When she gets close enough, I open the door, playing the part of a courteous boss with his most useful employee.
“After you.”
She casts a dismissive and baleful look at me before she gets in. But not before she turns her head and flips a fistful of long dark hair across my face.
9
BELLA
The back seatof the SUV feels overwhelmingly small right now.
By all means, the space is sufficient for two people and there is an empty seat between me and Slava. But somehow, it’s not enough, and behind the tinted windows that seal us in, it feels downright claustrophobic.
I’m acutely aware of every motion from him, and I can’t stop darting glances at him through the tinted glass. It’s unfair that someone I should hate so much looks so fucking good.
In the blurry reflection, I can see that he’s doing the same to me. My skin tingles from his penetrating gaze, and each second of silence is another second where my mind keeps turning back to what happened right outside of my door.
And the deliberate way I hit him with my hair before getting inside.
I don’t know why I did that.
No, that’s not true. I know exactly why I did it.
When he saw me come outside of my apartment, his eyes went straight for the necklace hanging around my throat. And as soon as he did, a familiar fire started burning in his eyes.
And there’s a part of me that wanted to get burned. There’s a part of me that wants to see if he might react in the same domineering way he had at the office.
I wanted him to grab my hair again, yank me back, and demand an apology for how flippantly I’m acting in front of him.
I’m not sure what would’ve happened if he did.
His ghostly gaze leaves my face and settles on the necklace with an intensity that feels like heat through glass.
Just what the hell does this thingmeanto him? What do I mean to him?
He clenches his jaw again and opens his mouth. For a moment, nothing comes out. Then, he clears his throat and finally breaks the silence. “What does my schedule look like for the night?”
I can do that. As long as he’s opening this window of opportunity for me to think about anything but him, I’m going to take it.
"Meet and greet with the first donors at eight," I retreat into the safety of the mask of professionalism that still exists between us. "Your main guests are the police commissioner, and city council members who are up for re-election. After that, you’re free to do as you please until your speech scheduled for nine fifteen."
He holds my gaze, and a fluttering warmth pulses at my throat.
"And security?"
“Everyone entering will pass through metal detectors. I made sure there won’t be any gunmen this time."
It’s not a lie. Not exactly. At least, I don’t know if it’s a lie because I can’t control what Nico D’Ambrosio might do.
Slava laughs.
It's a small sound instead of his usual amused grunt. And in the tight confines of the SUV, it almost sounds genuine. My teeth tug unexpectedly at my bottom lip when I hear the sound, and I find myself staring back at him.
He has smile lines. I don't know why I find this disorienting.
No more words are said, and his gaze reluctantly pulls away from my eyes but not from me. Never from me. It explores my exposed neck, and I’m reminded of his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh. It licks at my bared shoulder, and I can feel the brush of his chin. It continues to move lower and lower, down to the slit in my dress where my thighs are exposed, down the length of my calves, until it settles all the way at the pair of black modest toe pumps that laces up around my ankles.
Then his gaze starts to rise, lingering over every inch of exposed skin, past the dress clinging to my navel, and up towards the valley of my breasts where a single bead of sweat is starting to roll from the suffocating heat between us.
