Page 110 of Shadow Waltz

“I can feel you staring.” Luka finally glanced up, and his smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “It's flattering, but hardly subtle.”

I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me with more force than necessary. “I wasn't staring. I was... observing.”

“Observing what, exactly?”

“Whether you ever actually relax, or if you just exist in a permanent state of controlled menace.”

Luka's laugh was rich and genuinely amused. “Controlled menace? Is that how you see me?”

“Among other things.” I settled into the chair across from his desk, noting how he immediately shifted his attention from the reports to me. “Do you ever do anything normal? Like watch terrible movies or argue about pizza toppings?”

“I own seventeen restaurants. If I want pizza, someone makes me pizza. There's no need for arguments.”

“That's not the point. The point is having opinions about stupid things that don't matter.” I leaned back, studying his face. “Like... what's your stance on pineapple on pizza?”

Luka set down his papers entirely, giving me that focused attention that made my pulse skip. “Are you seriously asking me about fruit on Italian cuisine?”

“I'm seriously asking if you're capable of having a normal conversation about ridiculous topics.”

“Pineapple doesn't belong on pizza,” he said without hesitation. “It's a corruption of culinary tradition and an insult to anyone with functioning taste buds.”

I grinned. “See? You do have opinions about stupid things.”

“My opinions are never stupid,” Luka replied, but there was warmth in his voice that softened the arrogance. “They're simply... definitive.”

“Right. Of course they are.” I traced patterns on the leather armrest, enjoying this glimpse of something almost playful beneath his usual intensity. “What about coffee? Cream and sugar, or black?”

“Black. Adding anything else masks the actual flavor of the beans.”

“Naturally. Can't have masked flavors in the Markovic empire.” I tilted my head, studying him. “Morning person or night owl?”

“I don't sleep enough to qualify as either.” His eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement. “But I'm most dangerous between midnight and dawn, if that answers your question.”

“Most dangerous? As opposed to your usual level of dangerous?”

“Everything I do is calculated, Ash. But late at night, when the rest of the city is sleeping, I have fewer... constraints on my decision-making process.”

The casual way he mentioned being more dangerous after dark sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. “Good to know. I'll schedule my rebellions for business hours.”

“You'll schedule your rebellions for never,” Luka said, voice dropping to that silk-wrapped steel register that made my knees weak. “Unless you want to find out exactly how creative my constraint methods can be.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with predatory interest. “Keep asking ridiculous questions, and you might discover the answer sooner than you think.”

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze. “What's your favorite color?”

“The color of your eyes when you're trying not to blush.” His smile was pure sin. “Ice blue with just a hint of heat beneath the surface.”

“That's not a real color.”

“It is on you.” Luka stood, moving around his desk with that fluid grace that reminded me he was dangerous even when he was being charming. “Your turn. What's your favorite sound?”

The question caught me off guard. “My favorite sound?”

“Humor me.” He perched on the edge of his desk, close enough that I could smell his cologne and the underlying scent that was purely him. “What sound makes you feel... safe?”

I considered the question seriously, surprised by how much thought it required. “Rain against windows. When I was a kid, it meant I was somewhere with actual shelter instead of sleeping rough.”