This Time Tomorrow (Phenomenal Fate 2)

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 did 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.”

The bartender arrived just in time to hear that decree. “I’m sorry, I’ll need to see some identification, please.”

She blew her bangs out of her face while rooting through her skirt pocket, producing a beat up passport and sliding it across the bar. “I’m a big girl. You can check.”

Showing no reaction, the bartender scanned the information page and placed the passport back on the bar. Before Roksana could put it back in her pocket, he scoped out the year on her date of birth. 1996.

That made her twenty-one.

For the love of God, they weren’t even born in the same decade.

“She’ll have something that tastes like chocolate. I’ll have a Sam Adams.”

The bartender nodded once and left.

“Caught you looking, officer obvious,” she said smoothly. “Now you must tell me your number.”