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She makes a sound like shock and hooks a strand of her blonde hair behind one ear. “Are you asking if I’m branching out?”

“Yes.”

“A girl’s got to have a backup career, you know? But no,” she says, her soft, rich voice that’s like music plays in the air, the humor threading around me. “It’s just the first time I’ve been caught.”

Her comeback has me rooted to the spot. The blonde doesn’t have a clue who I am, and that’s fucking refreshing. Not to be labeled a deadly member of the bratva is somehow freeing and it makes me a little drunk.

“And caught you are.”

“I should go,” she says again, big eyes on me like she doesn’t know if she wants to run or come closer.

Luckily or unluckily for her, there’s a knock, and I just put a finger to my lips and go to the door, accept the cart from the server, tip him cash, and wheel it in.

“And leave me with a bottle of champagne, caviar, and blini? Should I add cruel to your list of careers?”

“I’m not sure there’s a career in the cruelty business,” she says, smiling, shoulders relaxing.

There are so many, but I’m not in the mood to crush her in any way, even if I had a reason to, which I don’t. So I just make a sound like a laugh as I pop the cork.

Her big eyes light up at the bubbly, like she’s never seen a decent bottle or been offered some. No, I’m not going to crush her, not even if she broke the fuck in. Besides, how does one crush a woman so… mesmerizing?

Mesmerizing because she’s such a fascinating mix, and there isn’t even a hint of any play with ulterior motives. Fuck, I don’t even think there’s play.

Pity…

I know the fact she got in here so easily should piss me off and make me want to spill blood or have heads roll, or at the very least have half the staff fired, something I could do. But it doesn’t. Instead, I pour the champagne and hand her one, my fingers brushing hers. She jerks a little, like the fire that seared along my arm did the same to her, and yeah, I wouldn’t mind seeing where this goes.

“Drink up, eat up,Lyubimaya. Keep me entertained.” I sit opposite her on the big white sofa, twin to hers. The curtains are open, privacy turned on so no one outside can see in, and the views of Central fade to nothingness with her.

“Are you sure?” she asks, voice soft and hesitant and a note of something else in there, something like longing, andfor a moment, she isn’t looking at me as a vulnerable expression slices across her face.

Maybe there is somemudákwho needs crushing. Someone who hurt her.

“I’m sure.”

She doesn’t breathe out in relief. Her breath is shallow and her fingers not holding the glass, clutch at the hem of her dress. “I’m not… I’m not being presumptuous or thinking… thinking anything’s going to happen, but… you’re not married? You don’t have a ring. A girlfriend?”

“Lyubimaya, if I was married, I’d wear a ring and you wouldn’t be here. I don’t cheat. After all, if I had a girl, why would I need the charming, bathing beauty escort slash burglar?”

She breathes a little easier. With a sip of her champagne, her eyes flutter shut and a look of pure bliss crosses her face.

It delights me.

“Maybe,” she says, “you’re a villain.”

That hits home, but she has no idea who I am. I offer her the grin of the big bad whatever. “And you’re a tasty morsel?”

My soft words send a quiver through her, and I pull back. I want her. I know that. But she needs to breathe, relax. I stand and prepare a blini, dipping the silver spoon into the caviar. “Want one?”

“I haven’t…”

“Fuck me, you haven’t had one of Mother Russia’s favorite dishes?” I hold mine out. “Here.”

She takes it and bites into it, a moan sliding free as her eyes flutter again. “Oh my God. This is amazing.”

“Good caviar, made on premises blini. Have as much as you want.” I was peckish, but now my hunger has veered into other arenas.

“I did have dinner earlier…” Her eyes are on the blini and she reaches out, pressing her finger on a stray black pearl, lifting it to her mouth and sucking it in. Then she blushes as her eyes dart to mine. “But I could eat more.”