Chapter 4
AXEL
I'm hard.
Again.
I've been hard since I left her hotel room six hours ago, and no amount of cold showers or self-control is making it go away. Every time I close my eyes, I see her—naked, trembling, coming apart under my hands. Hear her moaning my name. Feel her clenching around my fingers.
Fuck.
I adjust myself for the tenth time in as many minutes and try to focus on the reports Viktor spread across my desk. Shipment manifests. Territory maps. Financial statements that need my signature.
None of it matters.
All I can think about is Aurora.
The way she kissed me first, bold as hell, like she wasn't afraid of the danger rolling off me in waves. The way she looked at me when I told her about prison—not scared, not disgusted, just interested. Like my past made me more appealing instead of less.
You're losing your mind.
Maybe. Probably. Seven years of celibacy, and suddenly an inexperienced twenty-six-year-old virgin kisses me, and I'm acting like a teenager who just discovered what his dick is for.
Except it's not just the sex. It's her.
The fire in her eyes. The defiance. The way she stood in the corner of that gallery and went for what she wanted after I walked up to her, didn't wait for permission, didn't play games. She knew what she wanted, and she took it.
When's the last time someone wanted me for me? Not for my name, not for my money, not for protection or power. Just... me.
Never. The answer is never.
"Boss?" Viktor knocks on the open door. "You good? You've been staring at that same page for ten minutes."
I look down. He's right. Same paragraph, same numbers, might as well be written in ancient Greek for all the sense they're making.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like you're about to murder someone or fuck someone up, and I can't tell which."
"Both," I mutter.
He grins, leans against the doorframe. "Who is she?"
"What?"
"The woman. The one who's got you all twisted up. Who is she?"
I should lie. Should tell him to mind his business, get back to work, stop asking questions. But Viktor's been with me for fifteen years. He knows when I'm lying.
"Met her at the club two nights ago," I admit. "Saw her again at the gallery."
"And?"
"And nothing. It's fucking complicated."
"It's always complicated with you." He crosses his arms. "What's the problem? She married?"
"No."
"Cop?"
"No."
"Then what?"
I lean back in my chair, scrub a hand over my face. "She's young. Too young. And I don't know who she is, who her family is, what kind of trouble she could bring."
Liar. You know exactly what the problem is.
The problem is I want her. Want her so badly it's making me stupid, making me forget every rule I've built about keeping distance, about not getting attached, about treating sex like a transaction instead of a connection.
The problem is she made me feel something, and I don't do feelings.
"So find out who she is," Viktor says. "Have your fun, cover your ass, move on. You're making this harder than it needs to be."
He's right. I know he's right. I should dig into Aurora, find out who her family is, what world she comes from. Do my due diligence like I would with any other risk.
But part of me doesn't want to know. Part of me wants to keep this separate, untainted by the reality of who we both are.
"You coming to the dinner tonight?" Viktor asks.
"What dinner?"
"Petrov's hosting. That art dealer, the one from last night? He's throwing some private thing at his estate. Wants to discuss a partnership." Viktor smirks. "Lots of expensive people, expensive art, expensive bullshit. Your favorite."
Petrov.
The name clicks. The gallery host. The one Aurora said was her father's associate.
She'll be there.
The thought hits me like a punch. She'll be there, at the same dinner, in the same room. Close enough to touch but surrounded by people who'll notice if I do.
I should skip it. Send Viktor in my place. Stay here and work, get my head straight, stop thinking about her.
Instead, I hear myself say, "What time?"
Petrov's estate is the kind of obscene wealth that makes even me uncomfortable. Marble columns. Gold fixtures. A fountain in the foyer that probably costs more than most people make in a lifetime.
The dinner's in the garden—long tables under strings of lights, waiters circulating with champagne and caviar, classical music playing from hidden speakers. Fifty guests, maybe sixty, all dressed like they're going to the opera.
I scan the crowd.
And there she is.
Aurora's wearing green tonight. Emerald silk that clings to every curve, the kind of dress that should be illegal in public. Her hair's down, dark waves over bare shoulders, and she's laughing at something the woman next to her said.
My mouth goes dry.
Fuck, she's beautiful.
I watch her from across the garden, and the hunger that's been eating at me since I left her hotel room intensifies. I want to cross this space, grab her, drag her somewhere private, and finish what I started.
But I can't.
Not here. Not with these many witnesses.
She turns, like she can feel me watching, and our eyes meet.
The smile drops from her face. Her lips part. Even from here, I can see her breathing change.
She feels it too.
Viktor appears at my elbow with two glasses of champagne. "Petrov wants to talk after dinner. Something about moving product through his galleries."
"Fine."
"You're not listening."
"I'm listening."
"Then why are you staring at that girl like you're planning ten different ways to—" He stops. Follows my gaze. "Oh. Oh shit. That's her?"
I don't answer.
Viktor studies her for a moment. "She looks familiar. Can't place it though." He shrugs. "Probably just saw her at the gallery last night."
Or she's someone important.
The thought nags at me, but I push it away. Aurora said her father's associate was hosting. That could mean anything. Business partner. Client. Friend.
"Stay out of it," I tell Viktor.
"Wasn't planning on getting involved." He grins. "But boss? You might want to wipe that hungry look off your face before anyone notices."
I force my expression neutral and take the champagne he's offering. Around us, guests are mingling, laughing, doing the social dance that's required at these things.
Aurora's talking to an older man now. Distinguished, silver hair like mine, but older, expensive suit. He touches her arm, says something that makes her smile, and jealousy spikes through me so sharply that I nearly crush the champagne flute.
Who the fuck is that?
"That's interesting," Viktor murmurs.
"What?"
"The way you're looking at that old guy like you want to feed him his own teeth." He's grinning. "You've got it bad, boss."
"Shut the fuck up."
But he's right. I'm jealous. Actually jealous of some random man talking to a woman I've known for two days.
Get yourself together.
Aurora excuses herself from the conversation, weaves through the crowd. She's not coming toward me—too obvious—but she's moving in a direction that'll bring her closer.
Casual. Deliberate.
Smart girl.
She stops to examine a flower arrangement, her back to me. I wait thirty seconds, then drift over like I'm admiring the same flowers.
"Fancy seeing you here," she says quietly, not looking at me.
"You're everywhere I go. Starting to think you're following me."
"Or you're following me."
"Maybe." I lean in slightly, just enough to catch her scent. Something floral and expensive. "You look incredible."
"You clean up okay yourself." Her voice is steady, but I can see the pulse racing in her throat. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Business meeting with Petrov. You?"
"My father's associate, remember? I'm here because he couldn’t make it."
My father.
She's mentioned her father twice now. Both times with that same careful tone, like she's choosing her words.
"Your father," I say. "What does he do?"
She finally looks at me. There's something cautious in her eyes. "Business. Import-export."
Liar.
I know that tone. That answer. It's the same one I give when people ask what I do. Vague enough to be true, specific enough to sound legitimate.
She's from my world. Has to be.
The question is, whose daughter is she?
"There's a private garden," she says, changing the subject. "We can talk there without interruption."
"Aurora—"
"Five minutes. That's all I'm asking." She meets my eyes, and I see the same hunger I'm feeling reflected back at me. "Five minutes alone with you."
This is a terrible idea.
"Five minutes," I hear myself say.
She walks away first. I wait exactly ninety seconds—long enough to look casual, not long enough for me to change my mind—then follow.
The garden's darker, quieter. Hedges block the view from the main party. There's a bench, some sculptures, and the sound of water from a nearby fountain.
Aurora's waiting.
I don't say anything. Just cross to her, cup her face in my hands, and kiss her like I'm dying and she's oxygen.
She moans into my mouth, her hands grabbing my jacket, pulling me closer. We're frantic, desperate, like we both know this might be our last chance.
"We shouldn't—" she gasps between kisses.
"I know."
"If anyone sees—"
"I know."
"But I can't—I can't stop thinking about you—"
"I know." I back her against the hedge, press my body against hers so she can feel exactly how hard I am. "I've been hard for you since I left your room. Can't focus. Can't think. Just you."
She whimpers, her hips rolling against mine. "Axel—"
"Tell me to stop." I'm kissing her neck, her shoulder, anywhere I can reach. "Tell me this is insane and we need to stop."
"It's insane."
"And?"
"And I don't care."
My hand slides up her thigh, finds the slit in her dress. Her skin is hot, smooth. She's not wearing stockings.
Fucking hell.
"Tell me something," I growl against her throat. "Are you wet for me right now?"
"Yes."
I slide my hand higher, feel her trembling. "Show me."
She doesn't hesitate. Guides my hand between her legs, and—
Christ.
She's soaked through her underwear. I can feel the heat of her, the dampness, and it takes every ounce of control not to rip the fabric off and take her right here.
"Please," she whimpers.
"Please what?"
"Touch me. Like you did before. I need—"
I slide my hand inside her underwear, find her clit, and she nearly collapses. I catch her with my other arm, hold her up while I work her with my fingers.
"You're so fucking wet," I mutter. "Been thinking about me?"
"Yes—oh God—"
"Tell me what you thought about." I slide two fingers inside her, and she gasps. "Tell me what you wanted."
"You—inside me—wanted you to—to finish—"
"Soon, baby. Soon I'll give you everything." I curl my fingers, find that spot that makes her see stars. "Right now, you're going to come on my hand like a good girl, and then we're going to figure out when I can have you properly."
"Can't—can't wait—"
"You will." I kiss her hard, work her faster. "Because when I finally fuck you, I want hours. Want to take my time. Want to make you scream so loud you forget your own name."
She's close. I can feel it in the way she's clenching around my fingers, the way her breathing's getting shorter, faster. I work her harder, my thumb on her clit, my fingers pumping, and she breaks.
Her orgasm hits hard. She bites down on my shoulder to keep from screaming, her whole body shaking, and I work her through it until she's sobbing.
When she comes down, she's trembling in my arms. “Oh my goodness…”
We stand there, breathing hard, and I want to ask her a thousand questions. Who is she really? What world does she come from? Why does she look at me like I'm something worth keeping when everyone else sees a monster?
But I don't. Because I'm a coward, and I'd rather have these stolen moments than risk the truth.
"Axel," she says quietly. "I need to tell you something."
Here it comes.
"I'm leaving," she continues. "In two days. Going back home."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
I try to process what that means; we won’t get to see each other again. Is that it?
"In two days," I repeat.
"Two days." She touches my face, soft. "That's all we have. After that, I go back to my life, and you go back to yours, and we pretend this never happened."
Everything in me rebels against that idea. Two days isn't enough. Isn't nearly enough.
But what choice do I have?
"Then we make the most of it," I say roughly. "Tomorrow night. My penthouse. I'll send the address to your hotel room."
"Okay."
"And Aurora?" I tilt her chin up, make her meet my eyes. "When you come to me tomorrow, I'm not going to hold back. I'm going to give you everything you asked for. Understand?"
Her eyes go dark. "Promise?"
"Fucking promise."
I kiss her one more time, then force myself to step back. Fix her dress, smooth her hair, make her look presentable.
"Go back first," I tell her. "I'll follow in a few minutes."
She nods, touches my face once—soft, almost tender—then walks away.
I stand in the dark garden, hard and aching and knowing I just made a deal that's going to gut me.
Two days with Aurora.
Two days to give her everything she wants before she disappears into whatever life she came from.
Two days to pretend she’s mine.
You're so fucked.
I know.
But I can't bring myself to care.