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“Tara,” I reply, and my voice sounds far away.
“Tara,” he repeats like he’s tasting it.
And he doesn’t let go.
His fingers still wrap around mine. My skin tingles. I don’t pull away. I should—but I don’t.
“I was heading down for a drink. Maybe something to eat,” he says, the low rumble of his voice curling between us like smoke. “Now that we’re no longer strangers—and we’ve already shared a harrowing experience—would you make my night and join me?”
I blink, caught off guard. My instincts wrestle with each other.
There’s the usual voice in my head—the rational one, the good girl voice. The one that tells me to say ‘No, thank you’. To smile politely and head home to wine, pajamas, and disappointment.
And then there’s the voice that’s been rising louder since I opened that goddamn puzzle box.
The voice that whispers, “Maybe nothing in your life is what it seems”.
I glance at my phone. Still no message. Still no Steve.
The fucker ghosted me.
I look back at Damien Romanov. A man I don’t know, standing so close my heart races and my knees feel unsteady. He smells like danger and silk. His eyes tell me he could ruin me.
And I want him to.
“I… I’d like that,” I say.
His smile widens, subtle and pleased. “Good. I was hoping you’d say yes.”
He lifts my hand, still in his, and threads it through the crook of his arm as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His body is solid beside mine. He’s tall—easily six-four—andI can feel the power radiating from him like heat. He walks with assurance, like a man used to being obeyed, admired, and feared.
The maître d’ in the restaurant recognizes him. I see it in the way he straightens his posture, the flash of nerves in his smile.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Romanov,” he says after a glance at his chart. “We’re at full capacity—there might be a wait of twenty, thirty minutes…”
Damien looks at me, then back at the host. “That’s fine.” But he doesn’t move to take a seat. He leans toward me, voice lower now. “Would it be too forward if I suggested dinner in my suite instead? It’s quieter. Private. We can order whatever you want.”
I freeze for a breath. Every alarm in my head starts going off.
Say no.
You don’t know this man.
You don’t follow strangers into elevators and let them take you upstairs.
I wet my lips. He catches the movement, his eyes dipping briefly to my mouth.
“That was too forward,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”
But I shake my head.
“No,” I whisper. “I think… I think it’s a great idea.”
I don’t know who this version of me is, this reckless girl in designer heels and a heartbeat pounding out yes, yes, yes, but I don’t stop her.
We head for the elevator. Inside, the doors close with a hush. I feel the silence wrap around us. It’s thick with tension. Every second that ticks past has my breath catching and my thoughts racing.
“You can still change your mind,” he says without looking at me. “We’ll go back. Find a different place. One with more people and fewer…risks.”