Mal stands waiting for me near the foot of the bed.
He’s in a beautiful fitted black suit with a crisp white dress shirt open at the throat, no tie. His black leather shoes are polished to a mirror shine. His wavy dark hair has been brushed back against his scalp and glossed with some kind of pomade. The unruly ends curl against his collar.
He’s breathtaking. Gangster chic, a dangerous beast disguised in a gentleman’s clothing.
He takes me in with one greedy look, licks his lips, then growls something hotly in Russian.
My blood thrumming in my veins, I whisper, “You look nice, too.”
“Come here.”
The hand he holds out is a magnet. So is that hungry look in his eyes, drawing me in. I cross the room with butterflies flitting madly around in my stomach and step into his arms.
He kisses
