by Tessa Bailey
The corner of his mouth tugged and for some reason, that tiny reaction felt like a monumental victory. “You plan on wreaking havoc with one shoe, Cinderella?”
He held up one of her gold metallic heels and she frowned.
“Where did I drop it?”
“Near the poker tables where I was sitting.” Turning the shoe over in his hand, the man flicked a glance at the nickel slot, then fixed his hard gaze back on her. “You playing slots? I’d have pegged you as more of a roulette girl.”
She scoffed. “I play nothing. I will not give these weasels my money.”
“Smart.”
“Da.” She pursed her lips. “Also I have very little money already.”
Another one of those intoxicating lip tugs. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d probably find a way to double it.” He seemed to snap himself out of a trance, laughing without humor under his breath. “You’ve traveled a long way to forgo Vegas’s main attraction. If you’re not here for the gambling, why did you come?”
“My best friend’s bachelorette party.”
He looked around and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, where are they?
“I’m meeting them again shortly.” Sitting at a much lower height while he stood with powerful legs braced apart, his impressive height and ruthless build made her feel feminine, aware of her body as a lure in a way she never had been. While she’d spent the last few years making up for the strictness of her upbringing, the opposite sex still remained on the backburner. None of the boys at university interested her. Nor could a single one of them could ever hope to make her belly impatient and excited all at once, like this man did just by being near. And she had the most pressing urge to see inside of him.
Or push him off balance and see how he handled it.
“What do you expect from a woman?”
It was an odd question to ask a stranger under any circumstances, but especially in the middle of a loud casino. Yet he answered without hesitating, as if he’d anticipated harder than normal questions from her. “I never expect a single thing from anyone, man or woman.”
Interesting. “What do you expect from yourself?”
“Consistency.”
She liked that answer. A lot. But somehow it hadn’t surprised her. Even more than his honest answer, though, she enjoyed how fast he responded. It seemed this was a man who knew himself well and lived with conviction.
“What about you?” he asked. “What do you expect from a man?”
“I don’t know.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Whatcha got?”
His gaze meandered down her legs, heating, followed by a tic of the vein in his temple. “Name it, baby.”
Damn. If she continued to flash from hot to cold to hot again, she was going to catch pneumonia. Her body was as confused as her mind over her reaction to this man, heat seeming to permeate new spaces inside of her she hadn’t known existed. When she responded, her voice emerged as little more than a breathy whisper. “It’s a good thing I expect sound judgment from myself or I might accept that blatant invitation.”
Skepticism warred with lust on his face. “Is sound judgment really what you expect from yourself?”
“Nyet.” His astuteness made her almost giddy. “I expect adventure.”
Adventure.
At the inadvertent reminder of what she was supposed to be doing, Roksana whipped the phone out of her pocket and winced. “Uh-oh. Only three minutes until havoc time.” She took the shoe he offered, using his arm without asking to stabilize herself while sliding the shoe onto her foot, followed by the other one. “I came in here to cool off and now I’m going to be late.”
“Late for what exactly?”
Oh, what the hell, she was never going to see him again.
That really shouldn’t bother her as much as it did.
Forcing herself to grin, Roksana opened the sides of her cardigan, bathing their immediate area with the pink, blinking lights of her bra. “Dasvidanya, temnota moya.”
Goodbye, my darkness.
She left the man staring into space, her laughter trailing behind her as she jogged out of the casino, cheap heels clacking on the marble, then the baking sidewalk. When she made it down to the strip, she waved at Kira to signal her readiness and got a thumbs up in return. Something strange happened, though. She thought of the man in the casino. His face. The way he’d smelled like pine. Actually, she had an almost giddy urge to turn around and search for him in the entrance of Circus Circus. Maybe he’d followed?
At the very least, she wished she’d asked his name.
What on earth had possessed her to call him her darkness?
That sounded so intimate.
Yet she’d loved the way it felt rolling off her tongue. How the utterance of it had seemed to…lock them together. To solidify something.
“The heat has definitely turned my brain to shit,” Roksana muttered, still experiencing the craving to turn around. To look for him.
She just started to turn her head when her cell phone beeped.
Go time.
She stripped off her cardigan and discarded it on the sidewalk, immediately receiving honks from passing motorists. Whether in annoyance or irritation, Roksana didn’t know or care. As soon as there was a break in traffic, four Russian girls in flashing pink bras dashed out into the thoroughfare, breaking into the dance they’d been choreographing for weeks in between classes. Right on cue, Olga was escorted by her fiancé—who’d been in on the plan—to a stop in front of her dancing bridesmaids.
For a full ten seconds, all she could do was stare openmouthed, but when Roksana stepped to the forefront of the foursome, bending and snapping with her eyes crossed, Olga lost her battle with amusement, her body shaking with laughter.
A new wave of traffic drew closer to them, but the girls continued to dance, hitting their moves in pace with each other. And it was one of those moments where everything slowed down and life leapt like a prima ballerina, landing with perfect form. Here was why she’d avoided the terror of her mother’s legacy. The despair of what it meant to be a vampire slayer. Here was why she’d chosen light instead. For moments like this, when a person’s shine went up a notch in the universe, so bright she could be seen from space. All of them were having that moment together and she exulted in the golden haze of a memory being created. Stored forever.
A crowd had formed behind Olga and her fiancé on the sidewalk, and Roksana was compelled to search the back of the gathering. A whiskey gaze was on her, steady, amused.
Hot.
My darkness.
A shiver zipped down her spine and her steps faltered.
“Roks!” Kira half laughed, half hissed. “Big finish. Big finish!”
“Right. I’m ready.” She shook herself and turned, bending forward and flipping up her skirt. Standing in a straight line with the other four bridesmaids, their asses spelled O-L-G-A.
Horns honked like crazy in quick succession and cheers went up from both sides of the strip.
Sirens cut through all of it.
The five of them scrambled to the sidewalk to allow the traffic to pass, everyone talking a mile a minute, laughing. Olga tried to show them the pictures of the performance she’d captured on her phone, but the sirens weren’t just close now, they were in view, whipping through the intersection on the same block as Circus Circus.
“Hey!” Roksana shouted, cutting through the chatter. “Get Olga out of here. If one of us gets arrested, so be it, but she’s not missing her wedding.”
Olga’s fiancé took his still-giggling future bride by the arm and jogged her toward the casino. Which was great for them. But their clothes were long gone and they were still standing there, lighting up the sidewalk in LED bras.
“This is the part of the plan we didn’t think through,” Roksana said thoughtfully. “A little short-sighted of us, but we’ll do better next time, da?”
A gruff voice spoke up behind them, deep and authoritative. “You girls have to se
parate. Scatter. They’re going to be looking for a group.”
Roksana turned to find him, the man from the casino, advancing on their posse. “Our clothes are gone,” she informed him with a wince. “I think the American word for this is ‘conspicuous.’”
“You could say that,” he returned dryly, sliding a billfold out of his back pocket and peeling off five twenties, handing them to her friends. “Get inside. Buy shirts at the gift shop and lay low. Go.”
The way he took charge so easily without being pushy caused Roksana’s thoughts to trip over themselves, but she eventually reassured she friends in Russian and shooed them toward the blinking lights of Circus Circus. “What about me, man with the plan?”
He slowly lifted a hand and there was her cardigan, dangling from his finger. “Caught it before it hit the ground.”
Tiny explosions went off in her belly. “You followed me.”
“I wanted to know your name.” Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he wrapped her in the cardigan, hiding the pink blink. “And we weren’t done.”
“Done what?”
He eliminated an inch of space between them, forcing her head back. “I don’t know.” His breath moved a piece of hair across her mouth and he brushed it back with a knuckle. “Come have a drink with me and we’ll figure it out.”
Fire licked her inner thighs. The words come have a drink might as well have been come to bed with me for the hoarse way he said them. Normally Roksana had no problem putting things in the right or wrong category. Oh, she made plenty of crazy decisions, such as dancing in the middle of Nevada’s busiest street and blocking traffic, but at least she went into those situations with open eyes. An understanding of the potential consequences.
What were the consequences of spending time with this man?
A total unknown.
The ballerina in her stomach was pirouetting madly now, brushing the lining of her belly with a satin, pointed toe, urging her with sensation to go with him somewhere. Sustain this incredible anticipation, even if it didn’t lead anywhere. Even if it couldn’t, seeing as they lived on different continents. She’d never had a casual hookup, but that’s all this would be, right? Roksana didn’t want that. Did she?
She realized he was watching her perform mental gymnastics with quiet scrutiny. “I’m considering your offer.”
“I can see that.” His tone was wry. “You dance half naked on the strip and bring the cops down on your head with a smile on your face. But a drink with me scares you?”
“Jail is temporary.” The honesty whispered out before she could put a lid on it. “You don’t strike me as the same.”
The amusement gradually bled from his face. “Likewise.”
There was a fistful of coins lodged in her throat and she worked to swallow them now, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break eye contact, drowning deeper and deeper in the amber coloring. “Maybe we should pretend we never met. It might be easier.”
He shook his head slowly. “I doubt that.” Something over her head snagged his attention briefly. “There is a cop behind you, havoc wreaker. I hate to tell you this, but the sun has gone down while you’ve been deciding whether or not to have a drink with me.”
“And?”
“Your tits are blinking.”
“Oh.” Roksana looked down to find he was right. The flashing lights were visible through her cardigan. “How close is the cop now?”
“A matter of feet.”
“The off switch is in the back,” she said quickly. “Squeeze the clasp.”
His right eyebrow went up. “Put my hand up your shirt?”
“Da! This is no time for modesty.”
“Just making sure.”
Roksana gasped when his big hand splayed on her lower back, just above the swell of her butt, corralling her toward his body. His warm palm dragged up her bare spine, catching the hook of her bra between two fingers and pinching, never taking his attention off her face. Which was bad news, because he witnessed her reaction to his touch up close. She forgot how to keep her eyelids hoisted and her lips closed. Those skills simply vanished, her nipples quickened into hard points and there she stood, pressed against this man who oozed danger, her senses in a state of chaos.
“You’re good now,” he rasped, his hand drifting lightly back down her spine, resting on the small of her back, just underneath the hem of her sweater.
“Elias,” he said, pressing his cheek to her temple. “That’s my name. Repeat it.”
“Elias,” she whispered. “I’m…Roksana.”
His chest rumbled.
“Evening, folks,” said a man’s voice to their left. It was the cop and he had his flashlight out, shining down near their feet. “You didn’t happen to catch that little performance, too, did you? Maybe see which direction those girls went?”
“No, sir,” Elias answered, his expression passive. “Sorry we can’t help you.”
“Now are you sure about that?” The cop tilted his head, flicking a glance over Roksana, and Elias’s fingers tightened on the small of her back. “A couple of people thought your date here might have participated.”
“We’re sure,” Elias said, using his free hand to dig in his pocket and pull out—
A badge?
“She’s been with me the whole time.” Roksana only caught the words Los Angeles and the acronym S.W.A.T., before Elias stowed the badge once more. “But we’ll be happy to let you know if we find anything out.”
The officer rocked back on his heels. “My mistake, brother.” He nodded and went on his merry way. “Enjoy Vegas.”
“Thank you.”
Roksana blinked, trying to reconcile this prince of darkness with her idea of law enforcement. Shouldn’t they be on different sides? Furthermore, in the world she’d grown up in, those who enforced human rules were obstacles to be avoided. She’d never made any meaningful contact with one of them. “Can I borrow that badge?”
He squinted an eye. “What do you think, havoc wreaker?”
“Sounds like a no.”
“Then your English is perfect.”
A laugh snuck out of Roksana, surprising her. She usually laughed at men, not with them, the poor idiots. They sure as heck never caught her off-guard more than once, the way this man had in under an hour. “I should get back to my friends. Soon.” She reached between them and buttoned the three middle buttons of her cardigan. “I’ve decided you may admire me for a short while more, temnota moya.”
The victory in his expression was tempered with relief, but she was only allowed a glimpse before he schooled his features. “Text your friends. Send them a picture of me and tell them I’m bringing you to the Encore.”
Nothing flustered Roksana, but for some reason, this man making sure she took precautions made her feel like she was flying down too quickly in an elevator, leaving her stomach at the top of a building. She did as he asked, laughing softly when he didn’t bother to smile for the picture, and slipped her phone back into the pocket of her skirt.
His fingers interlocked with hers and he tugged her toward the pricier part of the strip. “Temnota moya. You’ve called me that name twice now. What does it mean?”
“It means, he who is buying the drinks,” she lied.
His laugh was rusted, but so authentic, it seemed to embrace her—
A tingle danced up the back of her neck—much colder than the earlier one she’d gotten in the casino when Elias approached her—and she stumbled to a stop, releasing Elias’s hand so she could turn around. Caution whispered in her ear, but she couldn’t make out the words. Nothing looked amiss. Just revelers enjoying their night out. No vehicles driving over or under the normal speed.
“What is it?” Elias asked, his whiskey eyes scanning for a threat.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured, giving her hand to him once again, reassured by the warmth there. “Let’s go.”
But the tingle never lied.
CHAPTER THREE
Elias di
d not do shit like this.
He didn’t spontaneously ask out women. Especially women that broke the law and flashed their ass at half the strip. This girl, Roksana, was crazy as hell. It was obvious. If they weren’t in this city of make believe, he’d probably be more likely to cave in her front door with a battering ram and slap on handcuffs than escort her through this upscale bar at Encore, as he was doing now.
And yet, it was like his well-being hinged on making her smile.
He’d felt that way before she’d pinned him with her blue eyes in the casino.
Definitely after she’d flashed her light-up bra at him.
But before. Too.
She’d looked up at him like a skeptical angel and he’d thought, fuck.
Fuck.
In his pocket, he could feel the vibration of his phone and he ignored it. He didn’t blame Kenny and Latte for worrying after he’d stood up from the poker table like he was in a trance to follow Russian Cinderella. But they’d conducted countless raids together throughout Los Angeles and thus, his teammates were well aware he could take care of himself. If he could tear his eyes off Roksana for two seconds, maybe he could craft a text to them. What the hell would he say, though?
Sorry for acting totally out of character, but my gut told me not to leave this girl’s side.
And…I don’t want to.
A few feet ahead of him, Roksana hopped into one of the plush, white oversized bar stools and plucked a cherry up by the stem from her neighbor’s drink when he wasn’t looking, popping it into her mouth and giving him a conspiratorial look.
Who was this girl?
Elias took the stool beside her, his hand automatically curling in the underside of her chair to tug it closer. She blinked at him, her cheeks staining red, but thankfully she didn’t question his unconscious forward behavior. Rein it in, man.
“What are you drinking?”
“Mmm. Something that has a chocolate taste, I think,” she murmured, her homeland accenting every word. “Like a milkshake, but for grownups.”
