The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

He watched me for a long time—so long, my heart slowed beneath the weight of his gaze—and then he stood and came around his desk. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

I shook my head.

“I will have Albert find you a room.” With that, he headed to the door.

My manners rebelled against accepting his generosity, but a greater part of me was thankful. My head still hurt, and I didn’t want to wander aimlessly around Moscow looking for a ride and a place to stay. Though something else inside, something curious and breathless, wouldn’t allow him to walk away yet.

I got to my feet and blurted, “Do you have a fondness for opera?”

He stopped and slowly turned to me. “How did you guess?”

It took a moment to realize he was teasing me. I opened my mouth to respond but ended up pulling my bottom lip between my teeth to hold in the genuine amusement. His eyes flicked to my lips for just a second, and my pulse dropped into a vat of gasoline and fire.

I swallowed. “Do you happen to know of an opera house nearby?” I wasn’t going home without knowing more about my mother and her family. Maybe I could find some information at her previous place of employment.

“There are several, but the Moskovskiy is the closest.”

“The Moskovskiy,” I repeated, so I would remember it.

“It’s not in the best part of town anymore.”

His restaurant wasn’t exactly in the best part either, but I didn’t voice the thought.

Ronan regarded me for a second, and, seeing the determination on my face, something obscure clouded his eyes. “I will take you. Tonight, at eight.”

Then he left me without another word, and I couldn’t help but think . . .

Maybe Moscow wasn’t so bad after all.

dépaysement

(n.) when someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one

“No, really, I can pay for my own room.”

Albert was obviously hard of hearing because his stoic expression didn’t falter as he walked down the hotel hall with my bag in his hand. I trailed two steps behind the giant, struggling to keep up with him.

I knew he understood English. On the way over, I touched the window while taking in the sights, and through the rearview mirror, he looked at me like I’d just slapped his favorite grandma and grumbled at me to not smudge the glass. He’d be handsome if he wiped away that scowl and didn’t shave his head like he was just released from prison. Though, with that attitude, I could only assume he was.

After driving me to a swanky hotel, he handed the straight-faced concierge a wad of cash. The older man didn’t ask a single question before sliding a shiny room key into Albert’s hand. It looked like a drug deal. Or a bribe. I couldn’t be privy to Albert’s illegal activities no matter how things were done here.

“Listen, I just want to pay for my room,” I said, slightly out of breath when I finally caught up to him. “I’m sure you have lots of other things to spend your money on. Giant underpants can’t come cheap.”

He almost appeared amused. Or constipated? I couldn’t be sure.

“The boss is paying for it,” he groused.

“The boss” sounded a little too formal and weird. But then I would be the last person to know about an employer’s correct title. The only job I’d ever had was volunteer work.

“You know, you don’t look like an Albert,” I told him.

Not a blink.

“I’m just saying, when someone says ‘Albert,’ expectations are formed. Old men with cheerful personalities, to be exact. You’ve crushed those expectations, Albert.”

He stopped in front of room 203.

“I’d peg you as more of an . . . Igor.”