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She spins to face me, bursting with passion. “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean a dollar’s not worth a dollar. This is a full month’s rent.”
That she even has to think about money is wrong. She deserves a life where she never has to worry about stuff like that. She should be able to focus on her art and anything else that interests her, not scrubbing toilets so she can barely make the rent for a rundown apartment.
“If you’re unsure, try it on,” I tell her, “and let me be the judge…”
She bites down, her cheeks flaring red again. Ever since the orgasm, it’s like her body has become even more readable to me.
“You want to see me in it?” she says.
I lean down and kiss her passionately, squeezing her hips and sinking my hands in.Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake. The second I kiss her, the second I feel her, I only want more. She gasps through the kiss when I pick her up and sit her on a display unit, grinding my manhood against her, feeling her slit through her tights, feeling her heat.
She moans, gripping onto my shoulders, as I slide my hand up her leg. The doors are locked and closed. The blinds are drawn. Nobody’s in here except for my woman and me.
Except that’s a goddamn lie I’m telling myself. Nobody else is physically in the room with us, but Mila’s always hovering, the prospect that I’m going to have to ruin two women’s lives before this is over. First my Lia—shattering our dreams of being together. And then Mila by making her my wife when I can tell she doesn’t want to.
“Oh, fuck,” I growl as I pull her tights down and slide my hand into Lia’s underwear, trying to force those fucked-up thoughts away. They’ve got no place here
She grabs my wrist again, staring up at me, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“I want your naked pussy,” I groan. “I want to feel your tight hole. Ineedto feel you getting tight and needy around my finger. Then I can imagine it’s my cock sliding into you instead?—”
Suddenly, there’s a loudbang. The windows shatter—footsteps, shouting, a gunshot. People are running toward us. I don’t have time to think.
Diving at Lia, I haul her over my shoulder and sprint to the rear of the building, kicking open the door to the main office and closing it behind me. Putting Lia down, I immediately grab the large desk and pull it over to the door, just in time for the attackers to start pounding against it.
The door rattles. The desk judders up and down. Lia makes a slight sound of fear.
I move close to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders as I take my gun from the holster with the other.
“You have a gun?” she hisses in shock.
I lead her to the corner of the room near a bookshelf. “Stay here,” I tell her. “Cover your ears. Cover your eyes. You don’t need to see what happens next.”
She slumps against the wall. Her expression is heartbreaking. I can see her mind putting the pieces together, finally figuring out I’m not just a CEO. I’m somebody she should be afraid of. She’s right—she should. And not just for the reason she thinks. I could end up dragging her into a criminal underworld, that’s true. But I’ve already betrayed her. I’ve already led her down a road that can only end in disaster.
I could break her heart. I could get her killed. But I still can’t even imagine letting her go.
CHAPTER 8
DAHLIA
After telling me to stay in the corner, he turns and crouches down, aiming the gun at the door. His whole demeanor has changed, intense concentration entering his eyes, the pistol seeming to glint as he stares down the iron sight. My sluggish mind is slowly trying to accept that this is real. The ringing in my ears proves that.
Theyshotout the windows and busted down the door. Maybe it was only the blinds that saved us. Perhaps they got tangled in them long enough for Dimitri to carry me through the store.
The door keeps rattling, the desk squeaking against the floor.
“Dimitri,” I whisper, somehow finding my voice. “Do you have another gun?”
“No,” he says, not taking his eyes off the door.
I get on all fours and crawl to the other side of the room. A bunch of stuff fell off the desk when Dimitri moved it. He glances at me, frowning, but he can’t focus on me when the door is still shimmying open.
Sorting through the stuff, I find a letter opener with the nameSusanengraved on the handle. It was probably a gift. I mutter a silent “Sorry, Susan” when I think about using it. Will I even be capable of that? I don’t know, but I feel better with it clasped in my hands, even with the shaking and the uncertainty.
When somebody sticks their gun hand through the door, without any hesitation, Dimitri shoots through the door several times. A man grunts, and somebody else shouts something in Russian. There’s a bunch of noise behind the door and more yelling in Russian. Dimitri shouts back angrily.
“What are they saying?”
