“Yes.”
“And does it work?”
“Usually.”
She studies me in the dim light of the car. The diamonds at her ears catch every passing streetlamp. Her red dress is mostly hidden beneath her coat, but I know what’s under it. I saw enough in the hall to have that image burned into my head.
Bare shoulders. That high slit. The way the silk moved over her hips.
She notices me looking, and her breath changes. Not fear.
The car feels smaller at once.
I should stop. We’re minutes away from the auction. Viktor is in the front passenger seat. A driver sits behind the wheel. There’s a privacy partition, yes, but not enough distance to pretend we are alone.
Anya looks away first.
I reach for her hand. She stiffens, then lets me take it.
Her glove is soft under my thumb. Black satin. A useless, beautiful thing. I pull it from her fingers slowly, one finger at a time.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Distracting you.”
“This is your attempt?”
“Yes.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“I know.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
There’s the spark I wanted.
The nervous bride is still there beneath the silk and diamonds, but so is the woman who touched me last night because she was angry I had assumed wrong. The woman who kissed me like she wanted to punish both of us with her mouth.
I bring her bare hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. Her breath catches.
I turn her hand over and kiss the inside of her wrist. Her pulse kicks beneath my mouth.
“Yaromir,” she says.
I look at her over her wrist. “Yes?”
“We are in a car.”
“I know.”
“We’re going to be there soon.”
“I know that too.”
My mouth moves higher, to the sensitive skin just above her glove line. She swallows. Her body shifts toward me by a fraction, then stops, as if she realizes what she has done and resents it.
That almost makes me smile.