To Eva.
Through the glass wall, I watch her work with focused intensity. She handles phones with professional efficiency, organizes files with the same meticulous attention to detail I demand fromeveryone. But I see the tells she thinks she's hidden. The way she presses her thumbnail into her index finger when I walk past her office. The slight tremor in her hands when she brings me coffee mid-morning, careful not to let our fingers touch. The way her brown eyes avoid mine, like she's afraid of what I'll see if she looks too long.
She's fighting the same attraction I am. The knowledge makes my desire for her even more intense.
Around noon, Eva enters my office with fresh coffee. She sets it on my desk and the memory of the other night crashes over me with visceral intensity. The way she felt beneath me on this desk. The sounds she made. The way her body responded to mine with desperate hunger.
"Thank you, Miss Markova," I say, my voice rougher than I intend.
"Of course, Mr. Sokolov." Her voice is steady, but I see her hands tremble slightly as she turns to leave.
I want to call her back. Want to close the door, lower the blinds, and strip away the professional distance she's maintaining with such determination. I want to bend her over my desk again and make her remember exactly how good we are together. But David and Lev are watching, and I have enough problems without adding fuel to their concerns.
After Eva leaves, Lev pulls me aside. His expression is hard, his voice low and controlled. "You need to end whatever this is with the secretary."
"There's nothing to end," I lie.
"Bullshit." Lev's dark eyes bore into mine. "I can read you better than anyone. You're distracted. Unfocused. Making decisions with your dick instead of your brain."
"Careful," I warn, my voice dropping to that low register that makes most men step back.
But Lev doesn't step back. He never does. "Eva Markova is becoming a liability. Your obsession with her is affecting your judgment at the worst possible time. We're under attack from every direction, and you're thinking about fucking your secretary instead of protecting your empire."
The words hit harder than they should because they're true. I know they're true. But knowing doesn't change the fact that I can't seem to stop wanting her, can't seem to focus on anything else when she's in the same building.
"I'll handle it," I say coldly.
Lev's expression suggests he doesn't believe me.
He leaves, and I'm alone with my thoughts and the view of Eva through the glass wall. I imagine pressing my mouth there, tasting her skin, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my lips. I imagine sliding my hands up her thighs beneath that green dress, discovering if she's wearing the same simple black panties from the other night or something different. I imagine making her gasp my name again, watching her come apart in my arms.
Enough.
I force my attention back to the financial documents, to the crisis that requires my focus. But the desire doesn't fade. It simmers beneath my skin, constant and consuming, making concentration impossible.
The afternoon drags on with agonizing slowness. More meetings, more strategy sessions, more bad news as David uncovers additional frozen accounts and pending investigations. By the time the sun begins setting, painting the skyline in shades of gold and crimson, I'm exhausted and frustrated and wound so tightly, I might shatter.
Most of the staff have left for the weekend. The forty-second floor is quiet except for the hum of the building's systems and the occasional sound of Eva moving in her office. I should go home. Should pour myself more vodka and review the contingency plans David prepared. Should focus on saving my empire instead of obsessing over a woman I can't afford to want.
But I don't leave. I stand at my windows, watching the city lights flicker to life, and wait.
When Eva finally gathers her things, I time my exit perfectly. We reach the elevator at the same moment, and the confined space amplifies every sensation. Her light floral perfume fills my lungs with each breath. The heat radiating from her body makes my skin prickle with awareness. I watch her reflection in the polished steel doors. Her blonde hair in its sleek bun that I want to destroy. Her tailored dress hugging curves I've memorized. Her brown eyes carefully avoiding mine.
The elevator descends in suffocating silence. Eva stands rigidly against the far wall, her hands clasped in front of her, her spine straight. Professional. Composed. But I see the way her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, the way her pulse flutters at her throat.
I move closer, crowding into her space, trapping her against the elevator wall. Eva's breath catches, but she doesn't retreat. Her brown eyes finally meet my blue ones, and I see everything she'sbeen trying to hide. Fear, yes. But also desire. Need. The same hunger that's been consuming me.
"Have you been thinking about me, Eva?" My voice is low, rough with the accent that thickens when I'm aroused.
Her composure shatters. "Yes," she whispers, the admission torn from her throat.
I cup her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. "Show me."
Eva's response is immediate and devastating. She pulls me down into a desperate kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressing against mine with a hunger that matches my own. I devour her mouth, tasting coffee and something sweeter, something uniquely Eva. My hands slide down her body, remembering exactly how she feels, the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. She moans against my lips, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
The elevator descends slowly, and we kiss like we're drowning, like this stolen moment is all we'll ever have. My hand slides up her thigh beneath her dress, and Eva gasps, her legs parting slightly in invitation. I want to take her right here, want to lift her against the elevator wall and bury myself inside her. Want to make her scream my name where anyone could hear.
The elevator chimes, announcing our arrival at the lobby.
