“And she asked for a masquerade ball,” Hazel says. “With gowns and masks and dancing and shit.”
“She thinks this is a fairy tale,” I say. “Yelena’s twenty-two. She doesn’t remember the civil war or the bombings or the fighting in the streets, she just remembers growing up in a mansion with servants. Her whole life, her father has been rich and powerful and she’s been his little princess. Now he’s angling for his daughter to actually be royalty.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I can tell from Hazel’s face that there’s a million things she’s not saying right now.
“It’s not working,” I say. “I don’t care what my father thinks, I’m not interested in Yelena no matter how much he tries to push her on me.”
I pause again.
“I think I’m her date to the masquerade, though,” I say reluctantly.
The corners of Hazel’s eyes wrinkle, just a little.
“You think?” she says, softly. I can’t tell if she’s teasing me.
“I get told a lot of things,” I admit. “I don’t always pay attention to the unimportant ones.”
“This ball seems pretty important,” she says, the corners of her eyes just crinkling. “At least, it had better be. I just got felt up by a seamstress for half an hour.”
That shouldn’t be a sexy thought, but my cock twitches anyway.
“You’ll be in attendance?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “But you’ll have to figure out who I am, since I’ll be wearing a mask.”
“I’ll just look for the girl doing shots of vodka and waltzing wrong,” I say.
Hazel laughs.
“I know better than to do vodka shots now,” she says. “And I’ll have you know I learned to waltz for my best friend’s bat mitzvah, only eleven years ago.”
“Do you remember how?” I ask.
“I’m hoping it’ll come back to me,” she says. “Otherwise, I’m about to embarrass all my dancing partners.”
I hold out my left hand and bow slightly.
Hazel raises one eyebrow and looks at me.
“It’s an invitation to dance,” I say, still holding my hand there. “I thought you knew how.”
“You know we’re in a staircase, right?” she asks.
“Are you declining?” I ask, and let myself smile, just slightly. “It’s very poor manners to decline a dance with a royal, you know.”
“How many times are you going to use that line?” Hazel teases, taking my hand. “With you, it’s always royal this, royal that.”
I slide my other hand around her back, cupping her shoulder blade, and Hazel frowns, then rests her arm on top of mine, her hand just above my bicep. Our sides are touching lightly, and I swallow, reminding myself that there’s a window just behind us, that we’re essentially in public.
“See?” she says.
“We haven’t done any dancing yet, zloyushka,” I say.
“But this was better than you expected,” she says.
“I’ll count off,” I say. “One-two-three, one-two-three...”
We both try to step forward and kick each other. Hazel bursts into laughter, and I grin down at her.
“Shit,” she says.
“Aren’t you glad I’m teaching you to do this now?” I ask. “You could have kicked an important official.”
“I doubt they’ll let me dance with anyone important,” Hazel says, still laughing. “Everyone here knows I’m a walking disaster. I’m sure I’m only invited because they had no choice.”
I count off again, and this time she gets it right. We waltz around the landing very slowly and I count to three in English, over and over again.
When we’re back where we started, still in formation, I pause for a moment.
“You ready for something new?” I ask.
“Okay,” Hazel says.
Chapter Nineteen
Hazel
Before I know what’s happening, Kostya’s pushing me backward, my head plummeting toward the floor. By some miracle, I manage not to scream, but I can hear my gasp echo off the stone walls.
Then he holds me there for a moment, my hair just brushing the floor. His face is inches from my stomach, his strong hand still under my back. He’s holding up most of my body weight with one arm.
“Relax,” he says. “I’m not going to drop you.”
I take a deep breath as liquid fire surges through my body, and I pray that he can’t somehow tell that I’m dripping wet from a damn waltz.
“Promise,” he says.
I force my core muscles to relax, and my spine bends further, my head going back.
Just before he lifts me again, I feel something brush my stomach lightly, through my dress.
Did he just kiss me? I wonder, but then we’re face-to-face again, closer now, and my hair is wild and I’m breathing hard.
“Are your father’s advisors going to be doing that?” I ask, a little breathless.
“I hope not,” he says, his voice low, a light in his gray eyes. “I wouldn’t want some dirty old man dropping you on the dance floor.”
He slides his hand down my spine until it’s resting on my lower back. My hips press against him, almost on their own, his huge erection against my lower belly as a hollow ache opens up inside me.
I’ve never had this reaction to anyone, ever. I feel like I’m putty.
“What dance is this?” I ask, my eyes on his.
He doesn’t answer, just looks at me for a long, long moment.
Then he kisses me again. I can’t help myself, and I wrap my hand around the the back of his neck, holding him to me. I open my mouth under his and deepen the kiss as he walks me backward until I’m up against the cool stone wall, the granite pressing against my shoulder blades.
Now we’re next to the window, so anyone outside can’t see us, but anyone who comes downstairs could. I can’t bring myself to care, though, because Kostya is pressing himself against me like he’s drowning and I’m a life raft.
After a moment, he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, looking down at me. He runs one thumb along my jaw and then down my throat to the hollow, and his touch sends shivers down my whole body.
“Zloyushka, I can’t seem to make good decisions around you,” he murmurs.
“Makes sense,” I say, and take the front of his shirt in my hand, pulling him in. He lets me.
“It does?”
“Bad girl, bad decisions,” I say.
He chuckles as he kisses me again, then moves his lips along my jaw and to that spot right under my ear.
A very quiet noise escapes me, and I swear to god Kostya growls in response.
“I’ve been wondering whether you’d make a noise if I did that,” he says, his lips barely brushing me.
I force myself not to make another one, breathing hard. His lips trail down my neck, slow and hot, and my toes curl inside my shoes, my hand in his hair as he flattens his tongue into the hollow of my throat.
I swallow hard, and he chuckles again.
“Almost as good as the noise,” he says, and it feels like his low, rough voice vibrates through my whole body.