brain to figure out who this person could be, that warranted such passion within her.
“The only name I know him by is—” Her voice dropped off, and he tore his gaze away from her mouth to follow her line of sight.
Cleo gawked at an image he knew very well. He bit the inside of his bottom lip. Staring back at him was an interpretation of the Lion of Midnight .
“No way,”
Her mumbled voice reached him. Licking his lips, he glanced down at the woman beside him. Her gaze flickered back and forth between him and the painting. “That’s just freakily uncanny,” she said before meeting his gaze and sending him a nervous smile.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. Umm, never mind the name, can we see the section that deals with Tsar Nicholas the Second?”
“Of course.” He gestured for her to begin walking. “Right this way.” As they strode away, he noticed her continuing to glance at him, more than mere suspicion in her gaze. “Right in here is our display of Nicholas the Second, Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias.”
Her dark eyes snapped up to his face, her brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t hear that title used with him very often.”
“It is his proper title.”
“Yes, but don’t most call him Tsar Nicholas the Second?”
He cursed silently. She was absolutely right. Nikolas watched as she moved away from him and closer to a large photo of Nicholas II. Moving closer, he heard a light chime ringing. As he waited, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone, flipped it open and said, “Hey there.”
Though it galled him to do so, Nikolas retreated slightly to give her a bit of privacy while on her phone. Her expression was totally different as she spoke to the person on the other end. She had a deep, husky laugh that only served to make the erection in his pants grow harder. As she carried on her conversation, Cleo made her way over to a bench along the wall and sat down, to allow complete attention to the person on the phone. Her sultry southern drawl flowed over him as she spoke rapidly to someone he assumed meant a lot to her.
Finding a spot along the wall that was clear, Nikolas leaned against it and watched her animated actions as she talked.
Cleo was honestly having a hard time focusing on Kenya. Her gaze kept drifting to the powerfully built man propped against the wall. When he stood like he was, his arms strained against the sleeves of his shirt, and his pants conformed tightly to one side, allowing her a perfect look at his rock hard thigh and ass.
She squirmed on the stone bench, the coolness of the material doing very little to quell her ever increasing desire for the man she watched. Kenya must have known her attention was off for she ended the call quickly, saying to give her a ring when she had some time and to stay safe. Even though Kenya had hung up, Cleo kept up the pretense of continuing her conversation. Through lowered lashes, she observed the man with her.
The resemblance between him and this so-called Lion of Midnight had really thrown her. She was surprised it hadn’t hit her immediately. Shaking her head, Cleo realized she must be going crazy. Surely, if there were that much of a similarity, others would be saying it, as well. Granted, she was getting a private tour, after hours, and there were no others around. In fact, she hadn’t even seen night guards.
Without thought, she snapped her phone shut and sighed. Placing her eyes on the man still lounging against the wall, she smiled shyly at him. Then, he pushed away and headed back toward her, moving with purpose and determination. Never had she seen a man move like him before. Ever. There was this way about him that, well, men she knew didn’t have. It was… Hell, she couldn’t explain it; it was just different.
“Your friend?” he asked as he approached.
“Yes, that was Kenya.”
“Everything okay with her?” He sounded oddly concerned, and she was touched, considering he didn’t know
“The only name I know him by is—” Her voice dropped off, and he tore his gaze away from her mouth to follow her line of sight.
Cleo gawked at an image he knew very well. He bit the inside of his bottom lip. Staring back at him was an interpretation of the Lion of Midnight .
“No way,”
Her mumbled voice reached him. Licking his lips, he glanced down at the woman beside him. Her gaze flickered back and forth between him and the painting. “That’s just freakily uncanny,” she said before meeting his gaze and sending him a nervous smile.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine. Umm, never mind the name, can we see the section that deals with Tsar Nicholas the Second?”
“Of course.” He gestured for her to begin walking. “Right this way.” As they strode away, he noticed her continuing to glance at him, more than mere suspicion in her gaze. “Right in here is our display of Nicholas the Second, Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias.”
Her dark eyes snapped up to his face, her brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t hear that title used with him very often.”
“It is his proper title.”
“Yes, but don’t most call him Tsar Nicholas the Second?”
He cursed silently. She was absolutely right. Nikolas watched as she moved away from him and closer to a large photo of Nicholas II. Moving closer, he heard a light chime ringing. As he waited, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone, flipped it open and said, “Hey there.”
Though it galled him to do so, Nikolas retreated slightly to give her a bit of privacy while on her phone. Her expression was totally different as she spoke to the person on the other end. She had a deep, husky laugh that only served to make the erection in his pants grow harder. As she carried on her conversation, Cleo made her way over to a bench along the wall and sat down, to allow complete attention to the person on the phone. Her sultry southern drawl flowed over him as she spoke rapidly to someone he assumed meant a lot to her.
Finding a spot along the wall that was clear, Nikolas leaned against it and watched her animated actions as she talked.
Cleo was honestly having a hard time focusing on Kenya. Her gaze kept drifting to the powerfully built man propped against the wall. When he stood like he was, his arms strained against the sleeves of his shirt, and his pants conformed tightly to one side, allowing her a perfect look at his rock hard thigh and ass.
She squirmed on the stone bench, the coolness of the material doing very little to quell her ever increasing desire for the man she watched. Kenya must have known her attention was off for she ended the call quickly, saying to give her a ring when she had some time and to stay safe. Even though Kenya had hung up, Cleo kept up the pretense of continuing her conversation. Through lowered lashes, she observed the man with her.
The resemblance between him and this so-called Lion of Midnight had really thrown her. She was surprised it hadn’t hit her immediately. Shaking her head, Cleo realized she must be going crazy. Surely, if there were that much of a similarity, others would be saying it, as well. Granted, she was getting a private tour, after hours, and there were no others around. In fact, she hadn’t even seen night guards.
Without thought, she snapped her phone shut and sighed. Placing her eyes on the man still lounging against the wall, she smiled shyly at him. Then, he pushed away and headed back toward her, moving with purpose and determination. Never had she seen a man move like him before. Ever. There was this way about him that, well, men she knew didn’t have. It was… Hell, she couldn’t explain it; it was just different.
“Your friend?” he asked as he approached.
“Yes, that was Kenya.”
“Everything okay with her?” He sounded oddly concerned, and she was touched, considering he didn’t know
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