His Wicked Heart (EDITING)

Chapter Five

nefarious
(adj.) extremely wicked

●▬▬▬▬๑๑▬▬▬▬●

PAST
ONE YEAR AGO

GENEVIEVE

In no time, the man was here, standing right in front of me, bigger than life and everything rough. The world around me seemed to stop for a moment. The existence of anything else ceased from my mind. Except him. All I could see was him.

Last time, I'd seen him from afar, admired him. I hadn't noticed anything else about him except the pair of emerald green eyes that captivated me. But now that he stood right in front of me, God, he was the most beautiful human being I'd ever seen.

"Privet," He said in a thick Russian voice that never failed to send chills rush through my body. His lips twitched up a little, a small smile crossing over his face, and then he said, "I'm Aleksandr."

It took me a moment to find my voice. I blinked a few times, looking up at his eyes, then looked around. Heat crawled up my body in embarrassment. "H... hi." Clearing my throat, I decided to speak up. "I'm Genevieve."

He smiled once again, this time a little wider. "I've seen you before." I was thrown back to the memory of a few weeks ago by his words. Then a nervous chuckle left my mouth, "Yeah, right." I smiled a little. "I... I do remember. I've seen you too."

"I hope you don't mind," His eyes shone under the neon lights. This time I noticed his appearance too. He was wearing a white button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing the veins of his muscular arms, one hand was tucked into his black pants. "Thought we could catch up," he said, pulling me back from admiring his form.

I looked at the greens of his eyes once again; a hint of curiosity danced beneath those eyes. "Oh, sure."

I was almost ashamed at my loss of words. I was more nervous than I expected myself to be. A man's presence never really affected me. But he seemed to, in a good way of course.

"Drinks?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and all I could do was give him a nod.

Then he ordered drinks for the two of us. His posture was calm and relaxed. His appearance could pass for a deadly, good-looking average Russian man. But then again, everything about him exhibited confidence and something... powerful.

My eyes widened a little when he caught me looking at him. I looked away immediately, hoping my blush wasn't noticeable.

And a thought crossed my mind right after.

He looked familiar.

"Here," he pushed a glass of wine toward me, another remaining in his hand. I took my glass with a little smile. "Thank you."

After taking a sip of my drink, I decided to ask, "Do you come here often?"

I barely knew how to start a conversation, but I'd feel ashamed if I never tried at all. This man, with his ethereal look and fervent voice, deserved every second of my time.