polite smile across the snowy white linen.
“Good evening, my lord.”
Her scratchy-yet-prim tones sent a jolt of desire straight to his groin, and he placed his napkin across the straining fabric in his lap. She took a tentative sip of her wine. Her throat dipped as she swallowed, and he wanted to taste her skin. He had a brief vision of sweeping everything to the floor, the flowers, the silverware, the glasses, the porcelain, of pulling her clean across the table for a kiss beyond all civilized bounds. Of putting his mouth between her breasts and—
“This is excellent wine,” she said demurely.
Seb coughed. Thankfully Mickey entered carrying a tray, followed by the tiny stomping figure of Lagrasse. The disparity in height between the two men was comical. Mickey could have used the chef as an armrest.
“What do we have here?” Seb managed hoarsely. God, his voice was deep.
Lagrasse ignored him and sent Anya a dazzling smile. “To begin, madame, I ’ave prepared you ze beetroot soup.”
Her eyes gleamed as Mickey placed a small bowl of liquid the precise color of her gown before her. “Oh! Borscht! How clever of you! Are you serving it hot or cold?” She picked up her spoon and skimmed the surface away from her. Her manners were impeccable.
“’Ot for you tonight, madame, wiz ze dill and a soupçon of sour crème.”
Seb gave an inner snort. The soup wasn’t the only thing hot for her tonight. He was burning up.
She took a delicate sip and closed her eyes. “Delicious.”
The little Frenchman beamed in pleasure, and Seb quelled the impulse to tell him to leave so he could have her reactions all to himself. He wondered what else he could do to put such a satisfied smile on her face. Several depraved options came to mind.
A polite silence reigned as they both sampled the soup, and Seb, to his surprise, discovered it wasn’t half as bad as he’d expected. He’d had some pretty disgusting meals during his time around France and Spain, including a revolting cabbage stew somewhere near Cadiz, but this was far better.
At Lagrasse’s nod, Mickey uncovered a second dish.
“As the lady requested, we ’ave ze blini. Wiz ’oney and crème.”
The chef proudly placed a selection of the tiny pancakes on Anya’s plate and stood back to await her verdict.
“I’ll serve myself, then, shall I?” Seb muttered, half amused, half irritated by the fact that he seemed to have been forgotten in his own dining room. Clearly his opinion counted for nothing.
Mickey sent him a dry look and scooped some of the remaining blinis onto his plate. “’Ere you go, sir.”
All three of them watched in rapt fascination as Anya ignored her knife and fork, picked up one of the little pancakes, and brought it to her lips. She ate it in two delicate bites then licked a smear of honey from her fingers.
Seb almost groaned aloud. This was pure, erotic torture. He wanted to blindfold the other two men. But Mickey seemed impervious, and Lagrasse appeared more nervous than aroused. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Seb ate his blini in one bite. It was bloody good, so he polished off six more in quick succession, which earned him a glare from Lagrasse, presumably for not taking the time to savor the things properly.
He watched Anya eat another and a wisp of pleasure curled through him at her obvious enjoyment. Her happiness was like a warm cloud around her. He felt his mouth curl in an answering smile.
She finally pursed her lips. “Hmm. Perhaps a tiny bit more salt to balance out the sweetness of the honey? But other than that, perfection, Monsieur Lagrasse. As good as any I tasted in Russia. Thank you.”
Lagrasse let out a relieved breath. “De rien, madame. It is a pleasure to cook for someone ’oo appreciates the skill of an artist like myself.” He sent Seb a superior, chiding glare, apparently forgetting who paid his extortionate salary every month.
“You may leave us,” Seb drawled.
He took another sip of wine as the two men filed out and caught her gaze, making no attempt to hide the sensual hunger he was feeling. “Hold still.”
He rose from his seat, reached across the table, and used his finger to swipe a smudge of honey from the corner of her mouth. She inhaled sharply. He held his finger in front of her lips, silently commanding her to take it into her mouth. Her eyes widened, but she parted her lips and