2. Anton

2

ANTON

I’m not usually one to drown my sorrows with booze, but after today, I wanted nothing more than to kick back and have a few drinks.

Having a live-in mother with early onset Alzheimer’s is difficult, not only because half the time she has no idea who I am, but because she requires round-the-clock care. It doesn’t leave me with much free time to just switch off and enjoy a drink by myself, let alone with a beautiful woman.

I can’t help but resent the loss of my freedom.

But today has been particularly tough. It’s the tenth-year anniversary of my father’s death.

In some ways, it feels like barely a month has passed since I last spoke to my father. Even after all this time, I still can’t quite believe that he’s actually gone.

It makes it even harder when my mother demands to know where he is. She screamed and yelled at me all day, demanding to talk with him on the phone. Nothing could calm her down, so I ended up having to give her a sedative.

As soon as she was down for the night, I made a beeline for Espionage , the bar I own in the city.

And not two minutes after I settle, an angel falls on my lap.

Thank you, universe.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” The stunning brunette clings to my shoulders.

My hands go to her tiny waist to steady her, her small breasts pressed up against my chest as she flicks her dark bangs out of her eyes.

She looks up at me under her dark lashes, her ocean-blue eyes regarding me with curiosity.

Oh, zayka , you’ll make the perfect distraction.

“That’s quite all right.” My mouth goes dry as I try not to focus on the fact that her ass is rubbing up against my cock. “You are more than welcome to sit in my lap any time.”

She laughs, the sound almost whimsical.

“Honestly, I shouldn’t be allowed to wear heels, I’m so clumsy.” I catch a hint of an accent in her breathless voice, which only makes her sound sexier.

“I definitely can’t complain.” I let my fingers casually caress the bare inch of skin between her skirt and sweater.

She’s so soft and warm that I’m reluctant to let her go.

She offers me a shy smile before getting to her feet and smoothing out her skirt, and I take that as my cue to finally take her in. She is gorgeous all over.

“What’s your name?”

“Nina.”

“Nina.”

Her throat bobs as I say her name.

“I’m Anton Koslov.” I hold out my hand.

She hesitates for a moment before taking it in hers. Her fingers are warm and delicate compared to my rough calloused hands.

“Can I buy you a drink, Nina?”

“I think it should be the other way around.” She blushes.

I can’t help but laugh as I get to my feet and pull a chair out for her.

As she moves to sit, her floral perfume floats around me, and I bite back a groan.

I want nothing more than to pull her back into my lap and caress every inch of bare skin with my fingers. To have her perfect ass rub up against my hardening cock as I lick and suck at her neck.

I’m like a fucking feral animal.

I sink my nails into my palm just to give myself something other than Nina to focus on for a minute.

How long has it been since I’ve taken a woman to my bed?

From the way Nina is making my body react, it feels like years.

I catch the attention of a passing waitress and order us both a drink before sinking back down into my seat, angling my body toward the fallen angel.

She’s so petit, like a doll, and exactly my type.

I send a silent prayer to whoever is keeping tabs as I look at Nina.

“I’m guessing from your accent that you’re not from around here?”

She smiles, shaking her head. “I’m going to guess that you’re Russian?”

“Very good.” She smooths her hands over her lilac skirt.

I force myself not to look down again, to keep my eyes trained on her face, if only to stop my cock from becoming even harder.

Our drinks are set down in front of us, and I eagerly take a long swig of my scotch, welcoming the burn of the amber liquid. “Forgive me for prying, but what did you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t.” She swirls her straw around in her glass. “But it’s Balakin.”

“Balakin… I’ve not heard that before.”

“My family is back in Russia. It’s just me who came over to America.”

“Ah, that explains it. So, tell me, Nina, what brings you to New York?” I lean forward, resting an elbow on the table.

Nina takes a sip of her drink as she regards me with apparent interest.

I shift in my seat, my cock straining against my zipper under her intense gaze.

Her eyes are mesmerizing. It’s almost painful for me to look away.

“I’m studying ballet at the Institute of Dance.”

“Nina the ballerina.” I grin as my eyes flick over her body once more.

She’s so delicate, like a China doll, with the most perfect skin and bright blue eyes.

“Obviously, it was meant to be.” Her lips twitch as she fights a smile.

“Fate seems to be on your side.”

She shrugs, her pale cream sweater hanging off one shoulder.

“You look like a ballerina.”

“Oh?” She quirks an eyebrow.

“I mean, you look very… athletic .” I clear my throat and shift slightly in my seat as I try my hardest not to imagine how flexible she must be.

“I’ve been dancing since I was three. Ballet has been my life for nineteen years. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“That level of dedication is impressive.”

Nina shrugs, brushing off the compliment as she glances around. Her eyes land on a spot behind my shoulder, and she’s trying her best not to smile.

I turn and follow her gaze, immediately spotting a table with three girls, all eagerly waving at me. I can’t help but chuckle as I offer them my best charming smile before waving the waitress back over.

“Make sure that the drinks on the table over there are added to my tab.” I slip a hundred-dollar bill into her apron.

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that.” Nina flushes again, but I wave a hand.

“It’s the least I can do, considering I stole their friend for the rest of the night.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“You’re very confident.”

“You’re the one who decided to sit on my lap.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender.

Her cheeks grow a stronger shade of pink, and she looks away. “So, are those your wing women?”

“No, nothing like that.” Nina chuckles. “They’re just some friends from the IOD.”

“That sounds like either a cult or some sort of war device. Maybe a war device used by a cult.”

Nina throws her head back and laughs, exposing her long neck to me that’s practically begging to be explored with my tongue.

“It’s the Institute of Dance. We call it IOD for short.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what people in a cult would say.”

“To be honest, from the amount of time we spend there, it may as well be.”

“It mustn’t leave much time for socializing.”

“Not really, and when we do, we tend to just hang out with other dancers.” She dips her chin in the direction of her friends. “We’re on a pretty intense schedule, not just with dance but in every area of our lives, and it’s hard to find people outside of our world who truly understand.”

Sounds a lot like being part of my life.

“So, what do you do?” Nina delicately sips from her straw.

Every move she makes is so precise, so elegant.

I can only imagine what she looks like when she actually dances.

I shrug as I reach for my glass.

“I have many ventures. Trust me, what I do is a lot less impressive.”

“Oh, I don’t know, you seem to be doing very well for yourself.”

“Perhaps, but don’t let this fool you. I didn’t build what I have on my own. I work for my family’s business, so I really can’t take much of the credit.”

Nina is silent for a moment, her blue eyes watching me closely.

“You’re very modest.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t think you big New York bro types had a modest bone in your body.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize we were stereotyping here.” I chuckle.

“You’re saying you haven’t already put me into a box?” She sets down her empty glass, leaning forward, giving me a perfect view of the dip between her breasts.

“You’re one of a kind, Nina Balakin. You could never be put into a box.”

She blinks, her rosebud mouth opening and closing as she fights for words.

I can’t help but feel smug that I’ve made her speechless.

“Would you like another?” I glance at her empty glass.

“Please.” She runs her fingers through her long hair.

I wave to the waitress, reaching into my pocket and pulling out another hundred-dollar bill and tucking it into her apron. “Keep them coming.”

I flash Nina a wink.

She looks subtly impressed as the waitress scurries away.

“I didn’t think they allowed table service here?”

“They don’t, but I’m the owner. And besides, I always get what I want.”