Chapter 18
EVA
“Ican’t.”
“You can, and you will. Am I going to have to force you?”
Evgeny’s voice rumbles from behind a paper menu instead of the laminated ones I’m used to, but this isn’t just any restaurant. This is a fine-dining establishment, apparently one of Vasya’s favorite haunts, according to Evgeny. I don’t know what could fit the label better.
Everyone is dressed expensively or looks expensive. I have no idea how to tell. Soft music plays over the muted chatter and the clink of glasses and silverware. The floor is dark stone tile, the décor modern and angular in deep blues and oranges, whites and blacks.
Flame erupts in the open kitchen before dying down to a sizzle, the scents of onion and garlic mingling with basil and more exotic flavors I don’t recognize.
But most of all, the prices on the menu in front of me tell me this isn’t my neighborhood anymore.
“I can’t. Just this appetizer is thirty—”
“Choose, or I’ll choose for you.” From across the table, Evgeny pins me with a stare that tells me he’s not joking.
Since that day at the bookstore, life with Evgeny has been… different.
He’s the same man I’ve come to know over the past two months. But he has stopped ordering me around and started asking my opinion. I keep finding his attention on me, his gaze searching like he wants to reassure himself I really am okay.
He sent men the next day to clean up and repair or replace what had been destroyed at the bookstore. He’d tried to talk to Jordan, who promptly ran away after the scene. He’d calmed Katie and promised he’d keep us all safe.
Then he took me home, let me cry, and talked to me quietly and gently until I fell asleep in his arms.
I still have no idea what my future holds.
I’m just… extremely confused. And in danger of falling hard and fast.
“Is everyone ready to order?”
The server’s question snaps me out of it, and in a panic, I choose an item at random.
I’m used to being levelheaded, keeping my wits about me. But between my confusing relationship with Evgeny, being captive to a powerful Russian mob boss, and the attack on the bookstore, everything feels out of control.
Water sloshes over the rim as I lift the cup to my lips.
“Eva?”
Evgeny’s gaze is on my hand, which I realize is shaking.
“Sorry.”
More water sloshes onto the table as I set it down too fast, and I hide my hand in my lap.
“Are you okay?”
I give him a smile I don’t feel. “I’m fine.”
One of his dark, expressive eyebrows arches. He doesn’t believe me.
“Just a lot going on these past few days, you know? And this isn’t exactly my scene. I’m used to two-dollar beers and a four-dollar burger special on Tuesdays.”
“Eva.” His hand covers the one still resting on the table. My fingers keep twitching, my gaze skittering around the dining room. “Look at me.”
It’s an order, but a soft one. When I meet his ocean-green eyes, he holds my gaze until my nervous energy drains, my shoulders come down from my ears, and my heartbeat slows.
He finally releases me when the bottle of wine and the first appetizer arrive at our table, fragrant with pepper, bright citrus, and something sharp and acidic. The first taste is even more incredible than the scent.
“Oh, wow.”
A small smile curves his mouth as he places a serving on his plate. He doesn’t seem half as amazed at the dance of flavors on my tongue as I am.
I take another bite, then another in quick succession. “I mean, I know this probably isn’t special to you, and I’m sure you get this all the time. Probably something even more spectacular, but—” Another bite follows. “But wow. I mean, wow.”
It’s an inelegant response, and I flush as Evgeny watches me.
Then I hear it. An odd rumble in Evgeny’s chest that works its way up, and I realize he’s laughing.
“Are you,” I pause, wondering at the marvel that is the sound, “laughing at me?”
“I have never seen anyone enjoy food like you do, Eva. It is remarkable.”
“Thank you?” I imagine it’s a compliment. It sounds like a compliment, anyway.
A smile lights his face and even his eyes, a smile unlike any I’ve seen before. All I can do is swallow my heart, which leaps straight up into my throat.
He’s so beautiful. So handsome. So strong and terrifying and sexy and elegant, and I want him with everything I am, every last little part of me. Not just for the incredible orgasms but for the way I feel around him, very sexy, lighter, and protected.
All my life, I’ve been the protector who takes care of everyone and everything.
From my sick mother to my kindergarten-aged sister, to making sure we had enough food in the house and enough money for the food, to scheduling doctor’s appointments and cap-and-gown fittings, and scaring away overeager girlfriends, it had all been me.
But I called Evgeny when those men broke into my father’s bookstore, and I was terrified. I called the one person who came to mind to help, to keep us safe, and he came.
And he had cared for me as no one else had before.
This frightening, powerful, forbidding beast of a man is, if not kind and gentle like the beast in The Scarlet Flower, at least tender, caring, and protective.
“You eat like you read.” Evgeny’s smile has dimmed into a smirk as he takes a small bite, chewing thoroughly before speaking again. “Voraciously, savoring each word, tasting it until you have its entire character. Until you can appreciate it for all it is.”
My cheeks grow warm, the feeling spreading to my ears. “Thank you,” I murmur, tracing the pattern of the wood beneath my plate. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
And it is. I’ve been catcalled, told I’m beautiful, even exotic. But somehow, this odd compliment beats any I’ve received before.
Evgeny’s hand finds mine across the table again, but instead of letting him rest it on top, I risk winding my fingers through his as I did at the sandwich shop.
He doesn’t pull away.
Something is changing within him, or maybe it’s changing between us. I can’t tell what it means, but I want to find out.
“By the way.” Evgeny pulls his hand away after a moment, but only to reach for the bottle of wine, which he pours into my glass, then his.
The ruby liquid that pours out is mesmerizing, so dark it’s almost the color of blood. He twirls the glass and inhales the wine’s aroma before taking a long drink, then another.
“While I’m doling out compliments, I want you to know I admire how you care for your family. I know how difficult it is when everything rests on your shoulders.”
I suppose he does know. Our situations might be an ocean apart, but Evgeny knows what it’s like when everyone depends on you, looks to you to make decisions and keep the ship running.
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow against it as it turns to heat behind my eyes.
I manage a small “Thank you,” reaching for my glass to take a long swallow to drown my feelings.
Except I miss, and my glass tumbles over right into Evgeny’s glass.
A tidal wave of wine spills across the table, and we both jump up to avoid it.
As the conversation around us stops, the wine reaches the end of the table, spilling onto the floor, and a server hurries over with towels.
I look at Evgeny, wine dripping from the edge of his suit jacket.
I half expect him to be scowling at me, maybe about to start bellowing, the evening ruined if not his expensive suit.
Instead, he meets my gaze. A smile curls at one corner of his mouth, then spreads until it’s an actual grin. Then, miracle of miracles, he begins to laugh. Soon, out of astonishment and because of the situation, I’m laughing too.
Evgeny ignores the judgmental looks sent our way, and so do I. We keep laughing until we’re wiping tears from our cheeks as we sit at our newly cleaned table.
“Sorry about that,” I manage, clearing my throat.
“You are equal parts amusing, exasperating, and so alluring I can’t take my eyes off you.”
I flush at the compliment, not used to receiving so many in one night. “I can say the same about you,” I shoot back, smiling to take the sting from the answer.
But his words and our laughter have an unintended consequence. The electricity that springs up between us. Not to mention the pulse that takes up residence between my thighs.
“You look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, eyes roving over the plunging neckline of my short dress. I can see the desire in his eyes, in the way sweat beads on his forehead and his hand opens and closes.
Our main courses come to the table, but the spark doesn’t diminish. If anything, it grows more intense as he takes my hand again, and I lightly trace designs on his palm with my thumb.
Evgeny’s face flushes, and he clears his throat. As I take my first bite of food, I throw caution to the wind and slip my foot out of my shoe. Taking full advantage of the solid sides of the table, I reach across the space between us and brush the bulge in his slacks with my toes.
A jerk tells me I’ve hit my mark, and my sly smile becomes a smirk.
I brush the bulge again, already imagining being pressed against a wall as he pounds into me. The sweat has become a sheen on Evgeny’s skin, and he clenches his hands into fists. I wonder if we’re even going to make it through dinner.
Evgeny groans and leans forward, his head dropping as sweat drips down the side of his face. A convulsive shiver jolts through him.
Something suddenly feels wrong.
“Evgeny?”
He groans again, his fist clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.
“Evgeny, are you okay?”
A bead of sweat drips from his hairline. A trickle of blood falls from his nose, and cold panic washes away every ounce of desire from my body.
“Evgeny? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
Is he choking? Having an allergic reaction to something in the food? It hits me that I have no idea what he’s allergic to, whether he needs an EpiPen, or if he has some other kind of condition.
Another shudder racks Evgeny’s body, and I tense to get to my feet and go to him when he shoves himself up. His jerky movements knock over half the items on the table. They crash to the floor with a terrible noise.
“Evgeny, tell me what’s going on,” I demand, my tone sharp with alarm.
But he doesn’t rebuke me. Instead, he stumbles to the door, staggering out into the cool night air, and collapses.
Screams erupt from the people on the sidewalk. I ignore them, my pulse pounding in my ears as I drop to my knees beside Evgeny’s quivering form.
“Evgeny? Evgeny? Evgeny!” I shove at him, panic adding force to my movements.
But he doesn’t respond, his chest rising and falling in short, jerky breaths. All the color has drained from his face, and his lips look blue under the streetlights.
“Someone call 911!” I scream. “Hurry!”