I cut across the formal living room and am almost to the entryway when I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs. I freeze. It’s too late to run back to the kitchen—whoever is coming would see me retreating. But I can’t force myself to keep walking into some unknown social situation.
Then a set of strong thighs come into view. Followed by a devastatingly tapered waist wrapped in a tight gray t-shirt. I don’t need to keep looking to know this body is topped with a square jaw and molten amber eyes.
Ivan jogs down the stairs.
He looks like he’s in a hurry. Maybe he’ll breeze right out the door. Maybe he won’t see me.
I stay still, watching him descend the stairs and start to turn in my direction. But before he can see me, a female voice cuts through the quiet.
“Why haven’t you called me?”
A
