Isaak’s eyes darken. His finger tightens around his cutlery. “You need to be careful what you say to me, kiska.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I demand.
He arches a surprised eyebrow. “Tell you what?”
I push back my chair and it scrapes the floor, making an ear-piercing screech. “About the message Maxim sent for me.”
I’ve never wanted to kill Maxim so much in my life.
No matter how we start, it always ends up here—in a fight. With that f*****g blowhard in the middle of every argument.
It’s hard to concentrate on my arguments, though, because she looks like a f*****g Amazonian princess tonight. The dress she’s wearing is feminine in color and composition.
But the silhouette and the bodice are strong. Powerful.
She looks like every f*****g fantasy I’ve had since I was a boy
