Rush: A Second Chance Romance
Page 36
But now wasn’t the time or the place. Perhaps there would never be a time and place.
What Charlotte wanted, more than anything in the world, was for Vlad to stop analyzing her. To stop trying to put two and two together, to stop depending on that brilliant mind of his to take him everywhere and to simply feel.
“Ok.” She breathed, moving out of his grip swiftly - before her body switched on the autopilot and everything got a lot more heated. “A coat. That’s fine.”
It took Vladimir a full minute to snap out of his reverie. His hand still hovered in the air where she had been only seconds earlier a moment before it snapped into a fist and his gaze cleared. When he raised his eyes to hers once more, the desire she saw there was enough to take her breath away.
But, as quickly as it affected her, Vladimir’s mask of control slipped back into place. “Alright.” He stepped out of the alcove, running a hand through hair still damp from the shower. “Come with me.” Now, instead of taking her arm, he offered her his own. It was still hardly appropriate for what they were supposed to be. She, an architect and he, her boss. But, Charlotte took his arm anyway and let him lead her down the front steps and into the chill morning.
He was right. It was cold - freezing, in fact. Charlotte might not have noticed the previous day because she was so wrapped up in the city before her, but now it was rather hard to ignore the frigid air creeping in through the lining of her ski jacket. Automatically, she huddled closer to Vladimir.
When he glanced down at her, she could have sworn the corner of his mouth kicked up in a knowing smirk before he raised his hand to hail a taxi.
Of course, when Charlotte agreed to buy a coat, she hadn’t expected the man to take her into the heart of St. Petersburg’s upscale shopping district. She had hoped there might be shops close to the hotel - somewhere she could get a fairly cheap, thick and sturdy garment. Instead, within twenty minutes, she found herself facing lines of designer shops - only some of which she was familiar with.
Before she could protest, Vladimir was urging her towards a Prada storefront, and her eyes were wide as saucers. Perhaps she might have protested a little more if she hadn’t still been relishing the memory of how his mouth felt on hers...and luxuriating in the fact that he seemed, for the most part, to be taking the entire affair in stride.
At the very least he hadn’t dropped the line about both of them being adults again. She knew very well how adult she was. That was what had gotten her into this whole mess in the first place.
The moment they stepped into the shop, they were swarmed by at least three saleswomen, all dressed impeccably in black. They were, Charlotte noticed, all tall, slim, and beautifully blonde - whether that blonde was natural or bottle, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that all three women positively drooled over Vladimir - she was surprised their jaws didn’t hit the fucking floor.
The moment they reached him, they immediately started babbling in rapid Russian - she could have been chopped liver for all the attention they paid her.
Charlotte felt something awful, hot and uncomfortable welling in her stomach. She had never been the violent type - at least not physically - but at that moment, she would have been perfectly fine snatching every single blonde hair from their three collective heads. She stood back, glaring daggers at the throng of people before her - and she would have marched right out of the store had Vladimir not chosen that moment to look back at her, his expression far from impressed at all the attention the blondes lavished on him. “Charlotte, come here please?”
She didn’t want to. The moment the three sales women laid eyes on her, their gazes turned sour enough to wither even the heartiest of weeds. But she’d be damned if she’d cower now. These bitches were all but challenging her. Vladimir might not technically be hers, but he wasn’t theirs either, shared language or not.
Chin in the air, she made her way over to them, her gaze challenging them to say a single word about her - even in Russian.
“We’re looking for a winter coat,” Vladimir instructed them, in English now, “And perhaps a few other winter effects.”
“Of course,” the tallest blonde all but gushed in a thickly accented tone. “We’d be delighted to find something to suit your…. wife.” Charlotte opened her mouth to correct her - she was sure the blonde would be happy to hear the details - but Vlad’s hand on her wrist stayed her words. She glanced at him once, incredulously, and he met her gaze with an incremental shake of his head.
He didn’t want them to know she wasn’t his wife? Why the hell not? It was only natural that these women would look at him differently if they assumed he’d married an American. Why wouldn’t he want to bask in the glow of their attentions? Even as she was confused, Charlotte found herself oddly pleased.
He was pretending to be her husband.
She had no idea why - she really didn’t think her minute kiss had scrambled his brain that much.
As the women left to begin pulling things from the shelves, she inched closer to him, gazing up at him skeptically a moment before she tried a whispered inquiry. “So now we’re married?”
Vladimir merely sighed before giving her a surprisingly uncomfortable look. “Don’t give me away? They’re like hawks, and I’ve no intention of flattering them the way they seem to think they deserve.”
“What, because they’re condescending bitches?” The comment left her before she could even think about it, and Charlotte’s face reddened the moment she realized how callous she must have sounded. “I mean...I just wanted to point out that…”
“They’re the kind of women I once thought were my type.” Vladimir interrupted her, his expression contemplative as he watched the three attendants gather their treasure from the shelves.
Charlotte’s mouth all but fell open in shock. “What, them?” She returned in a low hiss, “Those stuck-up, overly coiffed brats? You can’t be serious.”
“Are you really so surprised?” He returned wryly, his brow arched in inquiry. “I like things predictable, Charlotte. I like to know what I’m getting into, and I like to be able to see all possible outcomes. At least,” he paused for a moment, his brow knitting together thoughtfully. “I thought I did. Once.”
Charlotte found her throat drying in odd anticipation. “And now? What kind of woman is your type?” That, she knew, was none of her business. But he’d started this, and she was damn well going to finish it.
Vladimir merely chuckled knowingly. “Well, for the next little while, it’s you, isn’t it?” Charlotte made a small sound of surprise as his arm slid around her waist to pull her close against him - far too close for comfort.
The entire world was going to hell in a handbasket. That was three times Vladimir Kensley had touched her voluntarily in the past hour, and if he didn’t stop, they were going to be in serious trouble. Perhaps her impulsive little show in the elevator bay had done more than she thought. She had meant to shock him - to catch him off guard.
And now he was doing the exact same to her. They were supposed to be concentrating on killing the attraction between them - it was quite obvious now that it wasn’t working. “Freckly, gangly, and completely tactless? Well, thank you, Mr. Kensley, for lowering your standards.” She teased him, resisting the urge to kiss him again - just to see how he’d react.
If Vladimir meant to say anything else, his reply was cut off by the return of the saleswomen, each holding more clothing than Charlotte might have thought their skinny arms able to carry. “Please,” their forced smiles amused the redhead now more than they upset her, “Come right this way.”
And she did, unable to help the way her lips curved upwards in triumph.
Unfortunately, Charlotte’s smile didn’t last for long. If she remembered correctly - and she was sure she did - the entire point of this outing was supposed to be for her to buy a coat. One coat. These women were plying her with literal mountains of clothing options, and the price tags on some of them were enough to make her faintly ill.
Worse, she couldn’t even try on the clothing in peace. As the saleswomen were convinced that Vladimir was her husband, they paraded her out to show off each and every piece, which, as far as Charlotte was concerned, was a serious as baring her soul before the man.
There was a reason she didn’t wear things like the alluring, “sophisticated” getup Lila insisted upon at her first formal meeting with Vladimir. It was because she didn’t like the idea of making herself intentionally attractive for him. She knew what that meant, and it was worse than getting naked - at least in her opinion. She was baiting him -drawing him in.
Though she couldn’t deny she enjoyed the flagrant want on his face every time she was paraded before him in her skin-tight outfits. He stared at her from where he was seated on a posh leather couch, one leg crossed carelessly over the other, and Charlotte felt herself flushing to the very roots of her fiery-colored hair. It didn’t help, she supposed, that he looked pretty damned delicious himself in that tailored suit of his, under a thick wool coat that suited him perfectly. It was really no wonder the women had been all over him.
She wanted to be all over him - though she supposed that was conveyed perfectly enough when she strutted her stuff in a dress that seemed to be made entirely of buttery, gray suede. Feelings of nervousness and pure sex appeal warred within her almost continuously for the hour they were in the shop, and Charlotte told herself that, at the very least, if she and Vladimir were supposed to be husband and wife, at least they were giving off a rampantly sexual vibe.
After being subjected to no less than ten outfits, Charlotte finally called mercy and redonned her own clothes before stepping from the dressing room-still pink-cheeked. The only thing she was even considering actually purchasing was a thick, shockingly white wool coat lined with faux fur that was luxuriously warm and soft. It was twelve hundred dollars, and the notion of spending so much money was intimidating, to say the very least. But it wasn’t as if Charlotte hadn’t been getting paid for all the hours she was working for Kensley enterprises. This would be her first gift to herself...if she ever got over all that money leaving her bank account at once.
To her surprise, however, when she came back onto the sales floor, she found Vladimir already in deep conversation with the lead saleswoman. On the counter besides them were two elegantly appointed Prada bags that were visibly full to the brim. Frowning, she made her way over to the counter to speak with them.
“I’m sorry,” she tried to be as magnanimous as she could - a stretch, considering how she’d been greeted when she entered the shop, “But I didn’t want everything. I was just thinking about the coat…”
“It’s all been taken care of.” The blonde turned to look at her with an envious, wistful expression. “You are so lucky to have a husband who cares for you so. You should take good care of him.”
The statement left Charlotte completely confused. Already taken care of? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
But Vladimir was already reaching into one of the bags to retrieve the coat. He smoothed the slight wrinkles from where it had been folded and held it out for her. The price tag, it appeared, had been cut away. Which meant it was already bought. “Come darling.” He could already see the rebellion brewing in her eyes - the combination of shock and horror, and there was enough warning in his tone to keep her from exploding - but only just.
Somewhat stiffly, she worked her arms into the sleeves and allowed the dark-haired man to fasten the buttons over her front. Before meeting him, she hadn’t known it was possible to be simultaneously pissed as hell at someone even as you wanted to tear their clothes off.
It was a novel sensation, to say the least - but Vladimir seemed to have no qualms about inciting it in her.
They had barely stepped back into the frigid air before she was whirling on him, incensed. “What have you done?” She demanded, gazing, shell-shocked, at the two bags of clothing he held.
“I’ve bought you clothes.” He replied, as if it was the smallest thing in the world - and then, at her obviously upset expression, he breathed a long sigh. “You’re upset.”
It wasn’t a question. “Damn right I’m upset!” She insisted, feeling her cheeks heat. “That must have been hundreds, no ...thousands of dollars! I don’t need clothes!”
“There are a great many things we don’t need,” he countered, his tone just as steady as hers was erratic, “But I thought it a crime to pass up outfits that did your figure such justice.”
Her figure. Her figure? Charlotte had already opened her mouth with a witty retort when the enormity of what he’d just said struck her and she fell completely silent.
In plain English, Vladimir Kensley was telling her that he’d brought her thousands of dollars’ worth of name brand clothes because he liked the way she looked in them. He liked looking at her. “You…” She finally managed, the wind somewhat stolen from her sails. “You want me to wear that stuff.”
His mouth quirked in a wry smirk. “That is what clothes are for, aren’t they, Charlotte? Wearing?”
She scowled, slapping his arm briefly and wincing at how much the cold, along with the solidness there, combined to make her palm sting. “Vladimir Kensley,” she finally replied, staring at him steadily. “Are you trying to tell me I’m pretty?”
If she wanted him to give her a compliment, she was going to have to set the damn thing up for him. That was just the kind of man Vladimir was - and damn if it didn’t intrigue her as much as it frustrated her.
He seemed to consider her for a moment, his intense gaze roaming over her from head to toe. Though she was wearing a coat that might as well be a piece of art, Charlotte, who had done nothing with her hair that morning, who was wearing no makeup and had sworn to herself that she didn’t give a damn what Vladimir Kensley thought about her, was suddenly self-conscious.
“You’re gorgeous, Charlotte.” His words took her breath away - and for a moment, Charlotte thought she might have actually forgotten how to speak. Gorgeous? She hadn’t even known Vladimir had the wherewithal to find women gorgeous. Appealing or sexually satisfying, certainly, but this...this was completely unexpected.
She swallowed thickly, struggling to remember even the simplest of words. “Did you expect anything less?” Vladimir finally continued, reaching down to cup her cheek in a large, surprisingly warm hand, “Isn’t it obvious that I’m at my wits end trying to resist your decidedly singular charms?” When his thumb brushed over her lower lip leisurely, she shuddered. She couldn’t help it. “You’re not making it easy.” His tone now lowered to a soft growl that sent waves of molten desire trickling downwards to pool in her lower belly. “But if I can’t have you in my bed, I’ll have to be happy knowing you’re wearing clothes I bought you. Are you really going to rob me of that pleasure?”
She could barely breathe now.
Vladimir was the only man she had ever met - in her entire thirty years on planet earth - who could so deftly switch personas. One moment, everything was cool, precis logic. The next, he was pretending to be her husband and telling her he got off knowing she wore slinky dresses he purchased for her.
It was enough to make her head spin.
“No.” She finally replied, pressing her thighs together as her womb all but clenched at the quiet sensuality in his voice. “I won’t.”
“How very kind of you.” His hand left her face to smooth over her shoulder. Any passers-by might have assumed that he was merely admiring the material of her coat. But Charlotte felt him moving his palm over her shoulders, squeezing - touching her. Wishing there were nothing but bare skin between them.
By the time he released her, she was just
as aroused as if she’d woken from a particularly vivid dream, and he hadn’t even done anything. But the moment had passed. In a trice, Vladimir went back to being all business. “We should head over to the Dansk building. We’re running low on time to get there for the meeting.”
“Right!” She was glad of anything to say - anything at all that might help her forget how flagrantly they wanted one another. A business meeting would be welcome right now. And later...if Vladimir asked her to dinner, she might just wear one of the dresses he bought her. Just to give him the pleasure of her wearing it.
**
The meeting went off without a hitch. The men who ran the Dansk branch of Kensley Enterprises spoke perfect English, so Charlotte didn’t have to worry about a language barrier. When she laid before them the plans that she’d made, they reacted far differently than Vladimir had. Mind you, her design for Dansk wasn’t quite as outlandish. She’d done her best to incorporate at least a few tropes of Russian architecture to tie it to the surrounding buildings. She had, of course, been more cautious because it was her first international project.
But, apparently, she needn’t have worried. The executives were over the moon for her plans, and even referenced a few facets of the building in LA that they wanted to know if she could add.
Vladimir, for his part, did little more than supervise. He sat at the head of the table and watched the executives gush over the drawings she showed them. The building was already being prepared for renovations, and they would be ready to begin in as little as two days. Charlotte found herself swept up in their enthusiasm. It was the kind of response she’d often wondered if she would ever get from Vladimir - so she knew she should be enthused that she had gotten so lucky. After all, these men wanted few, if any, revisions to the material she set before them.