And for the first time in my life, I’m wearing a pair of four-inch heels. They’re impractical and uncomfortable, but my legs and ass look incredible in them.
I’ve even done my makeup and hair differently too, with a provocatively red shade of lipstick, and an updo that drops a few errant strands of hair by my ear.
Gravity shifts, and the elevator slows.
Show time.
I find Slava standing shirtless in the living room, a glass of water in his hand like usual. He’s busy staring at his phone.
“Good morning, Mr.Romanov,” I put on my sweetest voice possible as my heels click against the floor.
He lowers the glass, turns to look at me, and goes completely still.
His winter-gray eyes travel down my body with slow deliberateness and his jaws clench harder the longer he stares. I’m burning up under his gaze, but I remain absolutely still and let him drink in every detail.
Every time his eyes pause on another deliberate detail of my ridiculous costume, a tiny burst of warm pride balloons in my chest—both at the thought that this is working, and at how he’s staring at me.
By the time his gaze makes it back up to my face, my face is so hot that I’m pretty sure I’m panting.
“Now who’s wearing inappropriate workplace attire?” His lips are pursed together as he speaks and his voice sounds strained.
“At least I’m the one wearing a shirt.” I keep my expression innocent and sweet.
His knuckles have gone white around the glass and his nostrils flare at my defiance.
Feeling emboldened, I take a step closer and feel his gaze settling into my skin. Another step, and his clean sweat invades my nose. A third step, and I can practically hear his heartbeat pounding at his neck.
“And unfortunately, Mr. Romanov,” I put a finger on his chest, letting his body heat ripple across my skin. “I forgot to bring a change of clothing. So even if you want me to change like a good girl into something more appropriate…”
I let the words linger, bite my lips, and look up at him without tilting my face towards him.
The muscle in his jaw ticks. His eyes narrow. And Good.Good.
“Are you trying to provoke me, Ms. Farnassi?”
I smile. “Is it working?”
The air between us grows heavy and charged and I know we’re both playing a dangerous game. Annoyance pours off him in waves, and my heart starts drumming the longer he stays still. His shoulders are tense, and the gray of his eyes is giving way to black as his pupils start dilating.
He’s looking at me like he wants to devour me whole. I feel wetness starting to pool between my legs. But he refuses to move. He’s waiting for me to break.
Fuck you.
A second finger joins the first on his chest, and then slowly, I walk them over the broad muscular expanse until I give his left nipple a quick brush with my nail. He hisses in response but still doesn’t do a thing.
Fuck it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I reach for his glass, and that’s when he grabs my wrist with his other hand. Fire rings my wrist, and our breaths fill the tiny space between us.
“I’m just getting some water,” I whisper.
“Ludmilla will bring you one if you ask.” Has his voice always sounded so strained?
“But what if I want this one?”
He continues to hold me in place. Seconds stretch into minutes. His hand tightens around my wrist, like he’s struggling with his decision to either release me or to keep holding me here all day.
He breaks the silence, voice low and hard. “What are you doing, Bella?”
