Chapter One
Audrey
[ONE YEAR AGO]
Desire is a deadly weapon.
It can be aimed for you or at you. Point it the wrong way and you’ll shoot yourself in the foot.
Sounds stupid, right?
Well, that’s what happens if you can’t control it—you end up doing foolish things.
Things like sneaking glances at your boss while making an espresso martini for a customer.
“He’s definitely checking you out too, if you’re wondering.”
I almost spill the drink while handing it over.
Flustered, I tuck a few strands of hair behind my ears and clear my throat. The music is loud, so I have to amplify my voice for her to hear.
“What?”
Very quickly, I run my gaze over the lady sitting on the high barstool—the customer I hadn’t properly noticed until now.
She’s pretty. The kind of pretty that would drop jaws and make people look twice, with skin like dark chocolate, catlike eyes highlighted by gray contact lenses, and long, clustered lashes that flutter with every blink.
I know all our regular customers’ faces, and hers is new. I haven’t seen her around here before.
The lady flashes a half-smile, exposing the silver smiley piercing beneath her upper lip, and lifts one shoulder lazily before she speaks.
“The man in VIP? The one you’ve been peeking at?” She speaks above the noise. “He’s had his eyes on you all night.”
The man?
I stifle a chuckle. If only she knew that the man she casually refers to is, in fact, the owner of this nightclub, Cascade—the powerful and feared Igor Nazarov, himself. He’s a god among mere men, but that doesn’t faze me.
The problem is, while most people cower in his presence, I gawk at him like a hopelessly bedazzled spectator.
Wait.
My thoughts screech to a halt.
Did she say…
My eyes widen and I lean forward, my lips partly open. “Did you…did you say he’s been staring at me?”
“Yup.”
She answers so casually, like she’s not done irreparable damage to my heart rate with that bit of information.
My heart starts racing, thumping against my chest. I don’t know what to say. The words stay stuck in my throat, unable to form properly.
The pretty lady, on the other hand, seems to be having a field day watching my expressions while sipping her martini.
Damn it.
Why am I so affected? I really shouldn’t care, but I do.
My pulse stutters at the mere possibility that he’s been looking my way. The lady hops off the stool and, even as she swipes her card to pay for her drink and walks off with a knowing smirk on her lips, I’m stuck on the spot, replaying her words over and over again.
No. This...this is wrong.
I should be focused on doing my job.
Still, against all rational thoughts, my eyes wander to the first floor, Cascade’s private area, where all the important people are. Where he is.
There are flashing lights that, frankly, almost blind me, a dozen half-naked girls crawling on thirsty men whose faces I can barely see, and club attendants heading up the stairs with bottles of wine that cost as much as a house in the Hamptons.
I’m almost done spying, about to withdraw and return to my duty, when my gaze lands on the person I’m seeking.
And I nearly die when I realize that, not only is he seated there, looking like an angel of the night in his signature dark suit, but his gaze firmly meets mine, like it’s been on me the entire time.
The oxygen in my lungs disappears and I suddenly feel light-headed.
For seconds, he doesn’t look away, like a ruthless captor holding me prisoner.
I might be imagining things, and I can’t be certain because of the lights, but I think I see his mouth tilt into a small smirk, a silent dare for me to keep looking at him.
If it is, then unfortunately for him, I’ll gladly be a sore loser in this game.
Completely overwhelmed, I swiftly tear my gaze away, and my hand flies to my chest as I struggle to catch my breath.
I can’t believe that just happened.
I feel like a moth scorched—almost destroyed—by an intense flame.
Dazed, I peel off my navy-blue apron and gloves, shooting a quick look at the manager to signal that I’ll return shortly.
The big man with a neat buzz cut and a terrifying viper tattoo inked down the side of his neck doesn’t appear pleased, but he rolls his eyes and dismisses me with a curt nod after mouthing, “Two minutes.”
I don’t hesitate.
Once inside the bathroom, I hurry to the vanity and turn on the faucet. The weight slightly eases from my chest as I splash cool water on my face and shut off the tap. All that’s left is the sound of water going down the drain and the echo of my harsh breathing in my ears.
I straighten up, glaring at my reflection through the mirror. Wet strands of hair stick to my forehead and the sides of my face, and there’s a crease between my brows.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath. I look like a stray cat that got caught in a downpour.
Audrey, get yourself together, will you?
With a sigh, I drag my fingers through my ponytail, taking my scrunchie off, and my hair falls below my shoulders in soft waves, framing my jawline and the sides of my neck.
I stare at the mirror again, with a deep frown this time.
How truly pathetic it is for a girl like me to harbor such a silly, childish crush on a man like him.
Igor Nazarov, staring at me? Yeah, maybe it was all in my head.
I’m well aware he’s way above my league in everything: experience, wealth, status, age. A man like him has options. He could get any woman he wanted with a simple eye twitch. I know this.
And yet...
And yet nothing.
I know my manager is counting down the minutes, waiting impatiently for my return. I start for the bar, closing the bathroom door behind me as I step into the narrow corridor.
The neon ceiling light flickers and I keep my gaze pinned to the floor, slowing down my steps as I attempt to rearrange my hair into a ponytail.
“Wear it down.”
My head snaps up with lightning speed at the commanding, gravelly baritone, and my jaw drops shamelessly at the sight of the person standing right in front of me.
The corridor is dimly lit, but I would recognize that six-foot frame and dark suit anywhere in the world.
I’d studied him, engraved his striking features at the back of my mind, from the first day I walked through the doors of Cascade after being hired as a level-one bartender.
I know the owner of that firm mouth and chiseled jaw.
It’s him.
“You look...better with your hair down,” he says, one hand in the pocket of his pants, unreadable eyes observing me.
He looks like one of those bad boys from a romance novel.
My mind goes blank and I remain rooted to the spot, my hand still gripping my hair above my head. The ache in my arm barely even registers.
Remember what I said about gawking like a hopelessly bedazzled spectator?
I’m doing it again, and I can’t seem to stop.
The scent of his cologne surrounds me, almost knocking me off my feet.
“Doesn’t your hand hurt?”
His question snaps me back to reality and I drop my hand, letting my hair down again. I clasp my hands together and fiddle with my fingers to distract myself.
“Wow.” I clear my throat and force myself to be coherent. “Sir…I mean, Mr. Nazarov. Do you…do you want something? I was heading back to the—”
“You.”
I almost choke on my own saliva. There’s no way I heard that right.
“I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “What was that?”
To my utmost horror, he takes a step forward. Then another, and another, until I’m suffocating in the depth of his intimidating aura.
My pulse throbs and my stomach takes a huge dip when he lifts a hand to my face and tilts my head backward with a flick of his calloused thumb.
Igor leans forward. His eyes are cold, hard, and unreadable, and his warm breath caresses my face when he speaks. “We both know there’s been something hovering around us since the first day you set foot in here.”
This has to be a dream. This is NOT real!
“Something hovering…around us?” I suck in a deep breath, slowly processing it. “You and me?”
His lips lift in a familiar curve. It’s the same smirk I noticed earlier.
Slowly, he drags his thumb across my lips, and a raging fire awakens in the pit of my stomach. “You’ve been watching me, and I’ve been watching you,” he states calmly. “And when a woman watches me for as long as you have, I consider giving them what they want.”
I have a million questions at the back of my mind, but the one I ask is, “You think I want something from you?”
He nods and moves his lips to my ear. His jacket brushes my chest as he speaks. “I know you’ve thought about fucking me.”
So blunt and forward. And sadly true.
I should be repulsed by his vulgarity, irritated that he’d assume I’m like all the other thousands of women who would willingly offer their bodies to him.
But my body betrays me. All I feel is an irrational need, a yearning I can’t explain. Warmth floods between my thighs and my heart rate triples erratically.
I take a step back. At least, I try to. He thwarts my plan by slipping his hand around my waist to trap me.
I meet his gaze and let out a shaky breath. “I really should get back to work.”
“You work for me, Audrey.”
And that’s my undoing—hearing my name from his lips.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I manage to say, though it comes out as a whisper.
“Not even a kiss?”
My eyes widen. I can’t count the number of times I’ve fantasized about what it would feel like to kiss him.
Would there be fireworks? Explosions? Butterflies?
“No.” I shake my head. “I want nothing from you.”
He chuckles, a deep, velvety sound that travels all the way to my toes. “How about we try one time, and if you still don’t want it, I’ll walk away and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
Before I can muster a response, Igor dives in and captures my lips with his.
My eyelids flutter shut.
Oh my God.
It’s definitely fireworks.
My knees turn to jelly and I grip his jacket for support. He brings his hand up and cups the back of my head while he moves—slow at first, until an overriding hunger consumes us both.
I mimic his movements to match his rhythm, and the longer we kiss, the more I’m hooked.
****