“There’s nothing to talk about.” He lifts a shoulder. “But nothing has to be decided tonight. Or tomorrow.”
It’s probably the closest thing I’m going to get to an agreement to take it off the table. Coraline’s right, this is Ivan Volkov; if he says he wants something, he’s not going to let a little thing like me saying no stop him.
So many red flags, and I just keep stepping over them.
“Okay.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No. I ate at the club. I need a shower though; I stink of cigars and cologne.”
He drops my hand when we get to the bottom of the stairs. His eyebrow peaks. “Why do you smell of cologne?”
“Because apparently men think they can cover up the stench of their douchebaggery by bathing in it.” I lean against the banister. “I’m a waitress, Ivan. I have to lean between men during their poker games.”
“You mean you bend over their tables, so they get a better look at your ass.”
I laugh. “You hired me to do just that, and now you look angry because I do it?”
“No, I’m angry that while I was upstairs, men had their eyes on what belongs to me.” He gently pries my purse strap from my shoulder, taking it from me. “And I didn’t hire you to show anyone your ass. I hired you to bring them drinks and food while they stared at other women’s asses.”
“Hmm, I don’t remember that in the orientation video.”
He laughs. It’s full and real, and it sends a tremor through me. This has become easy, these little conversations between us.
“I need to check on something, go up and take your shower. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Ivan, you know I can’t move in here, right? I mean, bringing me home after work sometimes…it’s fine, but I’m not moving in here.”
He squares off with me, inhaling sharply, and then he turns to walk away.
“Go take your shower, Vee.” The sharp click of his shoes against the tiles of the foyer trail behind him as he leaves me stranded at the foot of the stairs.
When I enter Ivan’s bedroom, I can’t ignore the warm current that runs through my veins at the familiar scent. Spice and leather; the whole room smells of it.
After washing off the smoke and grime of the evening, I stand under the hot stream of water, letting the heat relax me. By thetime I step out, the bathroom is filled with steam and the mirror is fogged up.
Ivan stands in the bedroom when I open the door, the steam billowing around me as it escapes the bathroom. He waves the cloud away as it reaches him, smiling.
“You really know how to enter a room.”
He’s undressed down to his slacks. The scars on his chest catch the dim lighting, reminding me of how dangerous this man smiling at me truly is.
His muscular body, a real-life molded god, wasn’t crafted by vanity, but necessity. Even standing still, he radiates power and force.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the folded-up leather on the bed—his belt.
“I couldn’t possibly have done something wrong while I was in the shower.”
“No.” He takes steady steps across the carpeting until he’s in front of me. “But the evening’s young.”
“You’re expecting trouble?”
“No.” He trails his fingertips lightly over my collarbone, then shoulder. “I’m expecting you to be my good girl, but sometimes you need incentive.”
He finds the edge of the towel that I’ve secured in place and pulls it free, unwrapping me and letting the towel puddle at my feet.
“You can’t just leave wet towels on the carpet,” I whisper as he moves even closer, the spice of his aftershave tingling my senses.
