“Show me,” he snaps, and if anything, my response makes him appear even more cross than before.
I stand and for a split second he’s so close, I can breathe in the scent of him. All the memories from last night rush back, and I long to be kissing him again. Then he steps away and tails me to my bedroom where I put the packages. It’s a small pile, but I still glance nervously at him.
“You haven’t opened them?”
I squirm, a bit awkward. “Not all.”
He stares, taking in every part of me silently until I itch with embarrassment. I’m so clearly not up to scratch.
“Sorr—”
“Nyet.” He sighs heavily. “This is my fault. I should have been clearer.”
He scoops up the few packages with his big hands and I’m frankly confused as I follow him back into the lounge, where shrugs out of his suit jacket and settles onto the couch I was sitting on. I watch as he roughly tugs off his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt. Then with slow deliberation, he flicksopen his cuffs and rolls them up, revealing tanned, muscled forearms covered with dark hair, and strong, square wrists. When he finally drapes his arms over the back of the sofa, I’m practically panting. He exudes casual power and masculine elegance, I’m speechless. I’ve never seen so much of him, and every part is delicious.
He crooks his finger. “Come here.”
7
BRODY
It’s going to be more difficult than I expected to get Caterina to use my credit card to buy whatever she wants to make her happy.
Which is cute, don’t get me wrong, but also very inconvenient. I thought there was a benefit to being a billionaire, but it’s turning out to be more of a hindrance. If she’s not impressed by being given a credit card you could purchase a small country with, how am I supposed to persuade her to fall in love with a morally grey Bratva boss twice her age, who she is going to realise eventually, has kidnapped her?
Back to Stockholm syndrome, I suppose.
She approaches warily.
“Show me what you bought, moya koshechka.” I nod at the place next to me on the sofa, and she sits, careful that we don’t touch sides, and my heart twists.
Not in love with me yet, huh?
She picks up a parcel and opens it with infinite care. Not ripping the packaging but sliding her little forefinger along the seam. My mind immediately goes to whether she’d be so gentle with my cock, and if I could tempt her to be impatient and grabbing and take exactly what she wants.
From the first paper bag she draws a relaxed sweater in a marl grey, and I nod. Not the cashmere I was hoping her to indulge in, but fine. Then comes a pair of jeans, and a plain top, not unlike the one she’s wearing. From the second to last package falls a cascade of yellow fabric and my brows shoot up as she shakes it out and holds it up.
I blink, nonplussed. “What is it?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “A dress. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
“That’s fashionable, I assume?” The material is silky, but the colour reminds me of one of those spring flowers in dainty floral arrays.
“Yes. No.” She scrunches her nose. “Maybe?”
“Do you like it?” I ask, because honestly it’s the only thing that matters.
“It’ll look super cute on!” she assures me.
“Show me, then.”
That stops her. Her gaze flicks up to my face to check if I’m serious. And yes, I am very serious about seeing Caterina in clothes she bought with my money. It might not be the signs of ownership I want her to have—a pregnant belly and a ring—but it’s a start.
“Okay,” she says shyly, and a wisp of dark hair falls over her cheek as she rises. My hands fist into the fabric of the sofa to prevent myself from tucking it back.
It’s long minutes of tortuous waiting as she goes to her bedroom to change, and then she creeps back in, barefoot and although she peeks at me from behind a curtain of her hair, she might as well be a freight train. It’s all I can do to keep breathing.
She’s correct. The dress looks stunning on her. I wasn’t convinced by that pale yellow, or the cut, but that just shows why I know nothing.
