All of my calm flees. My heart does a loopy lurch inside my chest, even as the fuzziness at the edges of my vision intensifies. “Thank you,” I say breathlessly. “Happy birthday to you too. I hope you’ve had a chance to celebrate it?”
Fuck, I hope I’m making sense. I’ve never felt like this before, completely out of it yet on edge. My heart is racing madly, my palms are sweating, and my eyes can’t stop scouring over his face, his body… every strong, vital inch of him. Is it possible he’s grown even harder, more intimidating, in the fifteen months since my prom?
Twenty-three or not, the powerful, self-assured man in front of me seems more than capable of ruling a dark empire—or the Leonov organization, which is one and the same.
“I’m still celebrating it,” he says as his eyes travel over
