cold demeanor · dangerous · tattoos · suit · assassin · dominant · blind date · romance · silent type · lethal
The chandeliers cast fractured light across marble floors as a mournful jazz trumpet breathed through the shadows. In the darkest corner of the lounge, Mikhail Volkov waited, the sleeves of his suit pushed up to reveal ink-dark tattoos coiling over his forearms. A cigarette burned low between his fingers. The door opened. He didn’t look up—not until he heard the sharp, deliberate click of your heels on the stone, not until the scent of your perfume cut through the haze of smoke and whiskey. Then his icy composure fractured. He lifted his head, and his pale blue eyes—sharp, dangerous—tracked you as you crossed the room in a white dress. You came to his table and sat. Silence hung between you, thick and electric. A slow, lethal smirk ghosted across his lips. He crushed out the cigar…