Chapter 12
Dimitri had known Giselle had a beautiful figure, but seeing her in the red dress was something else entirely. When she stepped out of his private bathroom, the soft fabric embracing her curves with a level of precision that was almost criminal, his body locked up in stunned disbelief.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was devastating.
That shapeless mess of a skirt she had worn before had kept her hidden, but this—this dress revealed what had been lurking beneath.
A perfect hourglass figure that the dress hugged in all the right places.
Her soft, brown hair wisped around her chin, drawing attention to those glowing silver-blue eyes, wide with excitement.
And that smile—bright, unaware of its effect—sent a bolt of heat straight through him.
Dimitri’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His first gut reaction was pure possession. She needed to take the dress off. Now! Not because she didn’t look incredible in it, but because other men were going to see her like this.
Before, she had been overlooked, hidden beneath layers of frumpy clothing that camouflaged the dangerous beauty she possessed. But now? Now, every damn man in the building was going to look at her differently.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay where he was. Clearing his throat, he shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from striding over and pulling her into his arms.
She was lovely. Too lovely! And that sparkling smile? It hit him hard, straight in the groin.
"What do you think?" she asked, looking up at him. Her voice held the slightest trace of nervousness, and it nearly undid him.
Dimitri dragged his focus back to her face, away from the dangerous path his thoughts were taking.
"Perfect," he muttered before he could stop himself. He caught himself and added, "Very professional."
It was true. The cut was modest, elegant, businesslike.
But he wasn't thinking about professionalism.
His thoughts were locked onto the image of peeling off that dress, discovering the lace he knew had to be underneath.
Was it black? Red? He remembered those lace-topped thigh highs from yesterday, the way they had clung to her soft, pale thighs.
Damn, he was losing it. Gritting his teeth, he turned away under the guise of grabbing some papers, desperate for a distraction.
"Here’s an outline of your new role," he said briskly. "I’ve already cleared it with your boss. You’ll transfer here to an office down the hall."
He turned back just as she sat down, completely unaware of the effect she had on him. And then it happened. The wine-red fabric inched up her thighs. For a fraction of a second, his gaze landed on what was hidden beneath—black lace, just as he had suspected.
Heat roared through him, his body responding instantly. But before he could fully process the sight, Giselle quickly shifted, smoothing the dress down over her lap, unknowingly robbing him of the tantalizing view.
Then she looked up.
Their eyes locked.
A pulse of awareness surged between them.
Her lips softened.
His body tightened painfully.
Her eyes darkened.
His heart pounded.
The moment stretched, taut and dangerous, something unspoken crackling in the air between them. He could see it, see the effect just as clearly as he felt it.
Then his phone rang.
The sharp sound shattered the moment, snapping them back to reality.
Dimitri clenched his teeth, fighting the immediate, irrational urge to throw the damn device across the room.
What had he been about to do? Pull her into his arms? Run his fingers along that lace, feel the warmth of her skin beneath his touch? Watch her shiver? See those pretty silver-blue eyes go hazy with need? His fingers flexed, his body still burning as he forced himself to reach for the phone.
This was going to be a problem.
“Could you repeat that?” he asked into his cell phone, still staring at Giselle.
She looked just as startled as he felt. He watched as she carefully shifted on the chair, looking confused and more than slightly aroused.
He could see the pebbling of her nipples against her dress.
For a long moment, his mind blanked as he wondered about those nipples.
Then she stood up, taking the papers with her. She lifted them slightly, silently telling him she’d review the details, that she understood he needed privacy for his phone call.
Dimitri barely registered her subtle acknowledgment because the moment she turned and walked toward the door, his brain ceased functioning altogether.
The red dress moved like liquid over her lush curves, shifting with every step, molding to the perfect roundness of her ass. It wasn’t tight, wasn’t inappropriate in any way, but that only made it worse. It teased. It hinted. It suggested.
His body tensed painfully, his blood roaring with a single, primal demand—turn her around, press her against the door, and lose himself in her.
The thought hit him so hard he nearly groaned. His hand tightened around his phone as if that could somehow ground him. Giselle had no idea. Absolutely no idea that every move she made in that damn dress was driving him insane.
"Hello?" a voice barked through the phone.
Dimitri barely managed to tear his gaze away from the sight of Giselle disappearing through the door.
What the hell had just happened?
He had always been disciplined. Controlled. No woman had ever distracted him from business. And yet, here he was, standing in his office like a fool, his body aching, mind half-dazed, struggling to remember who the hell was even on the other end of the call.
He forced himself to clear his throat, turning to face the window, anything to shake off the residual heat still burning through him.
"What is it?" he choked out, the words rougher than he intended.
There was a pause, then the voice on the other end continued, irritation laced in every word.
Dimitri barely processed what was being said.
He was distracted, replaying that moment—Giselle’s hips swaying, the red fabric shifting, the way the dress should have been completely professional, but on her, it was anything but.
"Repeat that," he snapped, realizing he had missed an entire section of the conversation.
The man on the other end huffed in exasperation but did as Dimitri asked, explaining the logistical issue plaguing one of his shipments. Dimitri forced himself to focus, holding on to the details like a lifeline. He issued instructions, his voice sharp, businesslike, pretending he was in control.
But when he ended the call, he tossed his phone onto the desk with a heavy sigh. He was not in control. The rest of the day was a mess. He told himself it was because he hadn’t had enough coffee, but that was a lie. He wasn’t concentrating because he couldn’t see Giselle.
He was restless, impatient, distracted beyond reason.
Every time he walked past her new, empty, office, an inexplicable irritation gnawed at him.
By mid-afternoon, he’d had enough. While leaving a meeting, he turned to Mike, his voice clipped and brooking no argument.
"Make sure Giselle is transferred to her new office by the end of today. "
Mike nodded, his expression unreadable, but Dimitri didn’t care. He needed Giselle closer. Where he could see her.
Where no one else could.