Page 69 of Filthy Promises

I lean back in my chair, studying her face. “You don’t like her.”

“It’s not my place to like or dislike your potential bride.”

“But you don’t.”

She meets my eyes directly, something she rarely does. “No. I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s cold.” The words come out in a torrid rush, like she can’t hold them back. “She’s looking at you like you’re a merger, not a man. And she kept checking her phone under the table when she thought you weren’t looking.”

I laugh, genuinely surprised by her observation. “Did she?”

Rowan nods. “Three times.”

“Good eye.” I find myself smiling at her—a real smile, not the calculated one I’ve been giving Irina all night. “What else?”

“She—” Rowan stops as Irina emerges from the ladies’ room. “Is there anything else you need, Mr. Akopov?”

“Wait in the car,” I tell her. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”

She nods and retreats, passing Irina on her way out. The two women exchange tight smiles that wouldn’t fool anyone.

“Shall we?” I ask Irina, rising to help her with her coat.

“Of course.” She allows me to guide her outside, where my driver waits with the car. Rowan is already inside, seated as far from the door as possible.

I kiss Irina’s hand in the formal way expected of me. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I look forward to it.” She glances past me to the car, where Rowan sits visible through the window. “Perhaps next time, just the two of us?”

I don’t bother giving her an answer.

Once she’s safely in her own car, I slide into the backseat beside Rowan. The privacy partition is already up. Smart girl.

“Did I make you uncomfortable earlier?” I ask, my fingers once again drawing slow, meandering paths on the silk of her dress. The air in here is objectively cool, but against my skin, it’s like we’re standing in the middle of a forest fire.

“Yes.” She doesn’t pull away. “But not for the reason you think.”

“Tell me.”

Her breathing quickens. “Because I wanted you to keep going. And I shouldn’t. You’re my boss. You’re on a date with another woman. A woman who makes so much more sense for you than I ever could.”

“Is that what you think?” My hand steals higher, soaking up the heat of her through the thin fabric. The slit is there, just inches away. If I pushed my hand beneath it… “That Irina Petrov makes sense for me?”

“Doesn’t she?” Rowan’s voice is breathy now. She’s as aware as I am that there are mere millimeters separating my fingertipsfrom finding out whether or not she’s wearing any panties. “She’s from your world. She’s— She’s?—”

“Cold,” I finish for her. “Like you said. And you know what? I’m sick of it. Everything in my life already is.” My fingers find the hem of her dress, slipping just underneath to touch bare skin. “I’m tired of ice, Ms. St. Clair. I want fire instead.”

Her lips part, but whatever she was going to say is lost as the car stops. We’ve reached her apartment building.

I withdraw my hand slowly, already missing the warmth of her. “We have another dinner in a few days. Katerina Volkov.”

Rowan nods, her eyes still dark with desire. “I’ll be ready.”

“Green again,” I tell her. “I like you in green.”

She opens the door, but pauses before stepping out. “Vince?”

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