He smiled. “Kotyonok.” When I opened the door for him, he stepped inside, his large body and presence sucking the air out of the space. He strolled into my room like he owned it—and maybe he did. Maybe he was a successful hotelier. Curiosity bloomed, but I kept it inside. I asked him about his occupation before, and I refused to admit I was so nervous about kissing him I didn’t hear a word. He set the bag on the table by the window, and I told him, “I’ve never been as well-fed as I have in the last few days.” “Not surprising, Ms. French Fries.” He glanced at me, then down at the flowy sunflower dress I wore. A little leg showed between the hem and my thigh-high socks, and the mere touch of his gaze on that sliver of skin sent my heartbeat off its tracks. I leaned against the dresser while he moved around the room touching my stuff. The Vanity Fair on the nightstand, a tube of strawberry lip gloss. He lifted a headband with the tip of his finger. Apparently, I was an interesting creature. “So this is where moy kotyonok sleeps,” he said, standing at the foot of my neatly made bed. “Tt’s not as comfortable as your office couch.” He cast a lazy gaze my way. “Sounds like you miss it.” “T do.” The conversation was practically harmless, but the innuendo grabbed ahold of my throat. He sat on the couch and fixed me with a heavy stare. A ray of remaining sunlight from the window fanned across his black-suited form, making the blue heart-shaped earring between his fingers sparkle. I reached up to find an earlobe bare. He smiled. I didn’t know how long the earring was missing or how he got ahold of it, but he said nothing, only twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. His presence overwhelmed my senses, each breath more difficult to push out. “Are you enjoying your stay?” I swallowed. “Very much.” “What do you like about Moscow? It can’t be our french fries.” He was amused. I chewed my lip in contemplation and fidgeted with my necklace. “The architecture. The vibrant colors and rich history. I like how I can hear the