by Jasmin Quinn
Esma almost tried for a sincere apology as she looked at him, but that was just bullshit. She didn’t like this asshole and she would fail at her attempt to be conciliatory. Instead she sat, hands folded in her lap, head up, eyes gazing at a point behind his head and waited for him to speak.
“You do not have to fear me,” he started.
“Because you don’t like girls?”
His gaze flattened her. “Because I don’t like you.” He paused for effect and then said, “But Mr. Savisin seems to like you and so whatever the case, you are part of the household now, at least until you turn your venom on him.”
Esma sighed, shifted. Cursed herself a little for being so unforgiving. “What are the house rules, Eduard? It’s clear we’re not going to be besties, so let’s get on with this so I can get back to work. I’m good at following rules so just say them.”
Eduard glanced up at the monitors then back to her. “I doubt very much that you are good at following rules. But that’s okay. Because when you break them, it will be my pleasure to make you regret it.”
Esma had been threatened by bigger, meaner tougher guys than Eduard. It didn’t move her to hear his threats and he knew it. He dropped his hand to the desk as he stared at her, stared her down. He was curious now and Esma realized she should have at least attempted contrite. She dropped her eyes and said, “I’m sorry.” But she knew her expression didn’t match her words and she couldn’t bring herself to soften it.
“I doubt that too, Ms. Akkaya. Esma. But it’s irrelevant. Here is what you need to know. No one enters this house without my permission. Unless Mr. Savisin or Mr. Kharzin brings them in. If you wish to bring a guest home, you need to give me 48-hours’ notice, and you need to provide a full background on him. I suggest you fuck somewhere else other than this house. His place, a car, a back alley.”
Esma bit her tongue at his crudeness. He was baiting her. “I will not be bringing anyone into this house.”
“Good. Your own comings and goings won’t be monitored, but when you leave you must sign out with me and provide where you are going and who you’ll be with along with your approximate time of return.”
“Why?” Cool, challenging.
“In case you’re late. In case some asshole decides to help himself to you.” He paused as he eyed her speculatively. “Which I suppose could happen as long as you don’t open your mouth.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Eduard looked her up and down, rolled his eyes and curled his lip. “Mr. Savisin will not want his business competitors to be associating with you and they might try because you appear to be an easy target – maybe too stupid to realize who you’re talking to. If it were up to me, you would stay locked up here until the Russia trip. It is what I will advise, especially now that we’ve spoken.”
Esma speared him with a flat, dark gaze. “Advise all you want. I have no place to go, no one to see.”
“I’ve heard that before. Behave yourself, Esma.”
He stood and she did too. Dismissed she guessed. She opened the door, walked out and slammed it behind her. That felt good. She walked the short distance to Rusya’s office and let herself in. He was sitting on the sofa, reading a document.
She nodded to him, poured herself a coffee and walked over to the chair next to the couch. His eyes wandered to her, touching all the points as she sat. Her hair, her face, her chest and lower. Like he was committing her to memory. Then back to her face. “How did things go with Eduard?”
It slipped from her lips, and even as it did, it was too late to grab it back. “He’s a fucking asshole.” She gasped, covered her mouth, felt the heat rush to her face. “I’m sorry.” She heard the breathiness in her apology. At least this one was sincere.
Rusya cocked his head, his eyes scorching her before he looked down at the file in his hand. “Janice talked to you?”
Esma raked her teeth across her bottom lip. “Yes. I’m sorry. She told me, Mr. Savisin. On the first day. I just… it didn’t register, I guess.”
“It’s disrespectful.” He pinned her with his eyes, and she felt a familiar hollowness inside her. It was one of the reasons she drank. To banish that feeling, the one that made her despair at the thought that men ruled her. Had done so her entire life. Usually the hollowness was followed by the need to push back. Even a futile push made her feel better. Like now.
“Why? Why is it disrespectful for me to swear and not you, or Eduard?”
“Are you asking me to explain myself, Esma?” His voice held a note of menace, an edge of impatience, an ounce of surprise.
Esma heard it all, saw it in his dark gaze, and still she pushed. “Yes.” One word and maybe her last. But ‘yes’ was a good word to die by, she thought. Even so, her heart was pounding and his nearness was causing her breakfast to riot in her stomach.
“In your interview you said you knew who I was, you said you were terrified of me. Were you lying?” His tone never wavered, the expression on his face locked in place. She knew she was on the ledge.
She hesitated, trying to think what she should say. Then, “No,” whispered softly, now knowing why Janice was so shaken yesterday. He would beat her, lock her up, sell her to a brothel in Russia, kill her. His face said all that to her and more. It annoyed her that she couldn’t find her courage. No problem shoving back hard at Eduard, but Rusya was different. He understood his power, knew that words could be as terrifying as fists. He expected compliance.
He nodded. “Good. Then we understand each other.” His gaze stayed steady on her face and she wilted under it. Then he said, “How did things go with Eduard?”
The words came out fast, a little terse. She wanted this conversation to end. She wanted to stop having to talk to his man. “Fine. They went fine. He’s very devoted to you. Doesn’t like me, but maybe that’s because he hasn’t had the opportunity to see my sparkling personality.”
“Esma, relax. It’s easy to be around me. I’m not asking for much.”
She blinked at him. He was right and in an ordinary world, in an ordinary situation, she would hold her tongue. He was so fucking right. “I know.”
Chapter 8
They worked side by side for the rest of the week and into the next, Esma doing exactly as Rusya asked, perfectly every time. No more swearing so that message had gotten through to her. She was less animated than the first two days, more cautious and reticent, which was okay. It helped Rusya keep his emotions in check around her. Their interchanges were formal, a little awkward. It didn’t allay the lust that rose up in him every time he saw her, every time she was close – their heads together, reviewing a document, brushing up against each other and then jolting apart like they’d been tasered.
Always she said the right thing to him, always did the right thing. Smiling and looking perfect each and every time she entered his office. Smelling sweet and dressed conservatively, which made her all the more sexy. It was a test of Rusya’s restraint and one he finally lost.
Too soon, he kept saying to himself as the week stretched on, as he watched her from his desk. But he wasn’t convincing enough. At the end of the day, both working until after 6pm, Esma closed her file, stretched her back, her breasts jutting out against her sweater, the outline of nipples creasing the fabric. “I’m done.” She smiled at him.
Between her nipples and her beautiful warm smile that fucked with his cock, he made up his mind to test the waters. She said good night and left and his eyes followed her round little ass as she walked from the room, closing the door softly behind her. He knew where she was going and what she did after she left his office – already she had predictable patterns.
It was crossing a line, crossing his line. But he wanted to know her, touch her. It’s what he wanted and he was Rusya Savisin. No one was going to fuck with him if he decided to claim her as his own. She had no one in her corner anyway. He felt guilt, but only a little because it wasn’t an emotion he’d ever wasted much energy on. But it was there because
he could have her, take her, keep her, use her or dispose of her. And she didn’t have a say. He wondered if she knew that.
He gave her 10 minutes, then made his way to the gym. He stood inside the shadowed doorway leading to the pool and gazed at her, feeling a little like a stalker. She was exquisite in her white one-piece swimming suit. It was made for swimming, not a bikini for sunning oneself, but a sports suit that hugged her curves, defined her toned body and drew him to her.
She was elegant as she dove into the pool, graceful as she swam. Inside herself, she moved with purpose or maybe it was more than that. It seemed a single-minded determination, like she was exorcizing demons.
Rusya watched in awe. Such an intriguing woman. Each time they shared the same air, he lost his sense of purpose. She made him ache with longing, with need. She made him sorrowful, sentimental, brought out emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since Irina died. He couldn’t understand why this woman would evoke such feelings in him. He wasn’t very often sad, seldom thought about Irina anymore. It was such a brief marriage.
But this woman in the pool, each night doing laps like she had a fever and the only pathway to a cure was to banish it through swimming. So small, so beautiful, so strong as her arms cut the water. Stroke after stroke. Lap after lap, until she was exhausted, until she could barely keep herself afloat. Then after, a shower to wash the remnants of the pool water off, then to the sauna.
It was never his style to play around, to be polite or coy in his approach to women. To meet her in the sauna seemed a little like playing a game, but he wanted her somewhere private and away from the knowing eyes of the household staff. Of his men. He supposed he could have invited her to his room, his bedroom. It was blatant though, clear intentions that would take away her choice. Not like this. An accidental meeting. It would help him assess her, help him know what she was about. Help him decide.
Women were eager to share his bed. It rarely happened though. It was never very interesting. He grinned at the thought. The sex was good. Sex was always good, but he wanted a woman who was more than just a willing fuck. He wanted to feel connected. He thought perhaps there were too many women who wanted to be with him for the wrong reasons. He wanted someone for the right reasons. He thought Esma could be that woman, bold, teasing in her words, but not intentionally seductive. It was who she was and that’s what made her so attractive.
Chapter 9
Esma was so deep in thought as she stepped inside the sauna, she didn’t immediately realize she wasn’t alone. She let out a small shriek when she saw him, Rusya Savisin, sitting on the upper bench, a towel around his waist, otherwise naked, scrutinizing her. He didn’t react to her surprise. Didn’t react when the flush crept over her. “I’m sorry… I… uh… ” Fuck, Esma, find the right words. “I didn’t realize you were in here. I’ll leave.”
She twisted towards the door, but he stopped her by saying, “Why would you leave?”
She turned back to him, keenly aware of how little she had on, if a towel even counted. “I don’t want to intrude.” She sounded breathless. She was breathless. Her heart was racing and there was a small tremble in her legs and hands.
“You’re not. I enjoy your company. Sit.” He waved a hand and she had no option but to comply.
She took the lower seat as far from him as she could get. It wasn’t just the sauna heating her up, it was him, the keen awareness that he was naked. His body, without a suit and tie, so hard, so toned, unexpectedly tanned. His hair a little tousled from the steam and maybe a workout in the gym, the shadow of whiskers on his face, tattoos on his arms and chest, a long deep scar running down the right side of his waist. She’d never had such a visceral response to a man and she’d seen enough of them naked to know it was more than his hard body. She put her hands on her lap, clasped them together and looked straight ahead. She groped around in her head for words, the right words, but there was nothing but blankness and the overwhelming wish for a drink.
She heard him chuckle. “Esma, come sit beside me. I don’t want to talk to the back of your head.”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she stood and turned, keeping her eyes from his as she took a step up and sat on the upper bench. Now she was the same level as he but maintained the four feet of space between them. She was suddenly shy, trying not to betray herself to him.
“Closer, Esma.” This time there was no chuckle. His voice was cool, commanding. He was the boss.
She looked over at him, into his eyes and tried to smile. She didn’t want him to see how rattled she was, but she thought perhaps that ship had already sailed. “Okay.” She slid over two feet… stopped…. then another foot. That should be enough?
“Better.”
The silence lingered between them, the heat stroking her distress.
“Esma, are you truly afraid of me?”
There was no point in denying this. In the moment, she was terrified. “Yes,” she said in a hushed voice, her eyes to her hands.
“What would make you less afraid?”
Esma was coming to understand that this was who Rusya was. Most men would ask why. He didn’t. He already knew why, didn’t need his ego bolstered by the struggle for words from a woman. He went to the right question.
She looked straight ahead. It hurt to look at him, her longing was so intense. “I don’t know if that’s possible.” Then she thought the words were a bit insulting, so she turned towards him, keeping her eyes respectively lowered, trying not to look at his chest, his towel, his… anything, and added. “It’s nothing you’ve said or done. It’s just… “
“If I were to invite you to my bed, would you come?”
Esma wanted to grin at his word choice, with anyone else she might have had a cheeky response. But then her brain kicked into high gear. Here was this man, one who had not been far from her thoughts for the past week, asking her a most intimate question and she wasn’t sure how to answer. Because she was sober, because she had no alcohol to help bolster her inhibitions, had nothing but her clean, clear mind. It was so fucked up, she could barely breathe. Finally, “Yes.” Softly, tentatively.
“Because you would want to or because you’re afraid of me?”
She wanted to say both, her brained screamed at her to launch herself at him, wrap her arms around him and cling. Her emotions were so raw and he was fucking with them. He caused a longing, a heat so deep in her – no other man made her want like he did. And here he was, on offer, wanting her too. It was too fucking much, too everything. And she needed to say something, so she said, “I don’t know. How can you ever know that with a woman? You’re powerful, dangerous and incredibly… attractive. How could you trust any woman’s motives?”
Rusya gave her a half-smile as he thought over her answer. “If I promise I won’t hurt you…”
Esma sucked in a breath. Fuck. Hurt me? You’ll kill me some day. “How can you promise that?”
“I have no reason to hurt you, do I?”
She thought she waited a fraction too long to answer. “No.”
He reached over and took her hand, pulled it towards him. “Stand up, come stand in front of me.”
Esma tried not to shake as she let him guide her to where he wanted her. He didn’t relinquish her hand as he gazed up at her, his eyes darkening. Still seated and yet so powerful in his intensity. “If you’re afraid of me, then it’s hard for me to be anything but your employer, because I’ll never know your true motives.”
“You’re assuming that there will be any other type of relationship.”
He smiled as he looked down, not really looking, just moving his eyes from hers as he mulled over her words. “I don’t make assumptions.”
And of course it was laughable anyway. Because assumptions aside, she was standing in front of him, only a towel between her and all that was him. It made her shiver because this was not part of the plan. Rusya was not supposed to be attracted to her like she was with him. He was not supposed to seduce her. He
was too intense, too tempting, too everything.
He shifted his hands to her elbows and pulled her to him until their knees were bumping. She thought he was going to seat her in his lap. “Esma, you’re beautiful.” As he said this, he drew his warm hands down her arms to her hands, then guided them to his shoulders.
She was trembling now. This was going to change everything and she was barely hanging on by a thread as it was. She could want from afar, but if he did this, she wouldn’t come back from it. “I shouldn’t.”
He looked down again, a small frown, and then, “Shouldn’t what, Esma?” He squeezed her hands, a little too hard maybe. And waited.
That clinched it. She had no options. She let her palms rest on his shoulders, dug her fingers into the hard ridges of his muscles, which flexed under her touch. Didn’t say anything as she blew out a small breath, met his smoky gaze.
“Close your eyes.” His hands dropped to her waist, so large they overlapped at the back. The air was heated from the sauna, but more than that. There was an electric current flowing between the two of them, connecting her to him.
“Okay.” She didn’t though. It was such a risk to do it. A giving up of control. He waited, his face full of expectation. “Okay.” Whispered this time as she lowered her eyelids.
She stood there, in front of him, his hands holding her. No movement, no sound except their breaths, his deepening, hers shallow from fear and desire. Then his touch as he slid his palms down to her hips, then under her towel and up the sides of her body, slowly, gently, skin against her skin, rougher than she would have expected. He moved past her breasts to the knot at the center of the towel.