Page 113 of Victor's Lethal Desire
I lean down and whisper in her ear, "Best-looking woman in the room."
She smiles. "I'm the only woman in the room, Victor."
I shrug. "Well, you know I'm right, then."
She rolls her eyes but can't hide her amusement. "Well, I guess you're the best-looking guy in the room."
"You guess?" I ask.
"Lucian is taller," she says, her tone deliberately casual. "The don. And his shoulders are a bit more..."
"All right, all right," I interrupt, narrowing my eyes. "He's got one inch on me. One. You can't even tell. And I'll be the president of Romania soon."
She wraps her arms around mine, pressing close, and I can feel the warmth of her body. "Easy there, tiger. I'm just kidding. You know I think you're the sexiest man alive. I just like to rile you up a bit."
I lean in and kiss her. "You're too good at it," I say against her soft lips. "And I told you, when is a tiger ever easy?"
I drop my hand and quickly grab her ass, giving it a firm squeeze.
"Jesus, you two. Get a room," Adrian says from across the office, shaking his head but smiling.
Matei laughs, adjusting his cufflinks. "You're one to talk. Jordan and I slept in the room next to you and Elena. It sounded like you two were moving furniture."
We all laugh. Even Lucian cracks a smile from where he stands near the window, arms crossed.
"You aren’t much better, brother," Lucian says to Matei.
Adrian walks over and slaps Lucian on the shoulder. "We'll find you someone. Don't worry."
Lucian shakes his head. "I've got too much going on."
"Well," Matei starts, "we could..."
A knock at the door cuts him off.
One of our guards steps inside, his gaze locking on Lucian. "They're here, sir."
The room goes silent. The lightness, the banter, the brief moment of normalcy, it all evaporates in an instant.
Lucian nods once, his face hardening into the mask of the don. He looks at each of us in turn.
"Ready?" he asks.
We nod back.
Lucian turns back to the guard. "Escort them here."
The guard nods and disappears back into the hallway.
Forty-five seconds later, the door opens again, and there he is.
Ivan Volkov.
He's thin, very thin. Gray hair swept back neatly, glasses perched on a sharp nose. He's well dressed in a tailored suit and moves with the quiet confidence of a man who's survived decades in a world where most die young.
Beside him are his two sons.
Nikolai and Lev.
