“Why? Because you showed you are anxious about meeting my family?” He gently nudged her head upright with his fingers at her chin. “Relax. Forget what you think you know. Forget what you’ve heard and what you’ve been told to believe. Spend the evening with me. Enjoy yourself and get to know the people I call my own.”

The mysterious undercurrent that had woven through all of their interactions thus far blossomed larger. Bolder and sparking with an energy that fueled a sense of anticipation.

“What’s going on?” The question came out as little more than a whisper.

“We’re eating dinner, having drinks and hopefully laughing a fair amount before I take you home.”

It felt like he’d edited a portion of his agenda from the tail end of his statement, but given the shaky emotional terrain she was already bumbling through, she opted to let it go. “You know what I meant.”

He studied her for long moments, the message behind his warm, confident gaze one she wasn’t sure it was even wise to try and comprehend. “I do. But there is nothing for you to do tonight, save enjoy yourself. The rest will take care of itself.”

Inhaling slowly, he inched back and raked her head to toe. “Now, are you steady enough to resume your grand entrance? Or do I need to do something more drastic to unplug your mind?”

She cocked one eyebrow and shot him her best mock frown. “Oh, no you don’t. I know what methods you use to distract women, and I need my wits about me tonight.”

He dipped his head, all gallant formality. “As you wish.” He turned her toward the table and slid his arm back around her waist. “Though, I can’t make any promises about what happens after dinner.”

He couldn’t have timed the suggestive hint any better, the proximity of the table decreasing swiftly enough with each step that she had no choice but to brace for introductions rather than remind him of their platonic relationship.

Thankfully, no one appeared to monitor the rest of their approach. Not even Sergei, whose sole attention was now focused on the young boy seated to the right of him, the one she’d seen in Kir’s picture days ago.

The second they reached the far end of the table, though, all bets were off.

The petite dark-haired woman with an amazing pixie haircut at Sergei’s left homed in on them first.

Then the boy.

Sergei was the last to turn his head, but the moment he pushed back in his chair and stood, every other man at the table stood as well.

Kir led her directly to Sergei, the proprietorial weight of his arm around her back surprising for such a gathering, but one she appreciated all the same.

Sergei glanced at Kir’s hand at her hip, and his mouth twitched. A string of complicated-sounding Russian words rolled from his tongue, every one of them aimed toward Kir, but the wry humor behind them was unmistakable.