style="font-size:15px;"> Mikolas might have lost a few notches of regard for the man if his hand hadn’t still been throbbing from connecting with Grigor’s jaw. Which he’d done for Viveka.
It was an uncomfortable moment of realizing it didn’t matter how insulated a man believed himself to be. A woman—one for whom he’d gone heels over head—could completely undermine him.
Which was why Mikolas firmed himself against letting Viveka become anything more than the sexual infatuation she was. The only reason he was bent out of shape was because they hadn’t had sex yet, he told himself. Once he’d had her, and anticipation was no longer clouding his brain, he’d be fine.
“That was what we came for,” he said, after the couple had departed. He indicated the card Viveka was about to drop into her pocketbook. “We can leave now, too.”
* * *
Mikolas made a face at the card the doorman handed him on their way in, explaining he was supposed to call the police in the morning to make a statement. They didn’t speak until they were in the penthouse.
“I’ve wanted Dmitriev’s private number for a while. You did well tonight,” he told her as he moved to pour two glasses at the bar.
“It didn’t feel like I did anything,” she murmured, quietly glowing under his praise. She yearned for approval more than most people did, having been treated as an annoyance for most of her early years.
“It’s easy for you. You don’t mind talking to people,” he remarked, setting aside the bottle and picking up the glasses to come across and offer hers. “Do you take yours with water?”
“I haven’t had ouzo in years,” she murmured, trying to hide her reaction to him by inhaling the licorice aroma off the alcohol. “I shouldn’t have had it when I did. I was far too young. Yiamas.”
Mikolas threw most of his back in one go, eyes never leaving hers.
“What, um...?” Oh, this man easily emptied her brain. “You, um, don’t like talking to people? You said you hated those sorts of parties.”
“I do,” he dismissed.
“Why?”
“Many reasons.” He shrugged, moving to set aside his glass. “My grandfather had a lot to hide when I first came to live with him. I was too young to be confident in my own opinions and didn’t trust anyone with details about myself. As an adult, I’m surrounded by people who are so superficial, crying about ridiculous little trials, I can’t summon any interest in whatever it is they’re saying.”
“Should I be complimented that you talk to me?” she teased.
“I keep trying not to.” Even that was delivered with self-deprecation tilting his mouth.
Her heart panged. She longed to know everything about him.
His gaze fixed on her collarbone. He reached out to take her hair back from her shoulder. “You’ve had one sparkle of glitter here all night,” he said, fingertip grazing the spot.
It was a tiny touch, an inconsequential remark, but it devastated her. Her insides trembled and she went very still, her entire being focused on the way he ever so lightly tried to coax the fleck off her skin.
Behind him, the lamps cast amber reflections against the black windows. The pool glowed a ghostly blue on the deck beyond. It made radiance seem to emanate from him, but maybe that was her foolish, dampening eyes.
Painful yearning rose in her. It was familiar, yet held a searing twist. For a long time she had wanted a man in her life. She wanted a confidant, someone she could kiss and touch and sleep beside. She wanted intimacy, physical and emotional.
She had never expected this kind of corporeal desire. She hadn’t believed it existed, definitely hadn’t known it could overwhelm her like this.
How could she feel so attracted and needy toward a man who was so ambivalent toward her? It was excruciating.
But when he took her glass and set it aside, she didn’t resist. She kept holding his gaze as his hands came up to frame her face. And waited.
His gaze lowered to her lips.
They felt like they plumped with anticipation.
She looked at his mouth, not thinking about anything except how much she wanted his kiss. His lips were so beautifully shaped, full, but undeniably masculine. The tip of his tongue wet them, then he lowered his head, came closer.
The first brush of his damp lips against hers made her shudder in release of tension while tightening with anticipation. She gasped in surrender as his hands whispered down to warm her upper arms, then grazed over the fabric of her dress.
Then his mouth opened wider on hers and it was like a straight shot of ouzo, burning down her center and warming her through, making her drunk. Long, dragging kisses made her more and more lethargic by degrees, until he drew back and she realized her hand was at the back of his head, the other curled into the fabric of his shirt beneath his jacket.
He released her long enough to shrug out of his jacket, loosened his tie, then pulled her close again.
Her head felt too heavy for her neck, easily falling into the fingers that combed through her hair and splayed against her scalp. He kissed her again, harder this time, revealing the depth of passion in him. The aggression. It was scary in the way thunder and high winds and landslides were both terrifying and awe-inspiring. She clung to him, moaning in submission. Not just to him, but to her own desire.
They shuffled their feet closer, sealing themselves one against the other, trying to press through clothing and skin so their cells would weave into a single being.
The thrust of his aroused flesh pressed into her stomach and a wrench of conflict went through her. This moment was too perfect. It felt too good to be held like this, to ruin it with humiliating confessions about her defect and entreaties for special treatment. She felt too much toward him, not least gratitude and wonder and a regard that was tied to his compliments and his protection and his hand dragging her to the surface of the water before he’d even known her name.
She ached to share something with him, had since almost the first moment she’d seen him. Be careful, she told herself. Sex was powerful. She was already very susceptible to him.
But she couldn’t make herself stop touching him. Her hands strayed to feel his shape, tracing him through his pants. It was a bold move for her, but she was entranced. Curious and enthralled. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to know she could please a man, this man in particular.
His breath hissed in and his whole body hardened. He gathered his muscles as if he was preparing to dip and lift her against his chest.
She drew back.
His arms twitched in protest, but he let her look at where his erection pressed against the front of his suit pants. He was really aroused. She licked her lips, not superconfident in what she wanted to do, but she wanted to do it.
She unbuckled his belt.
His hands searched under the fall of her hair. His touch ran down her spine, releasing the back of her
