As we walked down the hall, I told him, “You didn’t have to pay for my room.”

“I wanted to.” He said it as if when he wanted to do something, he did it, and I shouldn’t even be questioning him. It was a little intimidating, so I didn’t press the matter further.

“Well, thank you . . . for everything.”

He turned his head toward me, and the look in his eyes was thoughtful but also tinged with something so profound my heartbeat tripped over itself. He didn’t say anything until we stepped outside and I shivered as the cold rushed through my sheer cardigan.

“Where is your coat?”

I should have bought one while I was out today, but Ivan’s phone call and the impending maybe-date had pushed the need to the back of my mind.

“I lost it . . . last night.”

His eyes flickered with recollection and then darkness. He slipped off his wool suit jacket and put it on my shoulders. It was heavy, and it smelled so good my blood warmed, descending to a spot between my legs. He wore a dress shirt and vest underneath it, but still, it was a bitter cold that singed my lungs with each breath.

“What about you?” I asked.

A hint of amusement touched his voice. “As you said, kotyonok, I am very Russian.”

How silly of me to think this man could ever get cold. He was a dark force of nature, heated by testosterone and muscle. He was probably hot all the time.

Albert leaned against a car at the curb smoking a cigarette. Ronan opened the back door and held out his hand to me while saying something in Russian, his attention on Albert. When I only stared at the hand he offered, his gaze came my way. My shallow breath misted in front of my face as I slid my hand into his. Ivory and tan skin. French-tipped nails and tattoos. Soft and rough. The difference flared in slow motion. Dark eyes, slightly narrowed, dropped to our hands before he helped me to step off the curb and into the car.

Silence and his presence crowded the back seat. Ronan’s arm brushed mine, the small contact taking hold of my entire body. An electric current fizzed like that green can of soda in the space between us.

He kept his gaze out the window, but I couldn’t stop drinking him in. How his shirt and vest fit his body like a second skin. The way the black fabric molded his thick arms and chest. Every inch of him seemed hard and formidable. A curious heat inside of me craved to run my hand down this stranger’s stomach and find out if it was as tight as it looked. I’d never felt an attraction like this, and my inexperience threatened to bubble over like a pot of boiling water.

During the ride, he never looked my way once. I wondered if he felt anything I did, or if he only saw me as a nineteen-year-old responsibility.

We pulled up to the curb of a quiet building with gold doors and dim lighting. It didn’t look like our destination, but I held in my questions while Ronan opened the door for me. It was a department store, with marble floors and a sparkly chandelier, and it sat empty except for one wide-eyed saleswoman who stood behind a glass counter.

“I think they’re closed,” I said quietly.

A corner of his lips tipped up. “Pick out a coat, kotyonok.”

I stared at him for a moment, my breath slowing in surprise. Get this fangirl some markers.

Heels clicking on the marble, I walked toward a clothing rack and ran my hand down a mink coat so soft it challenged my principles. Anything here would cost an absolute fortune. I wouldn’t be surprised to find three zeroes on the price tag.

With my back to him, I said, “I hope attacked tourists don’t end up at your door often, because this is turning into a very expensive venture.”

His only response was a smile I felt on my spine.

I turned to tell him I couldn’t accept this, but when my gaze met his, my breath twisted in a knot, the space between my heartbeats zapping like a hot wire. Ronan’s hands rested in his pockets, his watch glinting in the low light. His eyes burned deep, dark, intimidating, but I knew up close, they were an entrancing blue.

I swallowed. “I can’t let you buy me a coat. It’s too much.”

His gaze flickered with displeasure. “Nobody tells me what I can or cannot do.”

I believed him with every cell in me.

What did he do, exactly?

I bit my lip and admitted, “I don’t do fur.”

He raised a brow and drawled, “Don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian too.”

“Ah . . .” I gave him an apologetic smile. “Vegan.”

He regarded me heavily, as if I was an odd breed of woman. His gaze set me on edge, so I distracted myself by perusing the clothing racks. Nothing had a price tag, to my dismay. Or relief.

I ran my hand down a white faux fur coat that had to be the cheapest of the lot and said, “This one.”

His eyes narrowed—apparently, he was on to me—but he didn’t voice his disapproval.

On the way back to the car, a flurry landed on my lashes. I stopped on the sidewalk and lifted my eyes to the sky to watch snow fall for the first time. It was like someone above had torn their wedding dress apart and let the pieces of tulle float to the pavement. I caught a flake in my palm, studying how it melted on my skin within seconds.

Looking up, I noticed Ronan watching me, and warmth rushed to my cheeks at his heavy attention. Quelling the unladylike impulse to catch a snowflake on my tongue, I continued walking to the car.

We arrived at the Moskovskiy ten minutes later. Elegantly dressed couples milled in through the front doors, hand in hand. My palms and neck itched when some slowed to look at us, the eyes on my skin bringing Ivan’s earlier warning back. Goose bumps ran down my arms beneath my thick coat. Ronan didn’t even put his jacket back on.

His Russian blood, I supposed.

We stepped inside, and I took in the high painted ceiling and gold crown molding. It was beautiful, and I wondered if my mother stood in this exact spot.

“You’ve never been to the opera?” Ronan asked.

I shook my head. “Never.”

Eyes on the glittering chandelier, I followed him through the theater, up marble steps, and down a corridor, where a red-vested attendant silently opened the door to a private box giving a perfect view of the stage. Doors simply glided open for this man, while other guests seemed to require the use of their own commoner hands for access within.

“Are you a politician?” My curiosity slipped free as I stepped into the warm box, but on second thought, I wasn’t sure what kind of politician hung out in a dingy restaurant on the wrong side of town while wearing an Audemars Piguet on his wrist.

He smiled. “No.”

It was the only answer I got before we took our seats and watched people file in and take theirs below. In the comfortable yet electric silence, my attention caught on his fingers tapping the armrest, the black raven so close to my own unblemished hand. I had a feeling he understood what I said to him last night, and it was only confirmed when he spoke a single word now.

“Nevermore.”

Ronan pulled his gaze to me and winked.

He had tattoos on his fingers and he just quoted a famous poet. It made me feel ridiculously hot all over. So hot I pulled the blanket of hair off the back of my neck, but the flush only spread further when his stare lit a line of fire down the exposed skin, sliding over my collarbone to settle on the star pendant between my breasts.

A theater attendant stepped into the box, diffusing the thick tension in the air like smoke. He asked for our drinks order, which seemed to be a service only we were experiencing.