I pulled the book out, the heavy weight substantial in my hand. The gold-leaf-embossed cover was aged, distressed around the corners, the brown leather soft from many loving reads over the years. It was a book of Latin poetry, a language I couldn’t read, but I still gently flipped through the thick parchment pages and found it all beautiful nonetheless.

I was lost in scanning each page, when I felt another presence and knew I wasn’t alone in the room any longer.

“Not enjoying the party?”

Despite feeling someone else, the deeply accented voice behind me pulled a startled squeak from my parted lips. I spun around, the heavy book falling from my hands to land with a great thump on the ground.

The large man stood in the open doorway with his hands in his pockets, his shoulder leaning against the frame. An easy smile was on his face, but it made me feel on edge, uneasy.

I knew him… one of the two Russian men who stopped at the table to speak with Arlo. The one I knew was named Nikolai.

For a long time, he just stood there staring at me, that smile still on his face. It was an unnerving feeling, as if he was trying to peel away the pieces that made up me to find a weakness. As if he was a predator that scented injured prey.

And then he pushed off the doorframe and stalked toward me, the material of his tuxedo stretched across his muscular body. I was frozen as he moved closer, then bent at the waist to pick up the book.

He stared down at it for long seconds, flipping through the pages, his smirk still in place. Nikolai started reciting a passage from one of the pages, his Latin smooth and fluent. And when he was finished, he closed the book with a snap and lifted his head to stare in my eyes.

“I should go,” I said with a voice that sounded stronger than I felt. “I’m sure Arlo’s waiting for me.”

He didn’t move, his body blocking my way. “He’s otherwise engaged.” He leaned forward, and I tensed.

He froze and looked at me, just a tilt of his head, his gaze holding mine as he slid the book back in place on the shelf, his warm breath moving along my cheek and teasing a tendril of hair that fell from my chignon.

His chuckle was low and deep as he straightened. “As beautiful as you are, I have no interest. Didn’t Arlo tell you?” He lifted a dark brow. “I’m an engaged man.” His tone was easygoing, but the air around him spoke of other things, dangerous intentions.