No one is tracking whether the CEO of Lazarev Global is touching a New York Times reporter. No one is connecting my face to his face.
We’re just two people in the dark.
The same as everyone else.
When I spy a chance, I pull Kir sideways into an alcove behind a heavy curtain. The fabric falls shut behind us. It’s a tiny space, barely enough for two bodies, and he looks down at me through the white mask. I can see his mouth and the hard line of his jaw.
I rise up on my toes and kiss him, mask to mask. His free hand finds the bare skin of my back through the open panel of the dress and his palm spreads wide between my shoulder blades, grounding me.
Our tongues clash briefly. When I pull back, he chases me for half a second before stopping himself.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“It was
