Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ilona
As we leave the kitchen, my head is still reeling.
I could practically feel his lips, before he pulled away with iron-willed control that left me breathless and aching.
“This way,” he says, his voice rougher than before, and I follow him through hallways that seem to stretch forever.
The man who rescued me from Tibor’s groping hands is devastatingly beautiful.
I can’t stop stealing glances at him as we walk— the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls perfectly even when he runs his fingers through it, the broad shoulders that fill his expensive suit like it was tailored to worship his body.
Which it probably was.
Everything about him screams wealth and power, but there’s something else underneath. Something dangerous and magnetic that makes my pulse skip every time his gray eyes find mine.
I’m attracted to him. Wildly, inappropriately, dangerously attracted to the man who just saved me from Tibor’s wandering hands.
He’s foreign, mysterious and completely wrong for someone like me.
But the way he looked at Tibor, the controlled violence in his voice when he fired him…
God help me, it was so sexy that my panties are still wet.
Which makes me either incredibly shallow or completely insane. Probably both.
God, Ilona, what the hell is wrong with you?
I shouldn’t be feeling this way. It’s ridiculous and wrong on every possible level. He’s my boss now— my savior— and I just met him three hours ago. But Lord help me, I’m drawn to him with an intensity that defies logic.
But there’s something else. It’s like I’ve known him before.
Like we’ve met somewhere, shared secrets that nobody else would understand.
But that’s impossible. This is definitely the first time I’m seeing him— I would remember a man like this.
Yet the feeling persists, nagging at the edges of my consciousness.
“Here.” He opens a door and steps aside to let me enter first.
Holy shit!
The room takes my breath away. It’s larger than most apartments, with a king-sized bed draped in silk, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Buda Hills, and an ensuite bathroom that belongs in a luxury hotel. Everything is cream and gold and impossibly elegant.
“This is… incredible,” I manage, turning to find him watching me with an expression I can’t read.
“It’s yours for as long as you need it,” he says simply. “No rent, no strings attached.”
The offer stuns me into silence. After months of cramped hostels and Tibor’s disgusting attic, this feels like stepping into a fairy tale. But fairy tales always have a price.
“I can’t accept this,” I say automatically, even as my body betrays me by already imagining sinking into that massive bed.
“You can.” His voice carries quiet authority that makes arguing feel pointless. “The Scarlet Fox is closing for renovations. Complete overhaul— we’re turning it into an exclusive private club. The work will take months.”
I blink, processing this information. “So I’m unemployed again.”
“Not necessarily.” He moves closer, and the air between us charges with the same electricity from the kitchen. “I have a proposition.”
The word “proposition” on his lips sends heat spiraling through my core. My body is still humming from our almost-kiss, every nerve ending hypersensitive to his proximity. I glance down and catch sight of my nipples poking against the worn cotton of my shirt. I fold my arms across my chest.
“What kind of proposition?” I try to sound professional, but my voice comes out breathless.
“Stay here. Work as my house manager while the renovations happen.” His gray eyes never leave mine. “Full salary, private quarters, complete autonomy. The house is large enough that we’d barely cross paths.”
The last part stings more than it should. After the magnetic pull in the kitchen, the suggestion that we’ll avoid each other feels like rejection.
But it’s also smart. Safe. Because the attraction between us is dangerous— the kind that makes people do stupid things that they’ll probably end up regretting.
But maybe it would be worth it?
Cut it out, Ilona!
“What would my responsibilities include?” I try for professionalism again, and still don’t nail it.
“Managing household staff, overseeing deliveries, keeping everything running smoothly. Nothing you couldn’t handle.” He pauses, studying my face. “Interested?”
I should ask more questions. Should demand specifics about salary and duties and exactly what kind of “exclusive club” he’s creating. But all I can focus on is the way his presence fills the space between us, the sensual curve of his lips. It makes rational thought impossible.
My body wants him. Wants him with a desperation that’s both thrilling and terrifying. I’m so wet just from standing near him that I’m afraid he can smell my arousal, see the need written across my face.
He’s treating me with perfect respect, not pushing despite the obvious chemistry crackling between us. But I can feel how close we both are to losing control. How easily this professional conversation could turn into something else entirely.
“Yes.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “I accept, Mr. Sidorov.”
Something flickers in his expression. Relief? Satisfaction? But it’s gone in a moment and the careful mask slides back into place.
“Good. And call me Osip.” He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t break the spell weaving around us in this beautiful room that’s now mine.
The silence stretches, heavy with possibilities. He could kiss me right now. Could close those last few inches and claim my mouth with the same authority he used to fire Tibor. Part of me— the reckless part that’s been starving for real connection— wants him to.
Instead, he takes a deliberate step back. Yet again, he’s resisting the urge. And my God, I find that sexy as hell too.
“I’ll let you get settled,” he says, but his voice carries rougher undertones that suggest stepping away costs him something. “We will discuss details tomorrow.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Not trusting myself not to close the distance he just created and discover if his lips taste as dangerous as they look.
He reaches the doorway before turning back. “Ilona?”
“Yes?” I’m breathless again.
“Make yourself at home.”
The words resonate deep in my chest. Home. When was the last time anywhere felt like home?
“I will,” I say softly, swallowing a lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he replies, looking at me strangely for a moment. Then something in his expression shifts, like a door slamming shut. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again and gives a curt nod before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
But as he disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone in this fairy tale room with its silk sheets and impossible luxury, one thought echoes through my mind:
This feels right.
I don’t know why, but accepting his offer makes me happier than I’ve been in months. The prospect of staying close to him, of living in his space and breathing his air, fills me with anticipation that should terrify me.
Instead, it feels like coming alive.
Like everything that’s happened— leaving Boston, wandering across Europe, enduring Tibor’s harassment— was leading to this moment. To him.
Which is insane. I barely know this man. But something about Osip Sidorov calls to parts of me I didn’t know existed, makes me feel recognized in ways that defy explanation.
Tomorrow we’ll establish professional boundaries.
Tomorrow, I’ll remember all the reasons why wanting your boss is a catastrophically bad idea.
But tonight, in this beautiful room he’s given me, I let myself imagine what might have happened if he hadn’t stepped away. If we’d given in to the pull between us and discovered just how electric our chemistry really is.
The fantasy leaves me aching and breathless, my body singing with needs I have no business feeling.
But I feel them anyway.
And God help me, I think he does too.