Page 66 of Toxic Temptation (Krayev Bratva #1)

VESPER

I stare at my reflection and want to crawl under my bed.

“I can’t wear this dress,” I hiss into the phone.

“Vesper Antoinette Fairfax.” Charity’s voice carries that warning edge that means she’s about to read me the riot act. “You will wear that damn dress tonight or I will never speak to you again.”

“This is all your fault! You’re the one who convinced me to buy it in the first place!” I turn sideways in the mirror, then immediately regret it. The dress clings to every curve I have and several I didn’t even know existed. “So maybe I’ll be the one not speaking to you ever again.”

“I will haunt you to the end of your days if you ever repeat that.”

Despite my panic, I snort out a laugh. “Seriously, Char. It’s too much.”

And it is. The fabric is deep emerald silk that flows like water over my body.

The top gathers in a crisscross pattern that somehow makes my waist look tiny while emphasizing exactly how not-tiny everything else is.

The skirt falls to my ankles in elegant folds that would be perfectly modest, just so long as you ignored everything happening above my hips.

Which you can’t. Because the neckline plunges toward my navel like it’s on a suicide mission.

The straps holding up the entire bodice are basically dental floss pretending to be fashion.

And the back? The back is completely open, dipping so low I had to buy new underwear just to avoid a plumber’s crack scandal.

I look good. Too good. Dangerously good.

But I’m a pediatric surgeon, not a Victoria’s Secret model. “Too good” is not in the job description.

“You look like sin in that dress,” Charity declares, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “You look like sex walking. You look like an orgasm with legs. That is precisely the dress you should be wearing tonight. Kovan won’t know what hit him.”

“The problem is nobody else will know what hit them, either.” I clutch the phone tighter. “I’m walking into a ballroom full of my colleagues. My boss who already wants me fired will take one look at this dress and start writing up my termination papers. I can’t show up looking like?—”

“Like what?”

“Like… like I’m advertising services I don’t provide.”

“What you look like is a strong, confident, beautiful woman who finally remembered she has a body.” Charity gets stern. “We dropped serious money on that dress, and there’s no returning it, so you better wear it tonight.”

My stomach plummets. “What do you mean we can’t return it? You told me it was on sale. You said it was three hundred dollars!”

Silence.

“… Charity.”

“Okay, so, don’t get mad,” she pleads, “but I may or may not have lied.”

“What?!”

“It’s worth more than that. Like… significantly more.”

The phone nearly slips from my suddenly sweaty palm. “How much more?”

“Don’t freak out. Promise you won’t freak out? Pinky swear?”

My words come out in a clenched-teeth growl. “How. Much. More?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

I sink onto my bed. “Ten thousand— Charity, you told the salesgirl to lie to me!”

“Yes, but hear me out?—”

“You made her an accessory to fraud!”

“The dress is perfect for you, Ves. It brings out your eyes. It makes your skin glow. And Kovan paid for it, which means he wants you to look exactly this gorgeous tonight.”

I bury my face in my free hand. Ten thousand dollars. On a dress I’ll wear once. A dress that makes me look like I should be draped and gyrating over the hood of a sports car in an MTV music video instead of performing surgery on children.

But when I look in the mirror again, I have to admit Charity isn’t wrong. The emerald silk does make my eyes look bluer. The cut does accentuate my waist and does make my legs look endless. For all its scandalous neckline, the dress somehow manages to be classy instead of cheap.

I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to pull it off.

“Put your game face on and go get your man,” Charity says. “Ciao ciao!” Then she hangs up before I can argue, probably because she knows I hate when she does that.

I stare at the phone, then at my reflection. The woman in the mirror looks confident. Sophisticated. Like she actually belongs on the arm of a man who commands rooms and stops conversations.

Like she really, truly belongs with Kovan Krayev.

Is such a thing even possible?

I slip on my black heels and head for the door before I lose my nerve.

The staircase curves down from the second floor, offering a perfect view of the living room below. I make it halfway down before I hear it: a sharp intake of breath.

I look down to find an audience. Osip stands by the fireplace, Pavel leans against the wall, and Waylen hovers near the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed. Luka sits on the couch, his legs swinging.

And then there’s Kovan.

Kovan stands in the center of it all, dressed in a navy tuxedo that fits him like he invented the entire concept of formalwear. His hair is styled back from his face, and his shirt is open at the collar, revealing just enough of his inked, scarred chest to make my mouth go dry.

It was him who sucked in when I appeared. He’s staring at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his entire life.

“Wow!” Luka scrambles to his feet. “Vesper, you look like a princess!”

“A princess showing way too much skin,” Waylen mutters.

Osip elbows him in the ribs. “Don’t be an ass. She looks incredible.”

“Everyone.” Kovan’s voice carves through the chatter like a blade. “Do me a favor and shut up.”

The room falls silent.

I stand frozen on the stairs while Kovan looks up at me. The air between us crackles. My doubts about the dress evaporate under the heat of his gaze.

If I can make him look at me like that, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, then every penny of those ten thousand dollars was worth it.

Kovan gestures for me to continue down. My heels sound out against the hardwood as I descend, hyperaware of every eye tracking my movement. By the time I reach the bottom, my cheeks are on fire.

“You look so pretty.” Luka hops on his toes. “So, so pretty!”

“Alright, malysh .” Kovan ruffles Luka’s hair without taking his eyes off me. “Stop hitting on my date.”

Luka giggles. I lean down to kiss his forehead, carefully avoiding Waylen’s disapproving stare.

Kovan offers me his arm and leads me toward the door. “Shall we?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He opens the front door, but before I can step outside, his hand flattens against the doorframe, blocking my path. He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne. It makes me feel delirious, euphoric.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, his knuckles brushing my jawline.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” I ask nervously before I can stop myself. “The dress, I mean?”

“Too much?” His hand slides to my hip, fingers burning through the silk. “The dress is perfect. You are perfect.”

I sway toward him without conscious thought. “Kovan…”

“Shut up and let me kiss you,” he whispers against my lips.

He doesn’t wait for me to say yes. He just comes to take what’s his. I can taste whiskey on his breath, can see the gold flecks in his green eyes. My heart thumps against my ribs as he leans closer.

Then his mouth touches mine, and the rest of the world disappears.