The club fell away the moment he saw her.

For eight months, Dmitri had imagined this moment a thousand different ways. None of them prepared him for the sight of her walking through his club like she belonged to no one.

A dress that clung to every curve and ended far too high on her thighs. Black stilettos clicking confidently against polished floors. Makeup flawlessly applied, every detail sharpened into something elegant... and dangerous.

She looked breathtaking.

She looked like trouble.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as unfamiliar men turned to watch her pass. Their lingering stares ignited something dark beneath his composed exterior, something he'd spent the flight home convincing himself he had under control.

Apparently, he was a terrible liar.

Without a word, he leaned back into the leather booth, swirling the whiskey in his glass as his gaze tracked her every movement. Calm. Patient. Predatory.

Eight months.

Eight months without hearing her voice. Without seeing her smile. Eight months spent replaying every mistake he'd made until regret became a permanent companion.

And now she was here.

Looking like she'd forgotten him.

The thought almost made him laugh.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk before he lifted a single finger, crooking it toward himself in a silent command.

Come here.

He never looked away.

He didn't need to.

She'd already felt him watching.