And certainly not with Bella.
With that savage thought, I push open my office door and stop dead in my tracks.
What the fuck.
I know Bella is inside, because I can smell her light perfume in the air. But she’s nowhere to be seen. I move closer to my desk and that’s when I finally see her.
My grip tightens on the glass.
She’s on her hands and knees, the black skirt she’s wearing has ridden up just enough to hug the full curve of her heart-shaped ass. From this angle, I can see the imprint of her underwear.
She’s looking for something.
17
BELLA
Fuck.
As I inch forward on my hands and knees to examine the safe, I realize that when it comes to Slava Romanov, I should always take the hard route.
I expected the safe to need a key, only to find that it’s protected by a fingerprint scanner.
And I doubt I’m going to be able to get Slava to providethatfor me anytime soon. Sighing, I scoot back and get back on my feet.
But as I back away from the desk, something doesn’t quite feel right.
Then, my ass hits something solid.
And warm.
Oh fuck!
Before I can turn around, a hand slams down a glass of water next to my hips. Long powerful fingers close around the back of my neck, freezing me in place.
Suddenly I’m falling forward for a brief second. The next thing I know, I find myself bent over his desk, cheek pressed against the cool wooden surface while his hand tightens around the back of my neck.
“Dirty little sneak.”
His teeth scrape the shell of my ear as he whispers, voice low and dangerous. Something boiling hot releases in my blood until it burns the breath out of me. The pressure on my neck increases just slightly, and my heart is hammering at how close we are to enacting one of my fantasies.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can feel it through my neck. I clench my jaw together and stiffen my legs to keep my hips in place, fighting the urge to move back to close the distance between us.
God, I’m fucking pathetic right now.
“Are you trying to give me an excuse?” His thumb traces the edge of my jaw. “To hurt you?”
“I don’t think you can,” I pant. “Not after last night.”
I don’t know where this defiance is coming from—maybe some suicidal corner of my brain that’s apparently decided now is the perfect time to poke the bear.
His grip tightens and I almost gasp at how good it feels. “And what makes you say that?”
I twist my head slightly, trying to see his face, but he keeps me pinned in place.
“Because you saved me. You carried me in your arms like you gave a shit about me.”
