“Yes.” Instead of returning to the couch, he padded on bare feet into the kitchen and began rummaging through the refrigerator. I trotted after him, wishing I’d grabbed my robe to cover my tiny tank top and braless chest. “What are you looking for?”
“Can I have some water?”
“Sure.” His nearness doubled my heartrate. I found a glass and filled it with water from the tap. Our forearms brushed. He was too close, drowning my kitchen with his soap-and-vodka scent. “I don’t have any bottled water. This will have to do.”
“Why not? Isn’t Drenda doing her job?” He braced a hand on the cabinet behind me, boxing me in, the same way he’d done at the masquerade. The strength ebbed from my knees. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
“It’s fine. I can do my own shopping.” I slipped beneath his arm and handed the glass to him.
“No. It’s not. I want you free in case I need anything.” In two gulps, he drained the glass. I watched the play of muscles in his throat. Somehow, he managed to make something as mundane as drinking look sexy. It was so unfair. He set the glass on the edge of the sink then walked back to the living room and straight toward my bedroom.
“Mr. Menshikov, it’s late, and I—”
“Call me Roman.”
“Okay,” I rubbed my palms over my thighs and tried again. “What can I do for you, Roman?”
“I’m sorry for yelling at you. The closet looks great.” By now he stood in the center of my bedroom, making me wish I’d picked up the dirty laundry on the floor and tidied the bed. The sight of him in my most private room made me think about him in my bed with those one-thousand-thread-count sheets tangled around his naked hips. “I was upset about Milada. You did a good job.”
“And?” I tried not to show my surprise and arched an eyebrow.
“You’re supposed to say thank you.”
“Thank you.” After undressing for bed, I’d thrown my bra haphazardly aside. He stared at the lacy cups dangling in front of him. I snatched it from the footboard and shoved it into a dresser drawer. “What about interrupting my date with Nicky?”
“I won’t apologize for that,” he said with a slow shake of his head. His focus traveled along the rumpled bedsheets to the headboard. My gaze followed his. The white-and-gold mask from the masquerade winked in the low light. I held my breath, waiting, while he studied it. “You’d be smart to stay away from him.”
“You’re my employer. You have no say in my personal life, especially who I date.” Anxiety fluttered in my belly as he fingered the edge of the mask. It was one of a kind, handmade, and unmistakable. “If this…relationship…is going to work, we need to set some boundaries.”
“True.” He dropped his hand to his side and turned to face me, his gaze connecting with mine. Mystery and intrigue swirled behind those dark eyes. Did he know who I really was? Was this part of the game between him and Nicky? “But I believe there’s a non-fraternization clause in your employment contract, forbidding you to date members of my family. And Nicky, you see, is my younger brother.”
“I—I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you tell me?” Random clips of the two men rolled through my head. They were nothing alike in physical appearance or mannerisms. Even their surnames differed. “How was I supposed to know?”
“His father adopted me. I assumed Nicky would have told you, since you’re so close.” Did I imagine a hint of jealousy in his tone? The idea pleased me more than I wanted to admit.
“We’re not close.” The trembling of my hands echoed the quake of my insides. “I hardly know him.”
“That’s not what he says. According to him, you’ve been sneaking around behind my back for weeks. Is that true, Rourke?” The sound of my name on his lips, in his smooth voice, brought immediate dampness to my panties.
“I don’t sneak around. Not with Nicky. Not with anyone.” I swallowed against the dryness in my mouth. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting the planes and angles of his face in sharp relief. There he was, my prince, my boss, the bane of my existence. “Are you going to fire me?”
“You’re the best assistant I’ve had in years.” His words of praise heated my cheeks. Soft footfalls marked his progress across the room. He stopped in front of me and drew in a deep breath through his nose, like he was scenting me. I swayed toward him and caught myself. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “It occurred to me that his fascination with you could work to my advantage.” The pads of his fingers grazed my neck as he pushed a strand of loose hair over my shoulder. I wanted him to keep going, to run that elegant hand down my back, to pull me against his hard chest.
“He’s blackmailing me,” I blurted. Roman froze, eyes narrowing. “He—he knows something about me, and he’s been threatening to tell you if I don’t play along with his game.”
Memories of our tryst pulled me toward him. Reflections of that night danced in the blackness of his pupils. His gaze dipped to my lips. My breath caught and held as his fingertips lifted to my face and stroked my cheek. Desire fizzed beneath my skin, popping like tiny champagne bubbles.
“Take away his power over you. Tell me your secrets, Rourke, and I’ll tell you mine.” The seductive murmur resonated into my core. He closed his eyes and ran the tip of his nose along the length of mine. The warmth of his breath puffed against my lips. If I angled my head the tiniest bit, our mouths would meet, and I wanted it. I wanted it more than anything, to taste him again, to feel the slide of his tongue in my mouth. When his hand fisted in the hair at the nape of my neck, I whimpered. Delicious pain skated over my scalp as he tugged my head back, exposing the vulnerable artery beneath my jaw, like he was a vampire about to take a bite.
“That night at the masquerade, it was me,” I whispered.
His lips paused at the place where my pulse fluttered butterfly wings above my collarbone. The tip of his tongue licked up to the ticklish spot behind my ear. I shivered. He placed the gentlest of kisses on my earlobe and whispered, “I know.”
Chapter 24
Rourke
Roman’s confession robbed the strength from my knees. The place on my neck where he’d kissed me burned like I’d been branded. I sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at him. A hint of amusement curled his lips. “What do you mean?” My voice sounded strange, hollow, like it belonged to someone else.
“I know who you are, Cinderella. I’ve known for a while now.” From his greater height, he stared down at me. “Since you picked me up at the airport.”
All this time? “So what happens now?”
“Well…” Those long-lashed blue eyes dragged over my body, over the outline of my nipples poking through my tank top, and stopped at the tiny shorts hiding my sex. “I’m going upstairs to bed.” On silent feet, he turned and padded toward the door.
I jogged after him. “No, I mean tomorrow. How is this going to work?”
At the front door, he turned so quickly that I stumbled backward and fell into the wall. His strong arms caged me in, one hand placed on each side of my head. The weight of his body pinned me to the plaster. Warm, full lips pressed against mine. His tongue slipped into my mouth. He tasted of vodka, mint, and a hint of lime. A growl reverberated deep in his chest. I dug my fingers into his biceps. How many nights had I dreamed of this moment, of discovering my Prince Charming, of being kissed within an inch of my life?
Heat and wetness and friction consumed my thoughts. He plundered my mouth. Male possession crushed my lips and stole my breath. One of his hands dropped to my hip and squeezed. Through the silk of his pajama bottoms, the hard length of his cock nudged my stomach. I moaned, the sound foreign and feral. If only I could get closer to him. I wanted to feel his bare flesh sliding over mine. The barriers of cotton and silk weighed heavier than iron chains.
“Easy, princess,” he murmured and pulled away. Instinctively, I followed the direction of his movement. Too many sensations crowded my consciousness—the scent of his freshly showered skin, the hardness of his chest against my b
reasts, the silken strands of his hair in my fingers. He placed a hand on my chest and gently pushed me against the wall. I stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked. Things were happening too quickly for my overtaxed brain to process.
“Please.” It was the only word I could speak with my sex throbbing and his red lips inches from mine.
He placed a fingertip beneath my chin and tilted my face so I had to look into his eyes. They were dark, almost black, his pupils dilated, obscuring the blue of his irises. With a slow shake of his head, he backed away. The air chilled between us. “Not now. Not tonight.”
The door shut behind him. Alone in the living room, I stared at the door, willing him to come back and make this torturous need disappear. Questions raced around my head until I grew dizzy. How had he known it was me? Did Nicky know that he knew? The answers wouldn’t come easily and as he’d said, not tonight.
In the morning, I took particular care with my outfit, choosing a slim navy pencil skirt and a silver ruffled blouse, paired with ridiculously cute silver sandals. Inside Roman’s study, bright sunshine poured through the enormous windows. I arranged everything the way I knew he liked it. Hot coffee ready and waiting. Schedule printed and emailed to his phone. He had an early meeting on the far side of the city, which would require a long car ride for the two of us. Butterflies bounced around my stomach as I waited for him to appear.
After a long and sleepless night, I’d decided to be cool and professional. While I grazed the internet for news clips, I adjusted the collar of my shirt for the third time. My neck still sizzled where his lips had touched. One tiny confession had changed everything about our relationship, both personally and professionally. I had no idea what to expect from him this morning.
At six-thirty, he walked into the study. As always, the crisp lines of his suit hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist. I made a mental note to thank his tailor for a job well done. Sunlight glinted off the diamond-encrusted bar holding his red tie in place. He strode past me, taking the cup of coffee from my hands, and claimed his throne behind the desk. I drank in the spicy scent of his aftershave.
His blue eyes went straight to his computer display. “Anything special on the schedule today?”
“Yes.” I pressed my palms together to calm their trembling. “I’ve got to leave a few minutes early tonight to see my aunt. She’s having some problems at the nursing home, and I want to check on her.”
“Done.” Strong fingers tapped on the keyboard. Even his wrists turned me on, the square width of his hands, those neatly manicured nails. “What else?”
“Um, Ivan asked me to schedule some interviews for you this week.” The cadence of his typing faltered, and he stilled. My blood turned to acid at the thought of him with the women in the folders.
“What about them?” The soft, deadly tone of his deep voice raised my internal temperature a dozen degrees.
“I just wanted to make sure you were aware.” Of course he meant to continue with his life. Just because we’d shared hot, dirty, anonymous sex four months ago didn’t mean he had an obligation to me. He was my employer. I was his assistant. Nothing had changed, and everything had changed. “You have three appointments tomorrow and Thursday.”
“Cancel them,” he said after a long pause. Confusion tempered the excitement at his command. What did that mean? Had last night changed his mind about the women, or was this simply a result of his busy agenda? He resumed typing. “That’ll be all, Ms. Donahue.”
“Right.” With my heart jumping between my ribs, I walked to the doorway but stopped before leaving and returned to his desk.
“Is there something else?” With an exasperated sigh, he pushed away from the desk and looked me straight in the eyes. Flecks of gold sparked in his irises.
“Yes. I—I mean, shouldn’t we talk about last night? About the masquerade?” I bit my lower lip and waited for him to say something, anything, to let me know where I stood. “I have questions.”
His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the desk. I forced my face to mirror his neutral expression. Finally, he stood and walked around the desk until we were inches apart. He lifted a hand, like he wanted to touch me, then let it drop to his side. “Not now. I have work to do, Ms. Donahue, and so do you.” The tone of his voice softened to an intimate purr. “Call Jose. Tell him I’ll be leaving for the office in thirty minutes.”
“Sure. Right away.” On the outside, I appeared calm, but inside, my head and heart waged war against each other. Why couldn’t the man just say what he meant instead of skirting around the issue?
For the next thirty minutes, I paced the hallway. I could deal with his anger or censure, but not knowing his feelings sent my blood pressure into the ozone. The fact that he’d ignored my request to clear the air between us only exacerbated my irritation. We needed to talk, because I couldn’t continue to work like this.
Chapter 25
Rourke
By the time Jose arrived with the car, my anxiety had transformed into anger. I went down to the lobby and out into the warm summer sunshine. Heat shimmered above the pavement. Car horns beeped, and traffic rumbled. Jose met me at the curb with a tip of his hat.
“Good morning,” I said, doing my best to hide my feelings. “Mr. Menshikov will be down in a minute.”
“Good morning, Ms. Donahue.”
I slid into the quiet oasis of the car, and he shut the door behind me.
Five minutes later, Roman appeared. A young woman with a puppy nearly tripped over her feet when he strode out of the building. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes. He ignored her and eased into the car across from me. He was talking into his Bluetooth, speaking rapid-fire French to a business associate, too fast for me to translate. I stared out the window while we pulled into the street. The heat of his stare burned into me from behind those expensive shades. Both hands rested on the tops of his spread thighs.
At the second stoplight, he ended his call and shifted his attention to me. “Tell me about your aunt.”
The request caught me off guard. Aside from his bizarre visit to my apartment last night, he’d never inquired about my personal life. I rubbed sweaty palms over the skirt of my dress. “I’ve got her in a nursing home, but their care is questionable. They let her wander off, and I’m afraid she’s going to get hurt or worse. I try to check on her as often as I can. It’s difficult with my work schedule.” I waved my hands, helplessness washing over me. “And she’s on the other side of the city, so it’s not like I can go there every day.”
The tilt of his head signified genuine interest. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She has early onset Alzheimer’s and requires constant supervision. The other day, she wandered down the street. I only found out because one of the patients let it slip.” Tears burned the backs of my eyelids for the loss of her freedom and the beautiful woman I’d once known. I blinked them into submission. “If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“You love her very much,” he said softly.
“Yes, I do. She took me in when my parents died, even though her husband was terminally ill with cancer. I don’t know what I’d have done without her. She’s the only family I have left, and I owe her so much.”
When I’d had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, Aunt May had come to the rescue, offering hugs and smiles and a place in her home. Now, the tables had turned. With her husband gone, she needed me to take care of her, and I would sacrifice everything to see her comfortable and happy.
“Why don’t you move her somewhere else?”
“The waiting list for a five-star facility is over a year. Full-time care is crazy expensive. Uncle Tim’s illness put them into bankruptcy. The money she had left from his life insurance went to pay their bills. I can’t afford anything better.” Hopelessness renewed the tears. I swallowed them down, determined to stay positive. “But I have this job now, and in a few months, I may be able to get her into another place.”
“I can only imagin
e how it must feel to see someone you love suffering.” His eyes softened, warm and blue, like the Mediterranean Sea. “When my parents died, I was very young, just a baby. My adoptive father is the only parent I remember. If anything happened to that man, I’d be devastated. I’d move heaven and earth to help him. People like us, we know the value of family, especially in the wake of losing our own.” The light shifted as we turned onto a different street, illuminating his chiseled brow and cheekbones, and coloring my perception of him. In the cozy space of the car, he seemed more approachable, almost human. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“And I’m lucky to have her,” I said, thinking of all the times she’d fed me chicken soup when I’d been sick and had mended my clothes, never complaining.
“Your father was a wealthy man. He didn’t leave you any money from his estate?”
I smiled at the memory of my good-natured father and his lavish spending habits. “Money was never his strong suit. He was wealthy on paper, but his debts far exceeded his assets. The people he’d trusted to invest his money had done a poor job.” When the executor had closed the estate, there had been nothing left for me. “I had to sell everything to afford college tuition.” Even then, the money had run out quickly, forcing me to seek employment. Everly had come to my rescue, offering a job as her assistant.
“With your determination, I’m sure you’ll work something out.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but his phone rang. He lifted a finger, signaling for me to wait, and answered the call in Russian.
The interlude gave me a chance to study him. While he spoke and stared out the window, I drank in every detail of his appearance—a shadow of stubble darkened his smooth cheeks, even though he’d shaved less than a few hours ago. A tiny scar marred the tanned skin above his lip, giving his mouth an air of dangerous vulnerability. His rich voice rumbled into my ears, smooth with rough edges, fortified steel encased in velvet. The list of contradictions went on and on, too many to process and adding to my confusion.
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