She stared up through the passenger’s side window at the elegant lighted marquee overhead and the swank entry with its smoky windows and black carpet. “I wish you’d told me we were coming here. I’d have gone for something a little dressier.”

“Nonsense,” he said, putting the gearshift in park. “You look exceptional.”

He got out of the car just as a valet opened her door. To his credit, the valet tried to help her out, but Kir cut him off before the eager young man could fully extend his hand.

As soon as he had her outside her door, Kir settled a possessive hand at her hip and guided her right through the lobby, tipping his head to the maître d’ as they passed.

Where the exterior was everything bold and showy, the interior was pure midseventies class. More black carpet. Crimson velvet chairs and rounded corner booths. Gold detailing and crystal chandeliers. The people in the lobby and seated at the tables might have been wearing contemporary attire, but it was all too easy to imagine women wearing dresses with flared skirts and suit-clad men smoking cigarettes.

“Wow,” she murmured low enough only Kir could hear. “No wonder everyone’s clamoring to eat here.”

“Wait until you taste the food,” Kir said equally low. “The first time Sergei visited the original André’s was when he decided to enter the restaurant business.”

Sergei.

The main person she was here to meet.

To come face to face with every dire or frightening scenario she’d played out in her head.

A large rectangular table sat isolated from the rest of the crowd at the back of the room. Several people were already seated, but the person situated at the end of the table and already staring at her was unmistakable.

Sergei Petrovyh.

Pictures didn’t do him justice, either in looks or in intimidation. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark demeanor. And every ounce of his fierce attention was lasered on her.

Her heart, already fatigued from the night’s unexpected thrills and highly visceral responses, stuttered as though it was tempted to stop altogether. Her throat constricted to the point she couldn’t breathe. She gripped Kir’s hand at her hip and her steps faltered. “Kir—”

He spun her around before she could finish and moved in close, the warmth of his body coiling around her and melting the sudden chill against her skin.

She braced her hand atop his sternum. Beneath her palm, the fine cotton of his button-down was cool, and his heart thrummed a steady rhythm unlike the riotous beat of her own. “I’m not sure my being here is a good idea.”

“Look at me, vozlyublennaya.” Soft words. Comforting ones that matched the strength of Kir’s arms around her.

She lifted her gaze.

“You are exactly where I want you to be, and you are safe,” he said. “Never more safe than you are in this moment. You have my vow.”

The particular wording was puzzling. Something she might have dug deeper to sort out if her mind hadn’t rerouted and coughed up a mental replay of her behavior. She shook her head and hung it on an ironic laugh. “Well, that had to have made a particularly poor impression, didn’t it?”