softly. “I saw Artyom heading up there. It may be a minute before she joins us.”
As I reached the last steps, Konstantin held out his hand. His palm and fingers were rough, scarred from his life as a mafioso—or a Vor, as Danika had told me.
For a second, I almost reached out and took it.
Almost.
I side-stepped his outstretched hand. “I can get down the stairs, Konstantin.”
“I know you can,” he acknowledged. “But I was always taught to aid a lady in dangerous heels. Especially ones as beautiful as yourself.”
“You only help beautiful women? Ground breaking.”
Konstantin actually laughed. “Aren’t all women beautiful, Elena?”
I wasn’t falling for that one. I sent him a glare, causing him to chuckle again. The sound echoed through the foyer, bouncing off the chandelier and wooden floors.
His eyes fell down to my hands and his brows knitted together. “You’ve hidden your thoughts.”
I had. I had scrubbed them with soap until they faded, then patted foundation onto the words that wouldn’t disappear. My hands hadn’t looked so clean in years.
I hated it.
“I doubted the prestigious ballet would let me in with ink all over my hands,” I said.
“You are with me,” he said. “You could come in with a bird’s nest on your head and they would have to let you in.”
“Bird included?”
He smirked softly. “We would have to be reasonable, of course.”
“Boring.” I tilted my head to the side. “Which coincidentally is the same word Danika used to describe the ballet.”
“The ballet is anything but boring,” Konstantin said. “It requires strength and beauty working together in tandem to create a story.” Our eyes met, the intensity of his expression drawing me in. “It is an art form built on pain and self-discipline. Not many sports today can say the same.”
“Relate to ballerinas, do you?”
Konstantin smiled privately. “Since I am no longer privy to your thoughts, you’re not welcome to mine.”
I almost tucked my hands into the folds of my dress before remembering the words were no longer there. He couldn’t read what was happening in my mind. “Like you’ve ever told me what you’re thinking.”
“I have.” His eyes didn’t move from my face. “Whether you believed me or not is up for debate.”
Curiosity gripped me. “What thoughts have you told me?”
“It hardly seems fair for me to spill all my secrets while you keep your privacy.”
I pursed my lips. “I’m sure your secrets are boring anyway.”
Konstantin’s smile was nothing but predatory as he said, “I can assure you, Elena, they are anything but.”
The way he said my name told me exactly what kind of secrets he had.
I told my feet to step back, my heart to stop racing, but my body didn’t listen. I was rooted in place, trapped beneath Konstantin’s intense regard.
“Don’t you have any other women to taunt, Konstantin?” I tried to sound threatening but instead I just sounded desperate.
“Of course. But none are nearly as fun as you,” he laughed. “Or funny.”
“Funny?” The word ripped out of me. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me funny in my life.”
One his eyebrows arched upwards. “No?”
“I’m more likely to be called a bitch,” I muttered, “or puttana.” A particularly favorite nickname of Thaddeo’s.
There was a flicker of darkness in Konstantin’s expression. “Recently?”
“Not to my face,” I said. “But can you honestly say Roman hasn’t said worse behind my back?”
“I’m sure you’ve been saying just as devastating things about him.”
I laughed, the sound surprising and abrupt. “Nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
Konstantin didn’t respond. Instead he stared at me, like his eyes were peeling away at the makeup and skin and peering into my brain.
No one had ever looked like at me like that before.
Like they were…enamored.
I lifted a hand to my face, self-consciously.
“When you laugh, the sun rises in your eyes,” Konstantin said.
The world dropped from beneath my feet.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I felt angry and embarrassed and flushed all at the same time, a cocktail of emotions that only this man could ever draw out of me.
Konstantin reached out and took a strand of my hair, running it through his fingers.
When I didn’t resist, he delicately traced my collarbone. His touch sent electricity shooting through my veins.
Blood rushed through my ears; my heart pounded in my chest. Air became difficult to breathe; thoughts were hard to form.
If I ever complained about being overstimulated before, then I had no idea.
The look in Konstantin’s eyes, the pressure of his finger, his towering presence. Altogether…it was too much.
I tore myself away, seeking distance and