Kat
Pavel’s eyes burn into mine as we step out onto the private terrace of the restaurant, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore in the background. The setting is breathtaking: candles flickering on the table, a bottle of wine waiting to be poured, the moon casting a silver glow over everything. But it’s not the ocean, the candles, or the wine that has my pulse pounding. It’s him. His sharp suit, the way he moves like he owns every space he steps into, the heat in his gaze as he watches me.
“You should know,” he says, “I nearly ripped that dress off you the second I saw you in it.”
A thrill runs through me, my stomach flipping. “And why didn’t you?”
His hand slides along my waist, his fingers brushing just enough to tease before he leans in, his breath warm against my ear. He pulls back, his eyes dragging over my body slowly, intentionally, possessively. “The only reason I didn’t is because I promised you a beautiful evening.”
Heat coils between my thighs.
I should be wary. I should be thinking about the vial hidden in my makeup case, the plan I was supposed to have executed already. Instead, I give him a sexy smirk. “I wouldn’t have argued too much if we’d missed dinner,” I admit.
His laughter is low and deep, wrapping around me like smoke. “Tempting,” he says, his eyes flashing. “But when you taste this food, you’ll be glad I tempered my urges.”
He was right.
Dinner is delicious. The wine is rich, the food decadent, and the conversation easy. Flirting with Pavel feels natural, effortless, like we picked up right where we left off all those years ago. We talk about surface-level things, life, our families. I don’t want him to get too close. I let him near my heart once, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I cannot, will not, allow that again. I am, after all, intending to kill him.
His gaze lingers on me as he swirls his wine, his voice soft, curious, intentional. “Tell me something about you,” he says, “something I don’t already know.”
I hesitate, looking out at the view. I can feel his eyes on me, studying, waiting. For a second, I consider giving him something real. A piece of myself. But then I remember what I came here to do. “Don’t you know enough about me already?” I ask curtly.
“I could spend all night learning about you, Kat,” he replies. “There’s no such thing as enough.”
I push my food around my plate. “There isn’t anything else you need to know.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push. His brow furrows, as if a thought just occurred to him. “Let me send the guards away.”
“The guards?” I look around, not spotting anyone in the restaurant who appears to be a guard.
“They’re here, but they’re very good at their jobs; that’s why you don’t see them,” he says with a wink. “One second.”
He sends a quick text. Next thing I know, three large men appear from different corners of the restaurant. One of them approaches our table, while the other two walk out the door.
He leans down next to Pavel and asks, “Are you sure? I’m not entirely convinced this place is secure.”
“I’m sure. Stick around but stay back.”
“Yes, Boss.”
With that, he, too, vanishes into the crowd before exiting out the side door.
“How’s that?” he asks.
“Dangerous and risky. You should listen to your men. There are plenty of people who might want one of us—or both of us—dead.”
I arch an eyebrow as Pavel stands, offering me his hand.
“A walk?” he asks.
I slide my palm into his, and the second his fingers wrap around mine, sparks seem to fly invisibly around us. I should pull away.
But I don’t.
The sand is cool beneath my bare feet, the waves rolling in, steady and hypnotic, the scent of salt clinging to the breeze. The hem of my dress flutters around my ankles, teasing against my skin. It should be a perfect night.
“We can be happy together, you know,” he says. He hasn’t let go of my hand all night.
I’m about to respond when music begins to spill from a club nearby—a rhythmic pulse, low and sultry—vibrating through the air. Without warning, Pavel spins me, then pulls me against him, his arms locking around my waist in one fluid movement. I gasp, laughing before I can stop myself. “What are you doing?”
Pavel smirks, his blue eyes flashing. “Dancing with my wife.”
“This isn’t a dance floor,” I point out, though my arms betray me as they slide up his chest, my fingers curling into his shirt.
His grip tightens on my waist, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he sways us to the music. “It is if I say it is.”
Cocky bastard.
I roll my eyes, but I don’t fight it. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything. The heat between us, the way he looks at me, the way he touches me… It’s nothing more than my body’s natural response to the history between us.
Lust. Nothing else.
But when he dips me back, his strong arm holding me like a promise, his mouth brushing mine in the barest tease of a kiss, it doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels like everything. We move together, our bodies pressed tightly together, our steps effortless. Pavel has changed. He’s still dangerous, still powerful, but there’s something different about him now. He’s calmer, more at ease. He took over the Bratva at a very young age. I remember how serious he was back then, always strategizing, planning, watching. But tonight he’s just a man dancing with his wife.
And for one reckless, fleeting second, I let myself be his wife.
Suddenly, three men stumble out of the club. One of them whistles, his eyes crawling over me.
“Damn, look at that ass,” he says, laughing.
I freeze.
I haven’t been called out for my body in years. I’ve learned to love my curves, to own them, to embrace the power in the way I command space. But the way he said it felt like an insult, causing a sharp and unexpected sting.
I feel Pavel stiffen, his grip on me tightening as he slowly turns toward the man.
Oh, no.
“Walk away,” I whisper, pressing a hand against his chest. “He’s not worth it.”
His jaw works back and forth, his eyes fixed on all three men. I have no doubt that he’s fantasizing about taking them apart with his bare hands.
“Pavel. Please. Let it go.”
He nods once, takes my hand, and begins to lead me away.
The guy laughs louder before yelling out, “Where you goin’, chubby chaser?”
Pavel turns around, slow and controlled, then tilts his head. His fingers flex at his sides as he steps into the guy’s space, forcing him to take a step back. “You think that was funny?” Pavel asks in a low yet lethal tone.
The guy scoffs, but his bravado is cracking under the weight of Pavel’s stare. “What? I can’t compliment your taste? Some of us like our women a little—”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish, as Pavel’s fist connects with his jaw so hard, so fast, I can hear the impact over the music from the club. The guy’s head snaps back, his body landing in the sand with a heavy thud. He groans, blood dripping from his nose. One of his friends takes a step forward, fists clenched.
“You want to join him?” Pavel asks.
The man hesitates before glancing down at his friend, still lying in the sand clutching his nose, choking on his own blood. He looks back at Pavel and backs down, muttering something under his breath as he grabs his groaning friend, hauling him up. The third guy remains silent as he takes one last look at Pavel. Noting the raw violence simmering just beneath the surface, he makes a smart decision: He turns and bolts.
Pavel’s hand finds mine again, his grip firm as his thumb brushes over my skin, making me feel safe and protected. His voice is calm and unbothered as he says, “Let’s go.”
We walk away in silence, my heart pounding, not because I’m scared, but because I’ve never felt more wanted and cherished in my life.
