Chapter 10 Roman
ROMAN
The security report sits on my desk, mocking me with its mundane details.
Eva Markova went straight home after work.
Ate dinner with her roommate. Spent an hour on her laptop reviewing budget spreadsheets.
Made no calls. Contacted no one suspicious.
The supposed call from Yakovlev's people?
A fucking telemarketer trying to sell her an extended car warranty.
I'll have to have a talk with my security. That kind of mistake is not acceptable.
I drain my vodka and pour another, the burn doing nothing to ease the tension coiling in my chest. The connection to MediFund Solutions is real.
The predatory lending scheme that trapped her mother is definitely part of Abram's network.
But Eva has no knowledge of it. She's not a plant.
She's not a spy. She's exactly what she appears to be, a desperate young woman drowning in debt, trying to survive.
Relief floods through me, unfamiliar and unsettling.
For two weeks, I've been fighting my attraction to her, suppressing the desire that ignites every time she walks into my office, because I thought she might be my enemy.
Now that barrier is gone, and she's infinitely more dangerous to me than if she'd been Abram's weapon.
I want her. God help me, I want her with a hunger that's becoming impossible to control.
The skyline emerges from shadows as I stand at my windows. I should feel victorious. Eva is innocent. The threat I imagined doesn't exist. But all I feel is the weight of what comes next. Now that I know she's not my enemy, what the fuck do I do with this need burning through my veins?
My phone buzzes. Lev, checking in before his morning run. I ignore it. I need to think, to plan, to figure out how to handle Eva Markova now that the main reason I had to keep my distance has evaporated.
The elevator chimes at 7:30. I don't need to look to know it's her. I feel Eva's presence like a physical touch, the way I always do. Through the glass wall, I watch her settle at her desk, and immediately, I know something is wrong.
Her professional armor is intact. Light blue dress, structured blazer, and her hair in that usual bun.
What would her hair look like loose and around her shoulders?
But there's fear in the set of her shoulders, tension in the way she moves.
When she disappears toward the kitchen to make my coffee, I notice her hands are shaking.
She enters my office minutes later, and the trembling is worse. The coffee cup rattles slightly against the saucer as she sets it on my desk, careful as always not to let our fingers touch. But I see the fear in her brown eyes, the way her pulse flutters at her throat.
She leaves as quietly as she entered and goes back to work. I try to do the same myself, but I can’t stop thinking about my assistant. She’s innocent. She’s not working for Yakovlev. She’s not a plant to help take down my business.
She’s just a girl, though. Barely over the age to legally drink. She hasn’t yet really experienced life, not compared to what I’ve seen in my forty-one years. She’s too young for me, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting her.
The rest of the day goes by in agonizing slowness.
I should be relieved Eva turned out to be exactly what she’s portraying, but I’m not.
My mind and body keep warring with each other.
My mind says that now I know she’s not a spy, I can get on with my work and finding proof against Abram.
But my body argues, saying that now I know she’s not a Yakovlev plant, I can get on with the business of seducing her.
Finally, the sun sets and employees leave for the night. Except Eva. She is still at her desk, tapping a pencil against as stack of papers as she studies her computer screen. She bites her plump bottom lip and the sight sends a jolt of awareness along my nerves.
I give in to the impulse I’ve been avoiding all day and call her into my office.
"Miss Markova." I keep my voice neutral, controlled. "Sit."
She hesitates, then settles into the chair across from my desk. Her spine is straight, her hands folded in her lap, but I see her press her thumbnail into her index finger. That nervous tell she thinks she's hidden.
"What's wrong?" I ask directly.
Her brown eyes meet mine, and I see her weighing how much to reveal. "Nothing, Mr. Sokolov. I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." I lean back in my chair, studying her. "Tell me what's wrong."
Eva's composure cracks slightly. "There's a black car. It's been following me all week. Every day when I leave work, it's there. Last night…" Her voice quavers. "Last night, it followed me to the deli. I was trapped. I didn't know who they were or what they wanted."
Fuck. My security detail terrified her. I should have anticipated this, should have been more subtle. But I needed to know if she was meeting with Abram's people, if she was reporting to someone. I needed proof of her innocence or her guilt.
I got my proof. And I scared the shit out of her in the process.
"The car is mine," I tell her, my voice low. "My security. I had you followed."
The fear in Eva's eyes transforms instantly into fury. She stands, her hands clenched at her sides, and I'm struck again by how beautiful she is. Her cheeks flush with anger, her brown eyes blazing, and my body responds with a hunger that's completely inappropriate, given the circumstances.
"You had me followed?" Her voice shakes with rage. "What right do you have to invade my privacy? To terrorize me?"
I stand as well, moving around my desk with deliberate slowness. Eva doesn't retreat, and I respect that steel in her spine even as I want to bend her over my desk and make her forget why she's angry.
"I needed to verify certain information about your background," I explain, keeping my voice controlled despite the desire heating my blood.
"The company that financed your mother's medical debt is connected to a rival organization.
A dangerous organization. I had to know if you were being used against me. "
I watch her intelligent mind work, see the dots connecting behind her eyes. Her anger shifts, becomes something more complex, fear mixed with understanding mixed with something else I can't quite read.
"Are you involved in something illegal?" she asks quietly.
I don't answer directly. My silence is answer enough.
Eva should run, should quit this job and never look back. Should put as much distance between us as possible. Instead, she asks the question that matters. "Am I in danger?"
"Not from me."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. I'm dangerous, yes. My world is violent and unforgiving. But I would never hurt her. The realization settles in my chest with uncomfortable weight.
The tension in my office shifts, becomes charged with something other than suspicion.
I close the distance between us, crowding into her space, and Eva's breath catches.
But she doesn't retreat. Her brown eyes meet my blue ones, and I see everything I've been fighting reflected back at me.
Fear, yes. But also attraction. Desire. The same pull that's been driving me insane since the moment she walked into my life.
My gaze drops to her mouth, those lips I've imagined kissing a thousand times.
Then lower, to where her dress hugs curves that make my hands itch to touch.
The swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the way her hips flare beneath the tailored fabric.
I want to strip away every layer of her professional armor and discover the woman beneath.
Eva's breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling in a way that draws my attention to her breasts again. I imagine cupping them, feeling their weight in my palms, making her gasp my name. The fantasy is so vivid, I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.
"You should run from me, Eva Markova," I say in Russian, my voice rough with need. The language of my childhood, my homeland, feels right for this moment. "But I find I don't want you to."
I reach out, my hand cupping her face with a gentleness that surprises us both. Her skin is soft beneath my callused palm, warm and alive. Her brown eyes widen, her lips parting slightly, and I'm lost.
I claim her mouth with a hunger that's been building for weeks, pouring every suppressed desire into the kiss. She tastes like coffee and something sweeter, something uniquely Eva. For a heartbeat, she's frozen against me, and I think I've miscalculated, pushed too far, too fast.
Then Eva kisses me back.