Page 77 of Silken Chains
As I lift my gaze, it clashes with Ksenia’s. That dead stare of hers hits me again before she shifts her attention to the young man sitting opposite her.
He’s striking, resembling a model straight off a runway with his sad, dark gray eyes. He acknowledges Ksenia with a subtle nod, then immerses himself back in his phone.
Seriously, is there a factory churning out these ridiculously handsome men around here?
I can’t help but wonder about his identity, noticing he carries the same frosty aura as Ksenia.
Seriously? Luar?
This is not the right time or place for eyeing men like I’m flipping through a catalog. Did I not remember that in just three days, I’m about to tie the knot with a Russian mafia boss?
And Dad… How on Earth do I break this to him, or to anybody, for that matter?
I find my fingers nervously playing with the fork, aimlessly tracing the outlines of a tiny, leftover flower garnish from the last course, almost like I’m trying to dissect its secrets.
“Ma’am,” a server gently cuts through my daze, skillfully sliding a new plate in front of me while whisking the old one away. “Your dessert,” he announces.
“Thanks,” I grunt to the server as he sets down what’s supposed to be the grand finale of a meal.
My eyes can’t help but flick over to Victor. He’s dabbing his mouth with a napkin. He has his sleeves rolled up to his forearms; those ridiculous, stupid large arms with veins standing out as if carved from stone, annoyingly, turn on a feeling I can’t shake.
My throat suddenly feels dry, and without thinking, I swallow hard, trying to ease the tightness between my legs. My body is reacting without my control.
Okay, it’s clear now—I’ve totally lost it. How am I getting these… these tingles from a guy who’s practically kidnapped and forced me into a marriage I never asked for?
A hushed sigh slips out as I tackle the miniature dessert with a fork that feels like it’s made for ants.
I nudge that tiny dessert into my mouth, and— Holymotherofgod, my tongue just had an orgasm!
“Mmmm…” I groan, licking my lips to savor the lingering taste of tiramisu. One bite, and it’s all gone.
“That was a quick trip to heaven,” I murmur, sliding the fork out of my mouth.
I raise my eyes, and there he is, watching.
His stare travels from my lips up to my eyes. Hard, deep, and like a predator.
A sultry heat weaves through my bloodstream. I’m melting quicker than ice cream on a hot day.
Damnit, Laur, get it together.
I break his stare. “Ex-excuse me, restroom … break,” I manage to stammer out as I push my chair back. My body is on fire, and all I can think about is getting away from him.
“Let me walk you there,” Victor says, standing tall, quieting the entire room.
“I can find it myself,” I whisper back, attempting to maintain some distance between us. But who am I kidding? Victor is going to get what he wants.
Without hesitation, he extends his hand, and I know it’s not a request. It’s a demand.
Looking up at his big, strong body, my face flushes hot, and my heart does a little tap dance. A sudden wave of desire hits me like a fiery burrito from last night’s Taco Tuesday.
Goddamnit, Laur.
Cursing under my breath, I clench my jaw as I refuse to hand over my hand. But he just smirks and challenges me with a look. “You’ll get lost on your own,” he teases.
Before I can object again, I’m stopped short. “Eh-hmm,” an awkward interruption from Andrey Morozov makes me shift my gaze, my lips pressing together tightly. The Morozovs’ eyes are on us, silent and assessing, except for Eli, whose yawn breaks the tension momentarily. I divert my gaze, feeling out of place.
I bite my lip down, my eyes flicking elsewhere, knowing I’d really rather be anywhere but here. With a reluctant sigh, I give in, placing my hand in his. His grip is surprisingly comforting, a solid presence amidst my inner chaos.
