White Nights (White Nights 1)

Trying to act like I’m not freaking out inside, I say calmly, “It’s nice to meet you, Yuri. Where are we going?”

“To a Russian restaurant nearby.” He leads me toward the car and opens the door. “Romanoff’s. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

I stop in my tracks. I have heard of it. Nadia went to a wedding there once and showed me pictures of the place. Apparently, it’s one of the most popular places for major celebrations in the Russian community, famous for fine dining and over-the-top dinner shows. If I remember correctly, all the guests in Nadia’s pictures wore extravagant attire.

“Wait, Yuri, I think there’s been a mistake. I’m not dressed for that. Alex said we’re just grabbing a bite to eat, but this sounds much fancier.”

“Alexander said you’re not to worry. Everything is taken care of.”

I lift a brow in surprise but climb into the car. Is Alex planning to give me a change of clothes when I get there?

Yuri closes the door and gets into the driver’s seat, leaving me alone in the back of the car. A partition separates us, like in a limo, although the car is more of a full-sized, luxuriously appointed sedan.

Before I’ve even settled into the plush leather seat, he smoothly pulls away from the curb and onto Ocean Parkway.

Three minutes later, we’re in front of the restaurant.

Tightly clutching my purse, I exit the car and follow Yuri inside.

4

I step through the doors and stop, staring at my surroundings in awe.

The restaurant is opulent. There’s no other way to describe it. The interior is huge, easily fitting in five hundred guests or more. Soft music plays in the background. Everything is decorated in shades of red and gold with richly textured fabrics and gleaming surfaces. I can easily imagine some nineteenth-century czar dining here, surrounded by his loyal nobles.

Of course, instead of a czar, I’m meeting Alex Volkov, who’s as close to a czar as one can get in modern-day Russia.

I walk deeper into the empty restaurant. Where are the diners? The tables are pushed to the walls, leaving a large empty space in the middle. Only one round table remains, and a familiar figure is waiting for me there.

At my approach, Alex rises to his feet. Like me, he’s dressed casually, in the same jeans and sweater I saw him wear earlier. Maybe the restaurant isn’t as dressy as I imagined, or—more likely—Alex doesn’t have to follow any rules and dresses however he pleases.

I bet he can wear rags, or nothing at all, and still look like the most powerful man in the room. It’s not the clothes that make him so impressive. It’s something within him, some inner steel that’s as much a part of him as his muscular body and chiseled jaw.

He watches me walk toward him with a hooded gaze, his face giving away nothing of his emotions. Doubt creeps in again, making me question the wisdom of coming here. But then his mouth softens, one corner curving upward, and I forget about my reservations, again feeling that inexplicable pull of attraction.

Reaching the table, I pause for a second to look up at him. “Are we the only two people here?” His height is both arousing and intimidating, making me feel helpless and feminine in a way I’ve never experienced.

“We are,” he says, pulling out a chair for me. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Uttering a shaky laugh, I sit down. “No, but why this huge place?”

“I like their food and music,” he says as he walks around to take his seat across from me.

I give him a disbelieving look. “So you rented out the whole enormous restaurant?”

“Why not? I like my privacy.”

Why not, indeed? When one is richer than Croesus, what does a measly few grand matter? Trying to match his casual attitude, I nod as though it makes sense.

“Tell me about yourself, Katerina.”

His softly worded command catches me by surprise. Does he truly want to get to know me, or is he making polite conversation? Either way, there’s one thing I definitely want to tell him. “Please call me Kate.” I give him a smile. “That’s what I usually go by.”

“Kate,” he repeats, his blue eyes gleaming. Somehow, he manages to make even that simple word sound deliciously foreign. “Kate. Hmm, I’m not sure if it suits you. Too simple. Not like you at all.”

“Oh? How would you know what I’m like?”

His lips curve into something resembling a smile. “I don’t know what you’re like, Katyusha, but I’d like to find out.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. The sexual intent behind his words is unmistakable. And what is that word he used? Katyu-something?

A waiter approaches our table, interrupting my thoughts. He brings a bottle of sparkling water and what looks like high-end vodka.

Alex gestures toward the drinks. “Would you like wine or cognac, or is this okay?”