Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Vivienne
I sat by the window in my room, staring at the cold coffee in my hand.
Outside, the estate's lawn glowed green in the afternoon sun, but my attention wasn't on those perfectly manicured hedges.
For two days, my mind had been stuck on that night in Nikolai's room—how close we'd been, his breath on my face, those gray eyes boring into me like he wanted to swallow me whole.
And that heat. God, that burning heat.
I shook my head hard, trying to clear out the mess, but my stupid heart kept hammering against my ribs like it was on cocaine.
Christ, Vivienne Cole, get a grip! You're not actually falling for that arrogant bastard, are you?
No. Absolutely not. I buried my face in my hands with a silent groan.
This is just biology, Vivienne. You haven't been with a man in too long, so of course you're reacting to someone hot with a good body.
This has nothing to do with love.
This is a goddamn contract with a price tag, and once the year's up, I'll take my check and fly off to Hawaii to keep a surf instructor with an eight-pack. Yeah. That's the plan.
I took a deep breath, set the coffee cup down hard on the windowsill, and got up to change. Today was day three—the last day of training. Get through this, and I could escape that damned magic wand and Gable's perpetually pinched face.
That thought improved my mood. Slightly.
At two p.m., when I stood in that sun-drenched conservatory again, reality smashed my pink fantasies to pieces with one brutal punch.
"Very good, Ms. Cole. After two days of intensive correction, your frame and basic footwork have barely reached passing level."
Dance instructor Patrick stood elegantly in the center of the wooden floor, that damned black baton spinning in his fingers with a whoosh that made my skin crawl.
His tone was warm but completely devoid of warmth.
"Today is the final assessment. To cultivate chemistry between you and Mr. Volkov, he will personally serve as your partner for the simulation test."
What?
Before I could react, the heavy double doors to the conservatory swung open.
Nikolai strode in with that steady, elegant gait.
For once, he wasn't wearing one of those oppressive black suits—instead, he had on a crisp charcoal silk shirt, the collar arrogantly open two buttons, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing sinewy forearms covered in old scars.
That silver hair gleamed coldly in the harsh sunlight, and those dark gray eyes visibly quirked up when they landed on me.
Looking at him, my thigh muscles and lower back started throbbing again—the humiliation of that night came roaring back, when he'd pinned me against the bed, eyes raking over my soaked white shirt.
"Hope your performance today matches how steady you were when you talked back to me in the dining room, firecracker." He stopped in front of me, bringing with him that intense cedar scent mixed with faint liquor, looking down at me from his height as he extended his large, callused right hand.
No way out.
"Of course, boss man."
I plastered on a flawlessly sweet fake smile and placed my left hand in his palm. His hand was big and hot, and the moment our hands clasped, that domineering, familiar sense of control burned up through my fingertips straight into my spine.
Patrick pressed the button on the antique gramophone. The waltz's dramatic, grand orchestral intro instantly shattered the quiet in the conservatory.
"One, two, three, step—"
Nikolai's large hand locked onto my waist, that shocking strength instantly commandeering my center of gravity. Our bodies pressed tightly together the instant the music started, gliding and spinning across the smooth wooden floor with the rhythm.
The first eight counts barely passed, the music hitting a perfect spinning accent.
The sweetness vanished from my eyes. Using the momentum Nikolai gave me in the spin, I subtly shifted all my weight downward, and with my right foot—that seven-centimeter stiletto heel sharp as a nail—I aimed for his polished custom leather shoes and stomped down hard with everything I had!
A deep, brief, restrained grunt escaped from Nikolai's chest.
His gliding steps faltered for a split second, but his powerful core strength forced the mistake into submission. Those dark gray eyes instantly froze into blocks of ice, radiating a nearly tangible, terrifying pressure as they locked onto my face.
I stared right back at him without blinking, my blue eyes full of innocence and confusion, even batting my lashes affectedly twice. "Oh God, I'm sorry, darling. That spin had so much centrifugal force, my foot must've slipped."
Nikolai's sharp jawline went rigid, his hand at my waist tightening until it felt like he'd crush my ribs. "Is that so, Vivienne? Then I suggest you plant your feet more carefully with every step."
"Yes, sir." I parted my red lips, flashing a wicked, triumphant smile.
For the next two minutes, this luxurious conservatory became my one-sided revenge slaughterhouse.
One, two, three, spin. Crack. One, two, three, back. Crack.
I precisely timed every musical accent, using the dance steps as cover to stomp on his feet multiple times! Each time I used all my strength—hard enough to make him hurt tomorrow when he walked.
Nikolai's coldly handsome face maintained that unflappable, elegant expression, but those dark gray eyes locked on me burned more dangerously, nearly setting my practice dress on fire.
Patrick finally noticed something was off. He frowned and stepped forward, sounding puzzled. "Ms. Cole, why does your axis keep wobbling? Your transition steps are getting messy."
"I'm very sorry, Patrick." While spinning and stomping on Nikolai again, I lied shamelessly to the instructor. "Mr. Volkov's stride is too large. I'm trying to adjust to match him."
Hearing that, Nikolai let out a low chuckle from deep in his chest.
That low laugh made my heart skip a beat.
"You're playing with fire, firecracker."
The music entered a long continuous spin, and Nikolai suddenly surged forward, his tall frame pressing me against his chest almost savagely. He bent down, his slightly sweaty lips nearly grazing my sensitive earlobe as he growled through clenched teeth in an extremely husky voice.
"Enjoy your special privileges while they last. But I promise, after tomorrow's gala, when we get back here, you'll face the same issue in bed. You better still have this much energy then."
The hot breath on my neck sent a shudder through me that weakened my knees.
As the final musical climax dropped, I used my last bit of strength to give his toes one final grand finale stomp.
"Interest paid in full, you arrogant bastard." I leaned on his shoulder, whispering provocatively in his ear with satisfaction.
Revenge complete, the frustration I'd been holding all day finally released. I put away the mischief and started actually dancing seriously.
And what came next was unexpectedly, shockingly synchronized.
The hellish torture Gable and Patrick had put me through the past two days suddenly clicked under Nikolai's lead.
This man was a born controller—he didn't need extra words or even obvious physical cues.
The tiniest tilt of his shoulder, the slightest pressure from his hand at my waist, and my body could decode his signals automatically, instantly knowing which direction to glide next, which beat to extend my lines on.
We flew through that spacious conservatory like water, spinning. The silk skirt formed countless perfect arcs in the air, our breathing falling into seamless sync without either of us noticing.
Patrick gradually stopped talking, slowly lowering that baton that always struck without warning.
The Viennese waltz's grand strings moved toward their finale, the rhythm slowing.
Our movements slowed with it. He guided me into an elegant backbend, my spine pressed against his arm, and as my body slowly returned upright, my gaze crashed unprepared into those dark gray eyes.
The temperature in the air had somehow, quietly, changed.
All the gloating, all the vengeful satisfaction evaporated in that instant, leaving only a scalp-tingling, viscous, scorching current growing wildly in the air.
The final note dissolved completely under the dome.
We stopped in the center of the conservatory. Sunlight stretched our overlapping shadows long across the floor.
But neither of us moved first.
My left hand was still wrapped tightly in his large, callused palm, his left hand still locked at my waist, imprisoning me against his chest that reeked of cedar and male hormones.
My heart was like an out-of-control jackhammer pounding in my chest, even my breathing growing heavy in this extreme silence.
He stared down at me, storms churning in those dark gray eyes, devoid of his usual mockery, leaving only a nearly tangible, absolute possessiveness that wanted to devour me whole, skin and bone.
The surrounding air felt frozen, completely solidified.
"Ahem."
Until Patrick, standing by the flower stand, gave a very light, somewhat helpless cough that finally broke the suffocating spell.
"I think... the assessment can conclude successfully here.
" Patrick tucked the baton into his tailcoat pocket, his tone extremely subtle, even amused.
"The affection and chemistry between you two fiancés has clearly reached a level that makes me, an outsider, feel somewhat superfluous.
If I stay any longer, I'm afraid I'll become the third wheel interrupting your 'tactical exchange. '"
My brain rebooted with a loud "whoosh."
Like I'd been burned, I frantically released my hand from Nikolai's arm, awkwardly stumbling back half a step to create a safe distance.
I looked down, pretending to carefully smooth my slightly disheveled practice dress while trying to cool my burning cheeks with the back of my hand.
Dammit, my ears must be completely red right now.