dimples shimmered in his cheeks. Her heart rolled over in her chest and trembled.
“I like your dress,” he said.
“Thank you. It’s new.”
His smile widened. “And my favorite color. I’m Ilya.”
“I’m … Liz. I’m Liz. Um.
“It’s nice to meet you, too. You speak Russian.”
“Yes. Well, a little. Um.”
“A beautiful girl wearing my favorite color who speaks Russian. It’s my lucky night.”
No, Liz thought, as, still holding her close, he lifted her hand to his lips. Oh, no. It was her lucky night.
It was the best night of her life.
3
They moved to a booth. It all happened so smoothly, so seamlessly, it seemed like magic. As magical as the pretty pink drink that appeared in front of her.
She was Cinderella at the ball, and midnight was a lifetime away.
When they sat he stayed close, kept his eyes on her face, his body angled toward hers as if the crowds and the music didn’t exist. He touched her as he spoke, and every brush of his fingers over the back of her hand, her arm or shoulder was a terrible thrill.
“So, what is it you study at Harvard?”
“I’m in medical school.” It wouldn’t be true, she promised herself, but it was true enough now.
“A doctor. This takes many years, yes? What kind of doctor will you be?”
“My mother wants me to follow her into neurosurgery.”
“This is a brain surgeon? This is big, important doctor who cuts into brains.” He skimmed a fingertip down her temple. “You must be very smart for this.”
“I am. Very smart.”
He laughed as if she’d said something charming. “It’s good to know yourself. You say this is what your mother wants. Is it what you want?”
She took a sip of her drink, and thought he was very smart, too—or at least astute. “No, not really.”
“Then what kind of doctor do you want to be?”
“I don’t want to be a doctor at all.”
“No? What, then?”
“I want to work in cyber crimes for the FBI.”
“FBI?” His dark eyes widened.
“Yes. I want to investigate high-tech crimes, computer fraud—terrorism, sexual exploitation. It’s an important field that changes every day as technology advances. The more people use and depend on computers and electronics, the more the criminal element will exploit that dependence. Thieves, scam artists, pedophiles, even terrorists.”
“This is your passion.”
“I … I guess.”
“Then you must follow. We must always follow our passions, yes?” When his hand brushed over her knee, a slow, liquid warmth spread in her belly.
“I never have.” Was this passion? she wondered. This slow, liquid warmth? “But I want to start.”
“You must respect your mother, but she must also respect you. A woman grown. And a mother wants her child to be happy.”
“She doesn’t want me to waste my intellect.”
“But the intellect is yours.”
“I’m starting to believe that. Are you in college?”
“I am finished with this. Now I work in the family business. This makes me happy.” He signaled the waitress for another round before Elizabeth realized her glass was nearly empty.
“Because it’s your passion.”
“This is so. I follow my passions—like this.”
He was going to kiss her. She might not have been kissed before, but she’d imagined it often enough. She discovered imagination wasn’t her strong suit.
She knew kissing imparted biological information through pheromones, that the act stimulated all the nerve endings packed in the lips, in the tongue. It triggered a chemical reaction—a pleasurable one that explained why, with few exceptions, kissing was part of human culture.
But to
His lips were soft and smooth, and rubbed gently over hers, with the pressure slowly, gradually increasing as his hand slid up from her hip to her rib cage. Her heart tripped above the span of his hand as his tongue slipped through her lips, lazily glided over hers.
Her breath caught, then released with an involuntary sound, almost of pain—and the world revolved.
“Sweet,” he murmured, and the vibration of the words against her lips, the warmth of his breath inside her mouth, triggered a shiver down her spine.
“Very sweet.” His teeth grazed over her bottom lip as he eased back, studied her. “I like you.”
“I like you, too. I liked kissing you.”
“Then we must do it again, while we dance.” He brought her to her feet, brushed his lips to hers again. “You aren’t—the word, the word … jaded. This is the word. Not like so many women who come in to dance and drink and flirt with men.”
“I don’t have a lot of experience with any of that.”
Those black eyes sparkled in the pulsing lights. “Then the other men aren’t so lucky as me.”
Elizabeth glanced back toward Julie as Ilya drew her to the dance floor and saw that her friend was also being kissed. Not gently, not slowly, but Julie seemed to like it—in fact, was fully participating, so—
Then Ilya drew her into his arms, swaying with her unlike all the others who rushed and shook and spun. Just swaying while his mouth came to hers again.
She stopped thinking about chemical reactions and nerve endings. Instead, she did her best to participate fully. Instinct brought her arms up to lock around his neck. When she felt the change in him, the hardening pressing against her, she knew it was a normal, even involuntary, physical reaction.
But she knew the wonder of it all the same. She’d caused the reaction. He wanted her, when no one ever had.
“What you do to me,” he whispered in her ear. “Your taste, your scent.”
“It’s pheromones.”
He looked down at her, brow knitted. “Is what?”
“Nothing.” She pressed her face to his shoulder.
She knew the alcohol impaired her judgment, but she didn’t care. Even knowing the reason she didn’t care was because of the impairment, she lifted her face again. This time she initiated the kiss.
“We should sit,” he said after a long moment. “You make my knees weak.”
He held her hand as they walked back to the table. Julie, eyes overbright, face flushed, popped to her feet. She teetered a minute, laughed, grabbed her purse.
“We’ll be right back. Come on, Liz.”
“Where?”
“Where else? The ladies’.”
“Oh. Excuse me.”
Julie hooked arms with her as much for balance as solidarity. “Oh my God. Can you believe it? We like got the hottest guys in the club. Jesus, they’re so sexy. And yours has that accent. I wish mine had the accent, but he kisses so much better than Darryl. He practically owns the club, you know, and like has this house on the lake.
