Maybe...
I close my eyes. Let my mind drift.
And immediately,he'sthere.
Dmitri Baganov. Those eyes. That voice. The way he touched my face in his office, so gentle it made me want to scream.
"This is just the beginning, Vittoria."
Heat pools low in my belly. Traitorous, unwanted heat.
My hand moves without permission, sliding down my stomach. I'm wearing an old t-shirt and nothing else, and the cotton rides up as my fingers trace lower, lower?—
No.
I freeze.
My eyes snap open.
Absolutely fucking not.
I am not touching myself while thinking about that manipulative bastard. The man who orchestrated fake business meetings just to corner me.
He's everything I should hate. Arrogant. Calculating. The kind of man who moves people around like chess pieces and calls it strategy.
The kind of man who held a gun to someone's head for touching my thigh.
Don't think about that.
But I am thinking about it. About how fast he moved, how calm his voice stayed, how his finger never even trembled on the trigger.
About how, for one insane moment, I feltsafe.
I groan and press my palms against my eyes.
This is ridiculous.
I force myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
The attraction isn't real. It's manufactured. He's handsome and dangerous and hewantsme to want him, because that makes his little alliance easier to secure.
I won't give him the satisfaction.
My hand retreats to safer territory, resting on my stomach. The heat fades slowly, leaving behind frustration.
Two years without anyone's touch but my own, and now the first man who makes my blood run hot is the one I absolutely cannot have. Cannot want. Cannot think about while my fingers?—
Stop.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. 3:12 AM. Amanda's last message glows on the screen.
Girl, you've been weird since that night at the club. Whatever happened, I'm here when you're ready to talk.
I type back:Can't sleep. Family drama. Tell you later.
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling.
Dmitri
