Free Lying and Kissing by Helena Newbury Page B

He probably says that line to all the women he meets—all of those Russian blondes.
    And, even as I thought it, I saw one of them right in front of me. A little taller than me, with a tiny waist and pert, thrusting breasts under her sparkling blue top. She had arrow-straight, gleaming blonde hair down to her shoulders.
    And she was glaring at me with total, unreserved hatred. Maybe it was because Luka wasn’t looking in her direction, or maybe she was simply too angry to be afraid, but she looked as if she wanted to jump on me and tear my throat out.
    To my relief, Luka pulled me in the other direction, towards the edge of the club. He showed me to a table surrounded by low, black leather armchairs. Every seat was taken.
    When we were still ten feet away, the people sitting there nudged each other, stood up and scattered. One of them even wiped the tabletop with his sleeve.
    I shook my head in disbelief as we sat down. Luka sat back in his seat. “What?” he asked.
    “Everyone’s afraid of you.”
    He glanced around and then shrugged, as if that was their fault.
    I remembered that I wasn’t meant to know what he did. “Why?
    He gave a wry little grin. “Some people are scared of how I do business.”
    He lifted the bottle of vodka. He hadn’t brought any glasses, I realized. I watched as he took a long pull. “How do you do business?” I asked.
    He locked eyes with me and slowly lowered the bottle. “Without limits.” He passed me the bottle. “Have you ever tried living without limits, Arianna?”

 
     
     
     
     
     

     
     
    I took the bottle with shaking hands. I’d already had the equivalent of a couple of shots. But I put the glass neck to my mouth and tipped it back until the liquor ran like silver fire over my tongue and down my throat. I lowered it and took a long breath, the club’s warm air suddenly freezing next to the burn of the alcohol. “Limits are good,” I rasped. “Limits keep things safe.”
    He smirked at that and patted his leg. It took me a second to realize that he wanted me to sit there. I stood up and walked over to him, my legs trembling.
    I went to sit sideways on his leg, like a princess riding side-saddle on a unicorn. He admonished me with a little shake of his head and an amused crush of those sensuous lips.
    I swallowed, stood slightly, and sat again. This time, I sat back on his leg so that I was astride it. I managed to keep my knees together, though.
    I kept my eyes forward because I thought that, somehow, if I did that, I might not lose control. I felt his hand on my back—so warm!—and then sweeping up through my hair, letting the strands spill and play over his fingers as his thumb ascended my spine. I arched my back in response, trembling.
    Suddenly, he lifted his knee, taking his foot off the ground and raising me into the air as if I weighed nothing. I slid backward, my thighs opening, my heels skittering for purchase on the floor. My ass pressed against his groin. His mouth was at my ear, his accent wrapping each syllable in ice before it slipped into my brain. “What are you really doing in Moscow, Arianna?”
    My whole body went tense. My feet were still off the ground—I had no traction, no way of struggling up from his lap. I tried to lurch forward but that only made my ass grind more firmly against the hardness I could feel at his groin. Cold fear erupted inside me, freezing my brain, numbing my response. I opened my lips but nothing came out. I’m blown. I’m blown!
    But then his mouth was at my ear again. “You come on vacation by yourself, but I don’t think it’s to meet people. You are too…” he fumbled for the phrase in English. “ In own head.”
    Introvert. A language geek, I thought. I’m just a language geek. I nodded, still rigid with fear.
    His hands were on my thighs, steadying me as I balanced precariously on his leg. He still hadn’t lowered his knee. I glanced up for a second and spied the blonde again. She looked even