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“What do you think?” she asks, fingers skimming over the silk at her thighs. “Do I look okay?”
Is she seriously asking me that? Is this woman blind, or is she really that oblivious to her own beauty?
“You look —” I shake my head. It’s not as if I don’t have the words. I just can’t bring myself to say them.
Stunning. Gorgeous. Irresistible. Sexy.
Mine. All mine.
I want to say all those things to her and more, but I know that if I open my mouth, it’s going to become very apparent that I see Jules as more than a housekeeper.
“You look beautiful,” I finish, managing to sound totally appropriate as I turn and offer her my arm.
Jules takes it, and her delicious cinnamon scent wraps around me until I’m drowning in it — drowning in her. And I don’t want to come up for air.
Chapter Nine
Jules
The ride downtown is tense and quiet — the air alive with anticipation. I can’t tell if Dimitri is nervous about the gala or if it’s just me projecting my nerves onto him.
He drives us in his black Jaguar, one hand gripping the wheel while the other operates the stick shift. Every so often, I feel him watching me, but each time I turn to face him, I find him staring straight ahead at the road.
Truthfully, I wish he would look at me so I could stare at him without feeling like a total weirdo. Dimitri is breathtaking in his bespoke tuxedo, which hugs every single muscle and moves as though it’s part of him. His spicy masculine scent fills the car, and I drink it in.
I know I’m playing a dangerous game, agreeing to be his date to this thing. I started working for Dimitri to save money and get my business up and running, but ever since he returned from Denver, I haven’t been able to think about anything except the way those amber eyes devoured me back at the lake and the feeling of him against my body as he carried me to the sauna.
I can no longer deny the pull I feel toward my annoyingly handsome boss. I missed Dimitri when he was away, and I look forward to our little daily interactions more than I should.
Tonight has only made things worse. He’s made me feel beautiful and important, which is as ridiculous as it is dangerous.
He’s the billionaire CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I’m his maid. Even if Dimitri is attracted to me, there’s no future for us. It’s not often you hear about CEOs marrying the hired help. The best I can hope for is a pity-fuck, and I’m not that girl.
By the time we pull up in front of The Stalwart, I’ve resolved to build a wall around my heart and stop entertaining the ridiculous idea that Dimitri might actually be interested in me. He’s not a real possibility — just a gorgeous distraction that could cost me everything if I’m not careful.
But then he comes around to open my door, and when I take the hand he offers me, little sparks shoot up my arm.
He tosses his keys to the valet as though he does it all the time and rests his hand along the exposed skin of my back. My body ignites where he touches me, and heat surges to my core. My knees wobble, and I start to feel lightheaded as he guides me into the resort lobby.
The Stalwart is an enormous red-brick structure that looms over the corner of two tree-lined streets. Each roofline of the resort juts out like a turret over the snow-covered hillside — the building creating a sort of fortress around the grand brick courtyard within.
Soft jazz is playing overhead as Dimitri ushers me inside, and immediately, I feel overwhelmed. The lobby is full of fancy-looking people in evening gowns and tuxedos — each of them wealthier and more important-looking than the last.
Several heads swivel to stare at Dimitri as we press through the crowd, and more than a few male eyes snap onto me.
My breath gets stuck somewhere in my chest as Dimitri snakes his arm around my waist, drawing me closer until my side brushes against his leg. I can feel the heat coming off him, and when his hand inches lower to cover my hip, I feel a gush of wetness between my legs.
So much for my new resolution.
Dimitri steers me toward the bar, ordering a bourbon for himself and a very nice red zin for me. He hands me my drink and ushers me into the corner, shielding me with his body as though he fears that someone might make an attempt on my life.
“Everyone is staring,” I whisper, gripping the sleeve of his suit jacket for leverage as I stretch onto tiptoe to deliver my message.
“Yes,” he replies, his voice low and stiff as he scans the crowd.
“Lazos!” booms a loud male voice from the other side of the room.
Dimitri whips around to face the man — a balding guy in a tuxedo with a gross gray mustache — and I swear I hear a low growl rumble up his throat.
