White Nights (White Nights 1)

“This is fine.” I’m not a big drinker, so anything he orders is fine with me.

He nods and pours us each a shot of vodka and a glass of Perrier before addressing the waiter in Russian. The man departs and promptly returns with two elaborately decorated menus. I study mine. The dishes are listed in Russian but have English translations.

“Have you ever been to a Russian restaurant?” Alex asks, looking up from his menu.

“Actually, no,” I say, slightly embarrassed about the fact. “I work in this neighborhood, but I’ve never explored it much. By the time I’m done with my shift, I’m usually too tired to go out afterward.”

A small smile appears on his lips. “Yet you’re out with me tonight.”

“So I am.”

“Why?” He seems genuinely curious. “I got the impression you weren’t that interested at first.”

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “A girl can always change her mind, right?” I could add that I’ve thought about him constantly for the past two days and realized I’d be an idiot to miss out on this kind of chemistry, but I don’t think his ego needs stroking.

He gives me a cynical look. “A girl sure can.”

Puzzled, I frown but let it go. “How long have you been in America?” I ask instead. “Your English is excellent for someone who’s not a native speaker.”

“I came here last year,” he says, taking a sip of his water.

“Where did you learn to speak English so well?”

“I studied with a private tutor for a couple of years in my early twenties.”

“A couple of years? That’s all?” I stare at him in amazement. I studied Spanish in high school for four years, but I’m far from fluent in it.

His tone is casual, as though it’s no big deal to gain near-native proficiency in a foreign language in such a short time. “I have a talent for languages. I learn them easily.”

I’m beyond impressed. “Do you speak other languages as well?”

“French, Italian, Ukrainian, Polish, Mandarin, and some German.”

My jaw drops. The man sitting across the table from me isn’t only rich and hot, but also a freaking polyglot.

“Do you know what you’d like to order, or do you need more time?” he asks.

Realizing I’ve been staring, I close my mouth and turn my attention back to the menu. “Maybe another minute.” The majority of the options are unfamiliar, but the potato-mushroom appetizer seems promising.

“Is there anything you don’t like or eat?”

“I’m a vegetarian.” I look up to measure his reaction. “No meat or fish. I do eat eggs and dairy, though.”

“What about caviar?” he asks, seemingly neither surprised nor put off by my dietary preference.

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m afraid not. For its eggs to be harvested, the fish has to be killed.”

He nods, again completely unoffended. “How about I order us a few meat-free appetizers then, and you can try different things?”

“That would be great, thanks,” I say, offering him a smile. I’m pleasantly surprised by Alex thus far. He’s considerate and accommodating, at least when it comes to accepting my diet.

A vegetarian since the age of thirteen, I’m used to having to explain and justify my food choices to my dates. Many omnivores, including the men I’ve dated, are uncomfortable around vegetarians, as though afraid they’ll be lectured on animal cruelty at every meal. That’s not my approach. I just quietly practice what I believe. Tony constantly argued with me, trying to convince me to change my stance on the matter, and after a while, it got exhausting. I’m glad Alex is different.

I study his unconventionally handsome face from under my lashes as he summons the waiter and converses in Russian. I listen closely to the foreign sounds, wishing I understood more of their language. Like many nurses at Coney Island Hospital, I know how to ask if a patient is in pain—bolit?—and whether they want something to drink—pit’?—but that’s the extent of my Russian vocabulary.

Once the waiter is gone, Alex returns his attention to me.

“They’ll bring us zakuski—appetizers—shortly,” he says, picking up his shot glass. “In the meantime, how about a toast to girls changing their minds?” He smiles, showing even white teeth.

I hesitate for a second before picking up my glass. Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t something I typically do, but nothing about this date is typical.

To hell with caution. For tonight, I just want to enjoy myself.

“Sure,” I say, smiling back. “And to your bodyguard’s speedy recovery.”

“And to Igor’s recovery,” Alex agrees, clinking his glass against mine.

He knocks back the shot in one smooth swallow. The strong column of his throat moves in a deliciously masculine way, and I fight a sudden urge to walk around the table and lick the side of his neck.

Oh my God, Kate. Control yourself.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to look away and focus on my own glass of vodka. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to touch a man so badly. It’s as if my hormones have suddenly decided to come out of lifelong hibernation, and I have no idea how to rein them back in.