Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“For what it’s worth, I would have reacted exactly the same way if I was you,” Alex concedes.
That brings me up short. What does he mean? That he would be jealous if my ex came up to me. He doesn’t give me a chance to respond to that. Instead, he signals to our waiter that we’re ready for dessert. I decide to let it go. I have to. If I bring it up again, then I’ll only make it worse. And to be fair, Alex didn’t show the least bit of interest in her.
By the time we finish our desserts, the tension between us is gone and I’m relaxed again. Alex is even making me laugh with his dry humor.
As I scoop up the last bit of my ice cream Alex gets our waiter’s attention again and says something to him in Russian. The waiter moves away and comes back quickly with two small glasses of clear liquid. Alex thanks him as he places one down in front of each of us, and I hear myself echoing his thanks, even though I have no idea what this is. I certainly didn’t ask for it.
“Vodka.” Alex smiles at me. “I know it’s a cliché that every Russian drinks vodka, and generally I’m a whisky man, but you can’t come to Russia and not try the real stuff at least once. It’s so much better than the commercial stuff you get in England. Or pretty much anywhere else in the world.”
He picks his glass up and smiles at me, challenging me with his eyes. I pick my glass up and clink it against his. The challenge is well and truly accepted.
“Nostrovia,” I grin.
I hear him echoing me as I bring the glass to my mouth. I throw my head back and swallow the huge measure. It burns my throat and my insides all the way down to my stomach, but I hide it well, smiling at Alex who has taken only a sip of his.
“We’re Russian, not Mexican.” Alex grins. “We sip it here, savoring the flavor.”
“What can I say,” I smile. “You can take the girl out of London, but you can’t take London out of the girl. We’re more of a go big or go home crowd.”
Alex looks me straight in the eye, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he downs the rest of the drink.
“I guess we’re going big then,” he says softly.
His eyes darken and I feel a pulsing energy running all through my body. I swallow hard and force myself to smile at him. Then I pretend that something in the room has caught my eye and quickly look away. The spell he held me under breaks, although my clit doesn’t get the memo, and it continues to pulse with desire. Ruthlessly crushing down the desperate urge to reach across the table and touch Alex’s hand, I shift uncomfortably in my seat to try and find a position that doesn’t tease my clit. I fail. The shuffling around only intensifies the feeling.
Alex looks at me with wry amusement and I feel as if no part of me is private from him and he’s reading my internal thoughts. I hate the feeling and I stand up rather abruptly.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
He frowns. “To throw up?”
The moment of feeling like he can see inside of my soul passes and I laugh, a normal laugh. He thought the vodka had hit my stomach and made me feel sick. He didn’t know what was really going on inside my crazy, lust-filled head.
“No chance,” I say. “I wouldn’t be much of a Brit if one shot affected me that much.”
Alex chuckles as I walk away. Inside the bathroom I look in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed. I blame the vodka for that, although I secretly think it’s more about my close proximity to Alex and what that does to me. I fluff my hair, reapply my lipstick, and wash my hands, to pass a few minutes so it seems I’ve had time to use the toilet. When I feel a little more composed, I go back to the table. Two more glasses of vodka have materialized there.
“This time, we’re going to savor it,” Alex says as I take my seat.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but I pick my glass up and take a sip.
“It’s not exactly something I could savor,” I say with a wince as the liquid fire runs down to my stomach.
“I think you’d feel differently if you came out here in January when the temperatures reach around minus twenty and the nights are dark from around three o’clock. There’s nothing better than sitting in front of an open fire sipping a glass of vodka.”