Chapter 16 #2
She turns on the stool, glancing into my bedroom, then back to me. “That photograph by your bed,” she says tentatively.
“Is it Liana?” I grin. “Yep. And the terrorists she calls kids. Tommo, her husband, took it. He’s a good mate.”
“Oh.” She takes a deep breath, then settles back on her stool, all trace of restlessness suddenly gone.
It takes a minute for me to put the pieces together.
She thought Liana and the boys were mine.
That’s why she’s been so off since I got here. Why she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
She thought I was married.
And she didn’t like it.
The adrenaline of a few minutes ago hits me again, but rather lower in my gut this time and infinitely darker.
Anatoly is waiting outside.
I silently curse whatever stupidly responsible part of me gave that order. I can’t rescind it now, not if I plan to keep looking Anatoly in the eye.
But nor do I want Zinaida to leave.
I like having her perched on a stool in my apartment. I like the way she looks in here, and I like the way my apartment smells of her, heady and rich. I like leaning across the table and talking to her.
I’m suddenly very conscious that there’s only a table between my skin and hers.
The urge to lay her across it and eat every fucking piece of her, slowly and deliberately, sends a bolt of pure lust through me.
Zin looks up at me in the instant before I shut down that fucking thought.
Something of what I feel must be visible, because she looks away quickly. “So you’ll be there.” Her voice is slightly hoarse. She clears it and starts again. “At Avonmouth.”
I tilt my head, trying to ignore the lightning racing through my body. “I won’t get in your way. But we have to assume that whoever is trying to kill you knows your every move. So yes, I’ll be there.”
Zin shifts on the stool, turning so the downlight casts a shadow up the lean musculature of her thigh. I try not to think about how much I want to touch it. The urge to round the table and slide my hands beneath her dress, press my thumbs to the part of her I can almost taste, is excruciating.
Don’t do it, Luke.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t exact a little revenge for all the moments of torture that have kept me hard and aching since I met her.
Oh sure, Macarthur. That’s what this is.
“Speaking of every move.” I leave my drink and walk slowly around to her side. Standing next to her, so close her scent fills my senses until I can barely breathe, I lean back on the counter, my arm barely inches from hers. My hand is close enough to stroke the exposed length of her thigh.
And fuck do I want to touch that thigh.
I don’t miss the way her breath hitches, then stops, nor her sudden, quivering stillness.
She wants this. She wants it badly.
And if I’m being perfectly honest, my determination not to sleep with her is starting to seem extremely counterproductive to my own ability to function.
Zin drops her eyes, but I don’t miss the way her gaze lingers at the waistband of my sweats.
You’ve also never met a client with a drink in your hand and no shirt on, asshole.
“This conversation could have waited until the morning. Why did you want to come here tonight, Zinaida?”
Her head snaps up, her scarlet lips pursing in a way that hits my cock like a thunderbolt.
It’s only decades of training that keeps my voice low and controlled.
I might want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but Zinaida isn’t the only one who knows how to run a torture room.
“You’ve been into more than one of my properties.” She looks up at me with a haughty expression that is belied by the hard nipples visible under her dress and the slight flush on her neck.
“That’s different.” I hold her eyes, daring her to look away. “Identifying holes in your security is my job.”
“Does that include spying on me, too?” She arches an eyebrow as she takes a very deliberate sip of her drink. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the vibrator show that first day.”
Fuck.
For a moment I’m back in the penthouse, Zin’s swollen pussy taunting me like a forbidden banquet. The memory is as tantalizing as her scent, weaving around me until I’m close to losing my fucking mind.
But I don’t let a flicker of that show on my face.
“Let’s get something straight, Zinaida.” I lean close, enjoying the way her eyes flare, her sudden stillness.
“I’ve run more surveillance operations than you have torture rooms. I watch and listen for anything that poses a risk.
But outside of that?” I pull back, taking a long swallow of whiskey while still holding her eyes.
“Your personal life is your own business, and none of mine.”
Keep saying it aloud, Luke, and you might believe it yourself.
Her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes me for weakness.
I stare right back at her. When it comes to control, I can play this game far better than she can begin to dream.
Although I’ll readily admit that I’m testing my own limits to the brink right now.
“I took a contract to protect you,” I go on. “Spying on you, as you put it, is my job. Nothing more.” Who are you trying to convince, Luke? “Are we clear on that?”
Her eyes are the dark cobalt of a dusk storm, her focus on my face laser sharp, her drink forgotten.
Then her fingers patter on the table, the fan-closing movement.
Her tell, for the second time tonight.
She doesn’t know what to do.
I can almost feel her uncertainty, her inner debate. Her eyes flicker to my bedroom.
What will you do if she pushes it, Luke?
Because even my legendary control is at risk of cracking at this point.
I’m not sure I even want to hold it together anymore.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to play the game to the edge.
I glare at her. “I said, are we clear on that, Zinaida?”
She stands up, slowly unfolding her elegant limbs like some kind of siren temptress. Every nerve in my body seizes with a desperate urge to pick her up, carry her into my bedroom, and drive us both to the fucking orgasm we clearly need.
Another moment and I’ll fucking well do it, too, and to hell with the consequences.
“Fine.” She returns my glare. “No more after-hours visits. I stay out of your space, you stay out of mine.”
Turning her back on me, she glides toward the door, her ass swaying in the way that makes me want to punch a fucking wall.
“Good,” I say to her back. “And by the way, your apartment was rewired today, and the basement secured properly. Hopefully the team have left it as they found it, but if there’s anything out of place, feel free to let me know.”
She pauses at the door and looks back at me over her shoulder, her eyes so dark they’re almost black. “Thank you.” She grinds the word out with a visible reluctance.
I grin, raising my beer to her with a nonchalance I definitely do not feel. “You’re welcome. It’s my job, remember?”
Her eyes flicker skyward, her mouth pursing in a way that makes my grin stretch even wider. “Fuck you, Macarthur.” She wrenches the door open and steps through it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I take a mouthful of beer, still holding her eyes. “Oh, I’ll be there.”
The door closes behind her, leaving only the seductive scent of her in the air and an aching need in my body.
I catch my eye in the window’s reflection and raise my bottle again in an ironic salute. “Smart, Macarthur,” I murmur sarcastically. “Real fucking smart.”