Page 80 of Ruthless Rustanovs

DA-YAM!!!! Sam thought as she walked out of the restaurant after finishing one of the best meals she’d ever eaten. Nikolai Rustanov had game. For someone who’d sworn up and down he didn’t date when they first met, he was proving he was more than adept making a date happen. In a BIG way.

Her state of shell shock must have been written clear across her face, because he placed her hand in the crook of his arm before they got to the gravel lane outside the restaurant, which sat at the top of a slight incline. “Hold on to me, zhena. This is not good place for falling.”

Her cheeks heated, but she did as he said since she couldn’t necessarily trust herself not to trip. And she was glad when they made it all the way to the bottom of the hill without incident.

“Just so you know, I don’t trip all the time,” she said, taking back her hand at the bottom of the inclined road. “Just around you.”

“Because I make you nervous.”

Yes, that was exactly why, but Sam folded her arms across her burgeoning waist and said, “Because you do things like sleep on the floor, which is like a huge—some might say Mount Nik-sized—safety hazard. Especially for a pregnant woman trying to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

If he felt any guilt whatsoever about compromising her safety, it didn’t sound like it when he replied, “I’m ready to return to our bed whenever you are, zhena.”

If anything, he sounded the exact opposite of guilty. Flirty Nikolai was back.

“You know, this isn’t going to work,” she told him.

“What?” he asked.

“This. Taking me to Greece, showing me a good time so you can get back in my pants. You’re manipulating my emotions with a big gesture, and using scale to get what you want. Don’t think I don’t get that.”

Get that and totally falling for it, she added to herself. Between her pregnancy hormones and the pleasant surprise of an exotic trip, she had no idea how she was going to keep her Celibate Bride Defense going when they got back to the hotel room.

Say something smug, she mentally begged him. Convince me I’m right to be way suspicious of your motives in bringing me to this insanely gorgeous country with its incredibly yummy food.

But all Nikolai said in that moment was, “Here we are.”

“Here” turned out to be an empty, amphitheater-style movie theater.

Thanks to an almost full moon and cloudless sky, she could see it was made out of the same bleached white terracotta as the hotel and surrounded by what she guessed were olive trees.

A warm breeze blew through the space bringing a heady floral scent with it, like a blessing from the Greek gods.

So. Freaking. Romantic.

Sam shivered as even more of her defenses came crumbling down.

“Here, zhena.” Nikolai took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders.

They stood there for a moment, facing each other like they had that night at the party, the last time he’d given her his jacket, Sam’s heart helplessly beating with the thunder of a thousand horses.

She knew she should give the jacket back to him. Her dress was on the shorter side, but long-sleeved. It wasn’t like she needed it in such a temperate climate. But his jacket was warm, and she liked the spicy, dark scent of the cologne he’d decided to wear tonight.

It didn’t make her want to throw up. Like, not at all.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome,” he answered, leaning forward. And for a moment she thought he would kiss her again, wondered how she would resist kissing him back if he did.

But he didn’t kiss her, just whispered in her ear, “Will you give me your hand, zhena?”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she was going to wake up early. Go down to the front desk and look up the meaning of that damn Russian word. She swore this to herself solemnly.

Then she gave him her hand.

He led her to the two best seats in the house, which wasn’t hard to do since they were literally the only two people there if you didn’t count the handful of theater staff.

“When does the movie start?” Sam asked, after a movie attendant came by with two sparkling waters and a small white bag of caramel popcorn.

“Soon,” he answered, holding the popcorn out to her. “This is how people do on dates. They share popcorn, da? That is what it said in woman’s magazine Isaac got for me.”

She stared at him. “You did not have Isaac get you a woman’s magazine.”

“How else do I know how to do this dating?” he asked.

She shook her head, feeling both amused and overwhelmed.

Oh, she was in trouble. She didn’t have any idea if he was being this charming on purpose or if he really had no idea how appealing he was right now with his innocent I-read-this-is-how-you-do-it-in-a-magazine shtick, but either way, she could sense the boundaries she’d set down between them blowing away in the warm Grecian breeze.

Especially when his large hand closed around hers, enveloping it in warmth.

“S-so what’s showing tonight?” she mumbled, hoping to change subject from unbelievably romantic dates she had no business going on. And to distract herself from the way her whole body became attuned to his as soon as they touched.

“This week it is The Wrong Girl 3.”

Sam tried not to let the disappointment show on her face.

Not that she didn’t appreciate the popularity of the film, based on three books about a girl living in a post-apocalyptic future, whose mother marries a maniacal despot out of desperation.

But teenage girl, abusive stepfather—it was a little close to home and certainly not the movie she would have chosen to watch in her free time.

“But tonight, theater shows different movie,” Nikolai told her.

“Which one?” she asked.

As if in answer to her question, the screen suddenly came to life with the opening strains of “As Time Goes By” followed by the Warner Bros. Pictures logo. And then, a plaintive voice saying, “I need your help, Veronica!”

Luckily they were the only ones in the movie theater, because Sam screamed out loud. It was the Veronica Mars movie! And on a twelve-foot screen, no less!

Yeah, that sealed it. She leaned over and dipped her hand into Nikolai’s white paper bag of caramel popcorn, feeling she had no choice but to confess, “Best. Date. Ever.”