Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
As if he can sense my clit is hot and swollen, he suddenly swivels those translucent, wolf-like eyes in my direction. I freeze with shock as our gazes collide. Something flashes in the silvery depths of his eyes, and the air around us becomes thick, almost liquid. I don’t understand what is going on, but my heart misses a beat, and my breath comes out shallow and fast. Without warning a shutter falls over his eyes and nothing of those strange and wild emotions in those crazy seconds remain.
“Eighteen, huh? A big one,” he drawls, breaking into a grin.
Jesus, I never noticed before, but his teeth are simply amazing. So wonderfully straight and white.
“I hear it’s only downhill from here,” I croak.
Viktor’s eyebrows rise with surprise. “Hey, easy there. I’m nearly ten years older than you. The way you say it, my life is nearly over.”
“Oh, Mr. Leshchenko, you’re still so young and in your prime. Try being almost forty,” Justine pipes up loyally.
“Almost forty is a fine thing. I look forward to all the wisdom the years will bring to me,” Viktor says, before turning to me. “Big plans for tonight, Amelia?”
I feel my face flame with embarrassment. “Of course. I have a hot date with the new JoJo Moyes book.”
“That’s what you’re doing on your eighteenth birthday?” Leanne asks, aghast.
Justine scowls. “Screw reading. You cannot spend this important day like that, Amelia. I won’t allow it.”
“Justine is right. You only turn eighteen once. I’m at a loose end tonight anyway. Let me treat you all to dinner. What do you say?”
I swallow hard. Can I handle a night with Viktor Leshchenko without him guessing how utterly besotted I am with him?
“I can’t go, I’ve got pottery class tonight, but you should definitely go, Amelia,” Mrs. Brent urges.
I would be wiser to say no, but I really want to get out and have some fun. And the others will be there. It’s not like it’s going to be awkward.
I feel myself smiling and nodding my head. “Yeah, ok, that sounds great.”
Viktor smiles, “Good.”
“Actually, I can’t make it,” Justine excuses herself, a sly smile on her face. “I have my kid’s school play tonight. He’ll never forgive me if I’m not there.”
“And I have a PTA meeting, so I’ll have to pass too, but you two have fun,” Leanne adds with a little wink at Justine.
I know for sure Leanne doesn’t have a PTA meeting. Why are they all pretending they have prior engagements? Have I made my obsession with Viktor that obvious? I turn to look at him. He will call it off now I think, trying to ignore the disappointment I feel.
But he doesn’t.
“Pick you up at eight?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked.
I’m so bemused I can only nod.
There is a strange look in Viktor’s eyes as he stands up and heads for the door. I’m still staring at his broad back when he disappears out of sight.
Did I just agree to a date with my boss?
No, I tell myself sternly. It’s nothing like that. It was meant to be all of us, but the others couldn’t make it.
Telling myself that does nothing to ease the excitement swirling around inside of me at the thought of spending time alone with Viktor, though. I know nothing will happen between us, but it could still be fun… and it won’t hurt at all that Viktor is so, so, so freaking easy on the eye.
11
AMELIA
The night is actually going perfectly well.
Viktor picked me up right on time and though he made no reference to my appearance, I caught the micro-second unconscious widening of his eyes when he first saw me and the instant and instinctive reaction to veil his expression.
I’m wearing a blue dress, the one I bought with part of my first paycheck. At the time, a voice in my head scolded that I was being frivolous, that I would never go anywhere nice enough to wear it, but I told myself it was a treat I deserved, especially since it was on sale. Boy, am I glad I bought it. This restaurant is definitely not the sort of place you go in jeans and a sparkly top.
It's one of those terribly upmarket, exclusive places, with tall ceilings and a bar area that is made from one long smooth piece of copper. Liveried waiters glide around silently serving classy people seated around pristine white tables.
“Why are there no prices on the menu?” I whisper.
At first, he seems surprised by my question, then he smiles, and I can’t decide if it’s a mocking smile or a self-deprecating one.
“It’s a pretentious affection. Here have mine,” he says, handing his menu to me and taking mine off me.
It is only then I realize I’m in one those restaurants where the woman gets a menu without prices.