"I'm tired," I explain with rapidly waning patience. "And I'm too stuffed to have dessert."

He glances at his watch. "It's only eleven," he says. "Fine, forget the dessert menus then. Bring us another round of drinks."

The waiter nods and makes her escape from the dreaded Reggie Zone before I can protest. I cringe at the prospect of spending another half an hour in this man's company.

"Hey, I'm gonna go hit the can, okay?" He burps again. "Don't think that steak sat right with me."

I give him a wooden nod. The moment he clears the table, I sigh with relief and whip out my phone to dial Brianna's number.

She answers immediately. "Hey, sis, how's the date going?"

"I am going to kill you!"

"Woah there, hold your horses. What happened?"

"He's dull and boring and boorish and I'm going to end it all with the butter knife if I have to spend another minute stuck here with him."

Brianna giggles out loud. "You're not using words like 'boorish' on him, are you?"

"We have nothing in common, Bree."

"Opposites attract."

"The physics of magnetism aside, I beg to disagree."

Brianna groans. "You're not even giving him a chance. When was the last time you were attracted to any man?"

The question feels unfair, especially given the very real and very visceral reaction I'd just had to the man in the booth. Not that I'm about to admit to Brianna that I was just eye-fucking some smug Wall Street douche in a pricey suit. She'd never let me hear the end of it.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you treat men like an invasive species."

"With good reason! Having a man in your life isn't everything, you know."

"Life is not Little Women, Cami," says Brianna with a long-suffering sigh. "You don't have to get all Jo March idealist on me. I'm not saying Reggie is your fairytale prince, but at least he's... I dunno, call it 'practice.'"

"I don't want practice. Right now, all I want is a cab out of here."

"Back to his place?" she teases.

I shudder. "Not a snowball's chance in hell. Ah, shoot, he's coming back. Gotta go. Love you, bye!"

I hear her saying something like, "Just smooch him and see if you like-" before I smash the "End Call" button and tuck my phone back under the table.

"Talking about me?" Reggie asks with a waggle of the eyebrows that I'm pretty sure is meant to be seductive.

As he sits back down, I try and look at him objectively without the prism of disinterest tainting my perception.

Maybe Bree is right and I'm being too harsh. He's not a bad-looking guy. Sure, his three-day beard is more "gamer who forgot to shower" than it is "GQ cover model."

And sure, he talks about himself a lot and starts way too many sentences with "In my industry..."

But he's nice enough, I guess.

So why does a night spent with Reggie pale in comparison to a single glance from the man in the expensive suit?

One of them makes my skin crawl.

The other sets my skin on fire.

"In part," I reply eventually. "Just wanted to let Brianna know I'd be home soon."

His eyebrows rise. "Not too soon."

"Beg your pardon?"

"The night's not over. I have something else planned for us. My friend's playing a gig at a bar down the street, so I told him we'd stop in."

I swallow my annoyance. "You didn't tell me, though."

"I'm telling you now. It'll be fun."

I hate being cornered into things. "Reggie, tonight's not good."

"Do you have other plans?" he asks bluntly.

"Well, no."

"Then I don't see the problem."

"Look, Reggie," I say, starting to panic a little, "you're a nice guy, and I really appreciate the invite to hang. But like I said, I've gotta get home, so I think I'm gonna just head-"

I'm standing as I say this, but before I can even get all the way upright, Reggie's hand shoots out and snares my wrist, hard.

"Reggie, you're hurting me."

His face is purpling with anger. "Don't be a bitch. I invited you out, and I'm a cool guy, so you really need to just stop being so difficult and come where I tell you to-"

This time, it's Reggie's voice that dies suddenly.

Because another hand has joined the fray.

A very big, very strong, very unfamiliar hand.

It latches onto Reggie's wrist and peels his fingers off of me one by one with terrifying strength.

A voice accompanies it, deep and chilling.

"She told you no."

I turn to see who spoke, freezing instantly. The handsome man from across the restaurant is no longer at his booth.

No, he's standing right in front of my table, looking at me as though he knows me.

"Uh..." I sink into my seat.

His face is a dark, impassive mask. But those eyes are full of-well, something. Black ice? Raging fire? Midnight shadow? I'm being melodramatic, but he has the kind of stare that makes me feel a little untethered from reality.

My mouth is fumbling to form words, as if the English language is a brand-new thing for me. There's a weird buzzing in my ears, too. Like the alarm system of my body is going off on DEFCON 1.

I was right about one thing: the man is tall. And he's even hotter up close. His vivid blue eyes set a stark contrast to his dark, effortlessly tousled hair. That jawline could cut glass.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Reggie interrupts.

The handsome stranger doesn't take his eyes off mine for a single second. "Cami and I are childhood friends," he explains. "We go a long way back."

Reggie frowns suspiciously. "Seriously? You don't look like you're from the Midwest."

He whirls to face Reggie. "Are you calling me a liar?"

He's not even talking to me and yet I recoil in fear. Reggie, by contrast, looks like he just shit his pants. His eyes bulge out of their sockets and he leans back as far as he can go, given that his hand is still in the man's grasp. Anything to get farther away from the fire-breathing titan who's crash-landed on our date.

"N-no," Reggie stammers, "I'm just saying, that, like, uh-"

"Good," the man cuts in brusquely. "I don't like being called a liar."

"Right. Uh, yeah. Of course not. No, that's not what I was saying. I was only asking Camila if-"

"I heard what you asked her. And I heard what she told you. What part of 'no' was difficult to understand?"

This time, Reggie can't even muster up a stutter.

The man steps aside and points towards the exit. "Get the fuck out of here." His voice is a whip. Every time he speaks, that heat goes racing through me again, popping off like firecrackers in my thighs.

Reggie looks shaky. "I, uh, guess I better be going then...?" he mumbles, not even daring to meet my eyes.

I nod. "Thanks so much for tonight. It was good to get out of the house."

He turns to leave, then pivots back like he wants to say something. Then turns to leave again. He looks like he's walking the plank off a pirate ship as he shuffles towards the exit.

The bell over the door chimes. Like one chapter is closing and another one is now beginning.

I'm aware of the stranger still standing next to me. Suddenly, he bends in my direction.

For one wild second, I swear he's going to kiss me. His cologne rushes over me. Cool and spicy. I have to clench my thighs together immediately. If Brianna only knew what I was feeling right now, she'd be ecstatic that her little sister isn't some unfeeling robot.

Then, instead, he keeps on bending, reaching past me to pick up my fallen napkin from the floor.

"You dropped this," he murmurs in my ear.

He straightens up. When he sees the fire-hydrant-red blush in my cheeks, I catch the tiniest glimmer of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. It's gone as soon as it appeared.

The man in the suit slides gracefully into Reggie's vacated seat. My stomach does a backflip as his gaze rakes over me.

It's so strange-when Reggie glanced at my cleavage, I felt creeped out. But when this man does the exact same thing, I clench up from head to toe like I just stuck a fork in a wall socket.

"He's gone," I sigh. "Thank you for that."

"My pleasure."

I shuffle my feet under the table, feeling extremely self-conscious. Everything about him screams "sex appeal." Even the way his lips form the word "pleasure" feels like foreplay.

"Were you eavesdropping on me?" I ask. The silence is too much to bear.

He nods solemnly. "Of course."

"Why?"

"Because you caught my attention, kiska."

"I can't imagine why."

He nods, his expression growing thoughtful. "That makes two of us."

After about five seconds of another very pregnant silence, I clear my throat. "Well, thank you again for rescuing me. But I should, you know, head back now..."

Of course, that exact moment is when the waiter arrives with the drinks Reggie had ordered for us. "Sorry for the delay, ma'am," she says, setting the drinks down on the table.

"Head back? It would be a shame to waste a good drink," the man in the suit remarks.

Brianna's words flash through my head again. You're not even giving him a chance. When was the last time you were attracted to any man?

One thing is very obvious: this man does it for me. And she's right-I've spent years hiding from everyone with a Y chromosome.

This guy is here. He's hot. And he's looking at me like he wants to swallow me whole.

"Okay," I concede guiltily. "One drink. But first, tell me your name."

He grins and leans forward. "My name is Isaak," he says. "Isaak Vorobev."

2

ISAAK

"Your turn," I say.

"Huh?" She wrinkles her nose in confusion. It's an adorable quirk, and so utterly unfamiliar to me that I almost laugh out loud.

The women I usually fuck don't wrinkle their noses. They purr, they smile, they stroke your arm seductively. They know their power and how to use it.

This girl? She doesn't have a fucking clue.

But maybe that's why I'm here with her, instead of in bed with any of the other dozens of playthings at my disposal.

"Tell me your name," I explain. "I heard 'Cami.' I want to know all of it."

"Oh." She blushes. Again, fucking adorable. "Right. Cami. Short for Camila. Camila Ferrara."

"You prefer Camila?"

The dress she's wearing is simple but it hugs her figure deliciously. Her cleavage is subtle, almost teasing. I'd already imagined ripping down the neckline numerous times during my business meeting. The one I bailed on to come over here and rescue her from her idiot date.

"My family and friends call me Cami," she mumbles.

"Cami it is. After all, we did grow up next to each other."

She smiles. That's when I notice the dimple on her right cheek. Such an innocent little kiska, I think to myself. Kiska-Russian for kitten. A tiny, helpless little creature begging to be devoured. The name suits her.

I lean back in my seat and adjust my pants-mostly because my throbbing erection is starting to get distracting.

"You really didn't have to do that," she says. "Save me, I mean."

"As I said, it was my pleasure."

She cocks her head to the side. A spray of glossy blonde hair falls across one shoulder. "Do you make a habit of saving every stranger who looks like they're having a miserable time?"

"Only the beautiful ones."

She blushes and looks down nervously in her lap.

"You must've known what you were getting into the second he asked you out," I chuckle. "Based on the way he slinked to the exit, I'm surprised he had the balls to ask in the first place."

"He didn't ask," she says. "Not exactly."

I arch my eyebrow. "Explain."

"Well, what I mean is, he's been interested for a while and he kept asking my brother-in-law if I'd go out with him-"

"He sent a messenger boy to ask you on a date?"

I can't hide my disgust.

"He didn't want to make things awkward in case I said no."

"That's a coward's way out."

"I thought it was thoughtful."

"Then you need to raise your standards."

She recoils. "You realize we only met five minutes ago, right?"

I shrug, unfazed. "Good advice is good advice."

"What a gentleman you are," she sneers.

I chuckle and take a sip of the wine her date ordered. All things considered, it's not the worst selection in the world. "I've been accused of many things, kiska. But never that."

Her laughter is nervous. "I get the feeling you're not kidding."

"You deserve a man. Not a fucking fool who can't even pick up the bill."

She bristles at that. "I can pay my own way perfectly fine. Not every damsel is in distress, you know."

"No," I murmur with a smirk. "Some are in denial."

Her lips move silently for a moment like she can't think of a retort. But the blush on her cheeks is persistent.

As is my throbbing cock.

"If I've insulted you, I can always have Reggie brought back here," I suggest after a moment has passed. "You can finish your drink with him instead. Maybe even get dessert. I hear the crème brûlée is to die for."

"You wouldn't dare."

"You're wrong about that, kiska," I laugh. "I'd dare to do things you've never even dreamed of."

"You're not kidding about that either, are you?"

"No. Not in the slightest." I lean forward instinctively. Her lips are pursed and full. I want them wrapped around my cock. "Does that frighten you, Cami?"

"Oh, gee, am I that easy to read?" she retorts sarcastically.

"I'll tell you at the end of the night."

"Do you always speak in riddles?" Cami snaps. "Or are you just really leaning in to the whole 'handsome, mysterious stranger' deal?"

I chuckle and swirl the wine in the glass. "Did you just say I'm handsome?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't do that. Don't pretend like you don't know you're handsome."

"Fair enough. No woman has ever complained."

"She'd have to be blind."

The energy between us has grown prickly and dangerous now. I wonder if she can feel it the way I can. Based on the way she clears her throat and stiffens her posture, I'm guessing the answer is yes.

I lean back in my seat and study her. "What do you like to do, Cami?"

"You mean besides go tit-for-tat with arrogant men in expensive suits?"

I shrug. "Everyone has a hobby."

"Let me assure you that this is not mine," she says solemnly. "This is very much a first time thing for me, you know."

"You've never been on a date before?"

"I've never abandoned one bad date for another, wise guy," she says, though she can't help but giggle. The sound is enough to drive a man crazy with lust. I have to adjust my cock again where it's straining at the zipper of my pants.

"And here I was, thinking we were getting along well," I drawl.

"Sorry to burst your bubble."

"You can make it up to me," I say coolly.

She wrinkles her nose again. It's bizarre how much that tiny little motion affects me. Like hooking up jumper cables to my balls. It makes me want to see what other faces she makes.

"How do you suggest I do that? No, better question: why would I do that?"

"You can do it like this-" I wave a hand over my shoulder and the bartender whose eyes have followed me all evening long comes scurrying over immediately with another pair of drinks. "And you should because I'm not the kind of man who likes being told no."

Cami's eyes widen when she sees the bartender set the drinks down on our table. "Oh, no, no, no," she stammers. "I said one drink. Now you're gonna start getting ideas."

"You were telling me about your hobbies," I say. "Continue."

She eyes the drink then me, back and forth, back and forth. Eventually, she sighs and her shoulders slump forward. "One more," she says. "But that's really it. I'm deadly serious."

I clink my glass to the edge of hers. "To the last drink we'll ever have, then."

The bartender has brought me whiskey neat this time. Twelve-year Glenlivet, one of the best bottles they keep in stock. I take a sip and relish the crisp edge and smooth burn as it slides down my throat.

Cami takes a tiny sip of her white wine and sets it back down on the table with trembling fingertips. "I read," she blurts suddenly.

"Books?"

"No, postcards," she snaps. "Yes, of course books."

"What kind of books?"

"Good books. Classics. Austen, Dickens, Du Maurier, Shakespeare. That kind of thing."

"Shakespeare, huh?" I muse. I stroke my clean-shaven jaw. "You strike me as a King Lear kind of girl. I always preferred Hamlet."

Her eyes leap up on her forehead. "You've read Hamlet?"

"Should I be offended by your surprise?"

She blushes guiltily. "Sorry. I just... You don't seem like a big reader."

"So yes, I should be offended."

Laughter bubbles through her lips. I can't take my eyes off her fucking smile. So goddamn innocent.

I eye her unapologetically. The flush has extended past her cheeks and down to her chest. The tops of her breasts are rosy now. Begging for attention.

Her green eyes are bright, shimmering with excitement, with the adrenaline of stepping outside of the neat lines of her life. She's bookish and quiet, a wallflower, a stay-out-of-the-way kind of girl. My polar fucking opposite.

And I notice that she's leaning towards me. Same as how I can't help leaning in towards her.

Our bodies seeking one another out.

The fact that I haven't yet touched her, apart from that fleeting kiss on the cheek, seems ridiculous. Damn near offensive. I'm itching to tear that dress off her and lick all the way down to her thighs.

"What else have you read?" she prods. "Or do you just throw out the Hamlet line to impress women?"

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm being tested?"

She picks up her wine glass and shrugs her shoulders in a gesture that's very femme fatale. I like her fire, her feistiness. "Am I making you nervous?" she teases.

"I'm never nervous. Merely intrigued."

"By the question?"

"By you."

She almost wilts under the intensity of my stare. Maybe this is all too much for a girl like her. She's not used to a man like me. A man who isn't afraid to take what he wants.

But then, at the last moment, she sucks in a frantic breath and straightens up. Shoulders back, eyes forward, spine tall, she looks me in the eyes and meets fire with fire.

I've never been harder.

"To answer your question, I've read a fair amount. Dostoevsky. Tolstoy. Bulgakov. Pushkin. Gogol. To name a few."

"All Russian authors," she says. "Am I right in assuming you are, too?"

I nod.

"Vorobev," she murmurs, her eyebrows knotting together thoughtfully. "Why do I feel like I've heard that name before?"

I give nothing away. The Bratva isn't exactly a commonly discussed topic in this city. Mostly because the cops don't like admitting they have no control over me or my men.

But we're not a secret, either.

"I couldn't say."

She smiles. "Is this you being mysterious again?"

"Maybe you should ask another question."

She purses her lips. "Fine. What do you do?"

"A lot," I reply vaguely. "I own many different businesses."

"Please don't say you're a 'self-made man,'" she says. "Reggie said it about thirty times tonight, and the phrase alone makes me want to throw up in my mouth."

I grin. "In some ways, yes; in others, no," I say. "But I've worked hard to build and expand them. So you shouldn't think I'm a-"

"A trust fund kid?"

I smirk. "I haven't been a kid for a long time."

Her smile slowly fades away. "I believe that."

As we lapse into silence, the eye contact between us takes on a different rhythm. The static in the air is more charged than ever.

I've seen green eyes before. But not like hers. The color is soft, mellow. The kind of green that you spy in the folds of the ocean, rippling between the deep blues and murky greys.

She jerks her gaze away from mine, breaking the eye contact. "The restaurant has cleared out," she points out.

I look around, realizing she's right. We're the only two still sitting at a table, though the staff is still milling around, cleaning up.

The streets have emptied out, too. Except for my armored G-Wagon, which is parked across the street, right in front of the SUV that holds my personal security detail.

As I'm looking out the window, something catches my eye. A man standing almost out of sight. He's average in height, balding at the top of his head, and wearing clothes that look like he's pilfered them off a homeless shelter.

But the direction of his gaze catches my eye.

Because it's not me he's looking at.

It's Cami.

And it's not the casual leer of a creep checking out a beautiful woman in a little black dress. It's more than that. There's intent behind his gaze.

I don't fucking like it.

But I wave the thought away, and as I do, the man straightens up and vanishes into the night. I'm being paranoid for no reason. My meeting still has me on edge.

"Isaak?"

The sound of my name tripping off her tongue feels strangely fucking erotic. My cock has been hard for a full hour now, and it's starting to become painful.

"Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You just look like you're concentrating really hard right now."

I smile. "It's nothing to worry yourself about. Just business."

"You still haven't told me what these businesses of yours do," she points out.

"Because it's not important."

She shrugs. "I suppose we don't have time for that anyway," she says. "It's late. They'll want to close up."

"They'll stay open as long as I need them to."

She considers that for a moment. "Is that your way of telling me you're important?"

"Infer what you will."

She eyes me carefully, taking in my Dolce suit and the Hublot on my wrist. "You are important," she guesses. "And dangerous."

I lean in. "Not to you," I tell her. "Not now."

She lets out a little breath and leans away from me with a barely repressed shiver. "I... I should get back home." She jerks out of her seat to her feet.

"If you must," I say, rising to meet her. "But do you really want to?"

"It's late," she says. "What I want right now is to go home."

I nod and snap my fingers. The maître d' comes rushing forward with Cami's coat held out. I take it from him and offer it to her. She hesitates for a long moment, but eventually she turns and lets me slide it onto her arms.

I'm treated to a view of her backless dress. The graceful curve of her spine. All that beautiful skin, tanned and smooth. My fingers tingle with the need to touch every inch of her.

When the coat is settled on her shoulders, I leave my hands there to pin her in place. I can feel her stiffen.

Leaning down, I brush my lips against her earlobe and whisper, "Well, kiska, what I want right now is to take you into the bathroom and fuck you on the counter until you come screaming in my ear."

She rips away from me and whirls around as soon as the words have left my mouth. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are flushed. She's trying to look offended.

But I can see it on her face: she wants the same fucking thing.