7
RANSOME
Jasmine.
Rose.
Patchouli.
I’ve spent more time than I care to admit researching these scents and what perfumes contain them. I’ve narrowed it down to three. But I am pretty sure I know which one is Amara’s signature scent. It’s Gucci. And it’s called, of all things, Sweet Seduction.
The very idea of that little minx using something to attempt to seduce someone makes my teeth grind. She needs to stop. No more perfume.
She’s dangerous enough already.
I shake that voice from my head. The one that whispers every time she enters the room and every time she leaves. She’s attractive, obviously. I may be a Rozanov, the next-in-linepakhan, but I’m still a man. And no man with a dick in hispants could ever be within a hundred feet of Amara and not be aroused.
I’ve done well controlling that instinct since I hired her. Every day, I’ve resisted the urge that tells me to slam the door and lock it every time she’s in the room. To rip her blouse from her breasts with enough force to send every pearl button flying. To hike her too-tight pencil skirt up over her ass so I can spread her across my desk and devour her.
I haven’t done anything even remotely fucking close.
I haven’t gotten laid in more time than I care to admit, either.
But that’s not unusual for Bratva men. Nothing is more distracting than an irresistible woman, and with the new El Paso deal in the works and the Chadovich family causing problems every time I turn around, Tristan Chadovich especially, I can’t afford even the smallest distraction.
No matter how sweet.
I pass through the hallway of my inner city penthouse while straightening my tie. I don’t usually stay the night here. I have an estate outside of the city proper that is much more private, much more locked down.
But that kind of security means more people. Guards. Servants. Cooks and maids. I don’t want eyes on me all the time. So I keep my above-board life, everything Apex-related, out there. That office is for the world to see.
This one is for me and me alone.
Well, me and Amara. I’ve sent her here for random errands from time to time. And as I pass my office, I stop, jaw clenching—because I swear to God I can smell her again.
Jasmine. Rose. Patchouli.It’s like the scent never left. She was here the other day, by my order of course. It’s strange that she was here long enough to leave an impression, though. It goes without saying she should never linger. Get in, get out.
At least, I assumed it went without saying.
The other day, she disobeyed that unsaid understanding. I don’t have any proof, but I fucking know it in my bones—because I could smell her. Almost like she was still there, just out of sight, just around every corner, behind every curtain, tucked within every closet.
Jasmine. Rose. Patchouli.
Haunting me.
Fuck that perfume to hell. It’s toying with my senses, fogging my brain and snaking itself around my throat. I need to focus.
When I get to the Apex offices, Amara is standing at attention behind her desk to greet me. Black pencil skirt, too tight as usual, far enough up her thighs that I can see her pale knees. Black heels turn her calves into smooth curves. And the smell…
Sweet, sweet Seduction.
A sleeveless, plum-colored, button up blouse, ruffled in the front. Her dark hair is curled. Her lips are glossy and her cheeks are pink.
In her hand is my coffee.
“Good morning, Mr. Rozanov.” It’s the same thing she always says. The thing she is supposed to say.
Yet today it sounds different. More… velvety. A purr, almost.
