibly practiced, as if he’s a robot trying on different expressions—though I tell myself I’m being crazy. Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s the few sips of vodka cranberry. Who knows?
“Maybe I can help you forget all about him, hm?” he says, voice low and mesmerizing.
“What about your nephew?”
“It seems he’s running late. To be honest, I’m not expecting him to show at all. I can always catch him some other time.”
All of a sudden, someone shoves himself between Konstantin and me. He’s big and angry, and he has my hand wrapped up tightly in his. I can only see the back of his head, but I know who he is the second I catch a whiff of his earthy cologne.
“Keep your fucking hands off of her!” Mikhail growls.
Chapter 11
Aurora
Confusion sweeps over me.
“Mikhail?” I rasp. I try to take my hand back, but he refuses to let go. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he grumbles. Mikhail keeps his eyes trained on Konstantin the entire time. “What the fuck are you doing in New York? I’ve made myself perfectly clear. I want nothing to do with you.”
Konstantin doesn’t appear fazed in the slightest. “Ah, my darling nephew. I was worried you weren’t going to show.” He looks him up and down. “My, how you’ve grown. What has it been? Almost thirty-five years since we last saw each other? I believe you were about eight when you left Russia, yes?”
My mind spins. Nephew? Mikhail is Konstantin’s nephew?
I can’t see his face, but I can feel how tense Mikhail is. His entire body is rigid, solid stone held together with thick wire. His anger radiates into the air, leaving everyone within a two-foot radius of him shifting away in discomfort out of fear that a fight might break out any moment.
“I’m going to say it one more time,” Mikhail hisses. “Leave. Us.Alone.”
Konstantin shrugs, gesturing with his hands out in front of him. There isn’t an ounce of aggression in his posture. He’s totally calm, collected. When I look at his eyes, however, any trace of warmth I thought I detected has vanished. His misty blue gaze is cold and dead like a shark. It’s chilling.
He speaks in Russian. Mikhail snaps something back, the hard pronunciation of Cyrillic vowels and consonants harsh. He sounds even more commanding in Russian. It shouldn’t be this much of a turn on, yet…
Mikhail gets in the last word—whatever the hell it is—and Konstantin puts his hands up in surrender. I find myself being dragged out of the lounge. The cool evening air hits my skin, sending a chill clawing over my flesh.
“Let go of me,” I snap, jerking my hand away. “God, you’re the worst!”
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he simply huffs as he waves to someone down the street. “Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”
