Chapter 10 – EMMA
EMMA
I’m going to seduce Bodhi Lennox today.
The thought should terrify me, and it does, a little, but I mostly feel something else. Something dangerously close to excitement.
I’ve been lying here for hours, staring at the ceiling. As dawn’s light creeps in through the window, I’m running through my plan over and over. It’s insane. It’s reckless. And it could get me killed.
But I’m already dead, aren’t I? Saturday is coming whether I like it or not. The only question is whether I go to that auction as Kozlov’s prized virgin and let someone else decide my fate, or take some of that power and control back.
Being killed after getting a taste of Bodhi Lennox sounds a hell of a lot better than what awaits me now. At least I’d go out with a bang. Literally.
I snort at my own awful joke, then immediately feel daft. This is serious. This is life and death.
Once you accept that nothing matters, there’s a strange kind of freedom in choosing for yourself, even if it’s the last choice you ever make.
And I choose to get rid of the V-card I’ve guarded so carefully until now.
God, I’m so out of my depth.
I close my eyes and let myself imagine it. Bodhi’s massive hands on my skin. His weight over me, that low growl he makes, except instead of frustration, it would be desire, those brown eyes blazing as I make him lose control.
Heat pools low in my belly, and I squeeze my thighs together, biting my lip.
Okay. It might not be quite like that, but still. A girl can dream. Except I don’t need a dream right now, I need a plan. An actual plan, not just fantasies.
Focus.
The problem is I have absolutely no idea how to seduce a man.
My ex-fiancé was my high school sweetheart, a friendship first that grew into more.
But when I wanted to wait until we were married, and it became clear he only proposed because he thought that would seal the deal, I got a nasty insight into the mindset of some young men.
He dumped me and then slept with my frenemy from the swim team barely a week later.
It cemented a dark belief in my mind that I was never quite able to shake. Men want my body, not me. And so, I decided they weren’t getting it. Not until I was certain.
Since then, my dating history consists of a few awkward boyfriends in college, some fumbling make-out sessions with a friend of my brother’s, including one deeply uncomfortable incident involving a bra clasp that neither of us could figure out.
Each time they pursued me, but I was able to shut things down whenever I wanted.
I’ve read spicy books. I’ve watched movies. Bodhi’s right though, I have no real experience.
And here, at the mercy of a house full of gangsters, I doubt I’ll be able to stop things escalating once they start. I certainly can’t expect romance and tenderness, or even mind-blowing orgasms.
So, I might not know what I’m doing, but I do know one thing: Bodhi wants me. I felt the evidence of that pretty clearly last night, so his body might be on board, even if his mouth is saying otherwise.
I’ll just have to break down his resistance. Appeal to his baser instincts and shut down that rational, thinking side of his brain. How hard can it be?
A floorboard creaks somewhere in the corridor outside.
My eyes snap open, and I hold my breath as I listen to careful footsteps getting closer.
Anticipation builds inside me. It’s like the air in the room changes, grows thicker, charged with electricity.
Somehow, I know it’s him. I can feel it in my gut.
My skin prickles with awareness, and I swear I can almost smell him, a woodsy scent that surrounded me when he pinned me to the bed last night.
He’s coming.
My heart kicks into a gallop. This is it. Time to put my non-existent seduction skills to the test.
The footsteps stop outside my door, and he doesn’t move for a second, his breathing steady and even as he waits, for what, I don’t know.
When I hear the soft clink of metal as a key slides into the lock, I move without thinking, throwing off the covers and darting across the room. Snatching a fistful of underwear from the top drawer, all brand new with tags still on, I dart into the bathroom.
The bathroom door swings shut behind me just as I hear the main door begin to open.
“Emma?” His voice, so deep and rough with something that might be concerning, makes my stomach flip.
I ignore it and turn on the shower, cranking the heat until steam starts to fill the small space.
“Emma? You in there?” He’s closer now, a gentle click telling me he’s stepped inside and shut the door.
“Shower.” I call back, trying to sound casual and not like I’m having a minor panic attack. “Give me a minute.”
I strip off the dress I slept in and step under the spray, gasping at the heat.
I didn’t realise how much I needed to wash the stress of yesterday away until the warm water hits my skin.
I grab a bottle of something that smells expensive and floral, squirting it into my palm and running it through my hair, over my shoulders, and down my arms.
If I’m going to do this, I can’t smell like stale cigar smoke from that club last night.
Thirty seconds. That’s all I allow before I shut off the water, step off and towel dry, giving myself a pep talk as I slip on some lacy underwear that leaves very little to the imagination. I can see my nipples through the thin material, which is equally transparent at the gusset.
I know I was going for sexy, but these reveal everything.
I wipe the steam from the mirror and stare at my reflection as I slip on the cream silk dressing gown hanging on the back of the door.
Okay, Emma. You can do this. You have... assets. Men like your assets. Just go out there and be sexy.
How hard can it be?
My reflection looks deeply unconvinced.
“You are a seductress,” I whisper to myself, trying to channel every femme fatale I’ve ever seen in movies. “You are confident. You are alluring. You are...”
Desperate.
I take a deep breath, adjust my bra one more time, pushing the girls a little higher, and then curl my fingers around the door handle. My heart is pounding so hard, I can feel it in my throat.
Opening the door, cool air rushes over my damp skin as I pause in the doorway.
Bodhi is standing by the window, his back to me, looking out at the grounds below.
He’s changed since last night, wearing a fresh black T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and around his bulging biceps in a way that should be illegal.
His sun-kissed brown hair is up in a man-bun, and the combat trousers he’s wearing show off his long, muscular legs and tight ass to perfection. When he hears the door open, he turns.
And stops.
His dark eyes sweep over me, from my wet hair dripping onto my chest, where the dressing gown hangs open in a deep V, and down along the hem of the dressing gown that hits mid-thigh, to my bare legs and feet.
Something flickers in his expression, like a flash of lightning, there and gone too fast to identify.
“What are you doing?” His gaze settles on my nipples that are hardening under his attention, before his eyes slowly travel back up to my innocent expression, pretending not to look at how my gown gapes as I move.
Instead of answering, I sashay toward him, trying to remember how women in movies make this look effortless. Hips swaying. Slow steps. Smouldering eye contact. Acting as if there’s nothing odd about strutting around in a barely there negligee in front of a stranger.
I’m about three steps in when I realize he’s looking at me strangely. Not with desire. More like... confusion. Maybe even a hint of concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You look like you’re limping.”
Shit. That is not the look I was going for.
“I’m fine, just… a little hot.”
I redirect myself toward a console table, leaning one hip against it and tossing my hair over my shoulder.
The damp strands slap against my face and stick there like wet seaweed. I tug them free, heat rushing to my cheeks.
“Seriously.” Bodhi steps closer, frowning. “Are you feeling alright?”
He thinks I’m sick or having some kind of breakdown.
This is a disaster. Apparently, I can only attract men I don’t want.
Fine. So, subtlety clearly isn’t working. It’s time for the nuclear option.
“No, thank you. I’ll come.”
I push off from the console table and stand up straight, looking him dead in the eye. Then, with as much casualness as I can muster, I grip one end of the belt and tug.
It slips away, letting the front of my gown hang open as the pale fabric slides off one shoulder.
Bodhi’s eyes drop. I watch his throat move as he swallows.
That’s more like it.
Heat spreads across my chest under his gaze, my skin tingling like he’s actually touching me. When his eyes find mine, I’m momentarily taken aback, wondering if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, because the intensity in them is breathtaking.
Before he can say anything, I turn and walk to the wardrobe, aware of Bodhi’s gaze following me.
“Just let me get dressed,” I say over my shoulder, keeping my voice light. I pull open the wardrobe doors and survey the clothes Kozlov has provided, all silk and cashmere and designer labels. My fingers close around a simple blouse and a skirt, and I pull them out.
Then I let the gown slip to my elbows, keeping it there, just for a moment, before I straighten my arms and let it drop to the floor.
It pools at my feet, leaving me completely exposed, my back to him. I hear his sharp intake of breath, a laboured swallow, and feel his hungry gaze burning into my skin.
“What do you think you’re playing at?”
“Well, I figure if I’m going to be sold as a sex slave, I better get used to strangers seeing me naked.” I turn, oh so slowly, still just in my very delicate, very sheer underwear, and let him get a good look at me as I slip my earrings back on.
“Get your clothes on.” His voice is rough, strained. “Now.”
Oh, he’s angry.