That earns a flicker of confusion. “Close?”
I push off the wall, giving her room to breathe. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll shadow me. Every meeting, every inspection, every damn hour until I decide you understand what Ursa Arcane really is. If you’re going to work for me, you’ll do it by my side. No more wandering around and poking your nose whereit doesn’t belong. You can’t pretend anymore, Miss Adler, that you’re not involved.”
Her brows shoot up. “That’s not necessary.”
“It’s not a request.”
She folds her arms, trying to look composed, but the tremor in her breath betrays her. “You think this is punishment.”
I glance over my shoulder at her, the corner of my mouth lifting. “No. This is insurance.”
“Against what?”
My gaze drifts deliberately down her body and back up again. “Distraction.”
Her jaw drops. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
She pushes past me, brushing against my coat as she goes. The touch is fleeting but leaves a spark that travels all the way up my spine. I let her walk a few steps before speaking again, voice low enough to make her pause.
“Don’t come down here again.”
She turns slightly, just enough for me to see the smirk tugging at her lips. “Then stop giving me reasons to.”
I shouldn’t smile, but I do.
The door hisses as she opens it, the light spilling in from the hallway cutting her silhouette in gold. Her hips sway as she walks away, unhurried, unafraid.
God help me, I can’t look anywhere else. For a man who’s spent years mastering restraint, she is the one variable I can’t control. Every move she makes feels calculated to test me, and I can’t decide whether to cage her or worship her for it.
The door closes behind her. Silence floods the bunker again, but the air is still charged with her scent.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling hard.
This was supposed to be simple. Keep her employed, keep her distant, keep my empire intact.
But she’s sharper than she looks. My books are already in perfect order, my schedules are tighter, and my men are impressed by her efficiency. She’s dangerous in a quiet way—organized chaos hidden beneath polite smiles. And now, I’ve ordered her to stay close. Stupid. Necessary. Both.
I glance down at the disassembled rifle she’d been examining; her fingerprints now smudging the steel. My thumb drags over the cool metal as that flash of memory returns again—white satin, the sound of rain, the taste of a woman’s skin. I can’t place it, but it crawls under my skin, insisting it means something more. For now, it doesn’t matter. I leave the bunker and step out into the night. The wind cuts across the courtyard, sharp and clean. The moon hangs low over the pines, a pale witness to whatever madness I’m walking into.
In the distance, the lights of the main house glow faintly through the trees. The low purr of a car sounds, and Roxanne’s little SUV pulls out, headlights glancing across the woods. I imagine her clenching the steering wheel, furious and flushed, cursing me under her breath. Good. Let her.
Fear keeps most people obedient. Anger keeps them alive. But her? I suspect it will do neither.
As I walk back toward the estate, I replay her voice—steady, defiant, tinged with something she doesn’t understand yet. But that fog still lingers in the corners of my mind. I haven’t felt disoriented like this since the drugs and alcohol marred my early 30’s. The last thing I need, another addiction.
Chapter 9
Roxy
Two days later, and I’m still mad. Not at Medvedev, exactly—at myself. I’ve let him get under my skin. I’ve let my mind drift back to the moment in the bunker, the way his voice dragged over my name… low and dark and knowing.
I’ve let myself dream about him.
The only thing that makes sense is that it’s adrenaline. Definitely not attraction—no. Fear, for being backed into corners by a man who runs an empire of darkness.
But fear doesn’t make you stand in front of your closet at seven a.m. debating between the navy blouse that flatters your waist and the silk one that shows more cleavage than is probably appropriate.
