I set my bag down beside his desk as I reach for the tea he has waiting for me—black, strong, no sugar. Decaf, of course. He’s started preparing it just the way I like. It’s our unspoken agreement—these morning meetings. I feel the pull of ritual settling in.
“Any updates from the legal team?” I ask, sitting down on the leather chair across from him. He nods, flipping open a folder.
“They’re nearly finished scrubbing the paperwork from the old holding companies. If the Feds come knocking again, they won’t have much to pin on us. Smoke and mirrors, mostly.”
I skim the draft of a press release he slides toward me, red pen in hand. A few phrases cause my throat to tighten, too defensive,too sharp. I offer alternatives. He watches me work, and when I glance up, I catch a familiar glint in his eyes. He’s both amused and impressed.
“You know,” he murmurs, leaning slightly across the desk, “I didn’t expect this. That we’d be this in sync.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You mean professionally?”
He smirks. “Among other things.”
I bite the inside of my lip, focused on a sentence that could use fixing. When I glance up again, he’s watching me. Not with lust, but with something more difficult to name. Something gentler. I offer him a dry, deflecting smile, feeling the flush on my cheeks.
“I think you missed your calling,” he says. “You should’ve been a fixer.”
“I kind of am,” I reply, setting the pen down. “Just not always in ways I expect.”
Silence. I exhale slowly.
“Being around you like this,” I say quietly, “working beside you, it’s the first time in a long time I haven’t felt like I’m fighting alone.”
He seems moved, his expression giving him away. “I know the feeling,” he says. “I’ve trusted a lot of people with my business, but almost no one with myself. Until you.”
My fingers graze his across the desk. Neither of us moves. His gaze drops to my lips. My pulse stutters.
The moment stretches. Fragile. Electric.
We forget the war outside, just for one breathless beat.
Yuri stands and reaches for me, giving me every opportunity to say no. I don’t. My breath hitches just before his lips brush mine. Soft, curious.
A question.
I answer it with a kiss.
The world narrows. No desk. No windows. No FBI or Bratva, no ghosts of our pasts. Just the heat between us, igniting fast and wild. His hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling as he deepens the kiss. I gasp as he leans forward, pulling me flush against him. My hand fists in his collar, yanking him closer.
In one smooth motion, he hoists me onto the desk, scattering papers like leaves in a storm. His body slots between my knees, strong and sure. His hands are under my blouse, rough palms skimming bare skin. I arch into him with a soft, involuntary moan.
His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing. I shudder. My thighs tighten around his waist. His hands roam, possessive but reverent. My blouse is hanging open now. His belt’s loose. I think I might burn alive from wanting him.
A sharp knock sounds at the door and we freeze. I’m half undressed and breathless. He’s still pressed against me, heart pounding through his chest into mine.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs, voice dark with heat, one hand still cradling my waist.
I’m already sliding off the desk, hastily buttoning my blouse with trembling fingers. He adjusts his shirt and grabs a nearby document.
The door opens to reveal Alexei. He pauses in the threshold, eyes flicking between us. He doesn’t comment, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a knowing smile.
“I’ve got the latest from the legal team,” he says, dropping another file onto the desk. “Also, word from Elena. There’s movement on the Colombian front. We’ll need to talk strategy.”
“Of course,” Yuri says smoothly, as if we weren’t seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off.
Alexei leaves. The door clicks shut.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “That was close.”
