Page 48 of Lord of Vice

“Mr. Sokolov. Can I bring you your first drink personally?”

Mr. Sokolov. Can I have your firstborn?

Okay, the last question was only in my mind, but I could tell that’s what one or both of them was thinking. I’d known bad boys were fashionable, but it would seem criminals were all the rage.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Or so the saying went.

“The usual table is fine,” he answered rather curtly. “And please make certain my furry friend is brought fresh spring water in a bowl immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the girls looked at me as if choking wasn’t good enough. Neither was ripping out my eyeballs. She turned on her heel, her high heels clipping on the floor as she walked away.

That left the other drooling woman to guide us to our table. I had to admit the location was without a doubt the best in the joint. It was situated on one of six distinct private balconies, with a window allowing the guest to view the impressive-looking outdoor bar and grill complete with a swimming pool.

When she placed a menu down in front of me, she glared curtly, but of course he didn’t see it.

“I almost vomited a little in my mouth,” I said in a dark voice after she’d trotted away.

He was even more amused, his entire face lighting up. The fact he was wearing a stunning shade of violet short-sleeve shirt matched with a pair of linen pants far too white to be adventuring with a pup was a powerful draw.

I could tell he was entirely comfortable in his skin, not caring about what anyone said about him. Which I also found extremely attractive. Maybe too much so.

“You are a very funny girl. Why would you say something like that?”

“Why?” I asked and before I could continue, a very handsome waiter arrived with a towel over his arm, a steel bowl in one hand and a tall bottle of spring water in the other.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

When he didn’t address me, I was certain my Russian lover or captor was going to jump out of his seat, pummeling the man’s face into pulp. Thank God the dude quickly realized his faux pas, smiling at me as if I was queen bee.

“What do we owe the pleasure of having such special guests with us today?”

“Just lunch, Aaron. Nothing more,” Kraven answered for me. “Make certain the pup has a perfect hamburger and afterwards, he’ll need some plain vanilla ice cream. We’ll order in a little while but we’d both like to start with a top shelf margarita with salt, ice only. You know the kind of tequila I prefer.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter cracked the bottle, acting as if it was a fine bottle of wine. I said nothing as he poured half the contents into the bowl, gently placing the remainder on our table.

I glared at Kraven after the waiter walked away. “You do realize ordering for a lady is Neanderthal behavior. Right?” My pup happily lapped at the fresh water, making a mess on the floor. Ah, what a shame. Wasn’t I being a brat today?

“You know, I’ve been compared to many atrocities in my life but never a caveman.”

“See what you’re missing?”

He grinned and sat back, studying me intently. “The vomit comment?”

“Oh, come on. You cannot tell me that you didn’t realize those two women were ready to have your babies.”

There was genuine surprise on his face, which now amused me. “They’re hostesses.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But they wouldn’t mind being Russian princesses, even if they had to share you with each other. Think about it, a little harem of your own.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll need to break it to them I’m not a Russian prince. Huh?” He leaned across the table, allowing me one giant whiff of his incredible, sultry aftershave. He was messing with every part of me, pushing the boundaries of sexuality. I wanted to ask him who’d concocted the deliciousness filled with exotic spices and citrus, some crazy kind of dark wood and a dash of pepper but I thought it inappropriate.

But I took a deep whiff anyway.

Before I could regroup, fanning my face from the excessive heat, our drinks arrived. I’d never had bartenders make a drink that fast. Not one. He was something special after all.

“I have a feeling that you’re royalty whether you embrace that or not. It’s like you own this town.”