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Down boy. No matter which way the night goes, you’ll get your turn to come out and play.
Chapter 7
ISABELLA
I walk ahead of Andrey into his office and notice an ice bucket standing beside the large,extra-long sofa. In it is a bottle of expensive bubbly and two champagne flutes on a silver tray on the coffee table.
True to his word, Andrey locks the door while I sit on the sofa, and he joins me, making my heart jolt and gooseflesh tease my skin at how close he is. His scent is a mix of musk, vanilla, and bergamot, dancing in the air around me, like little enticing fingers trying to draw me nearer to him.
I watch while Andrey pops open the bottle of champagne and pours two glasses. His shirt stretches across his broad back, hinting at his incredible physique beneath it. He moves with such confidence and grace—he is most definitely an apex predator and dangerous. While I’m trying to blot it out.
I’m no fool; I’ve heard rumors that this club has ties to a crime family. If Andrey manages the club, it means he’s well connected with, I’m guessing, by the phone call in Russian earlier, the Bratva.
I know I should be feeling weird or awkward, but I’m not. I’m feeling so turned on sitting here in nothing more than Andrey’s cotton shirt, just like I did when I saw him watching me play with myself in his shower. I was mortified for about two seconds when I saw him standing in front of me.
But the look in his eyes as he watched me and the growing bulge in his pants made me feel so bold, wild, free, and finally in control—I felt powerful and so hot. It had been even more exhilarating sitting on the counter in front of him, naked and exposed.
While he stood watching me, I realized that I could be anyone I wanted to be with Andrey, because he was a stranger. There was no point in trying to duck or dive. He’d already seen me, and the best part was he didn’t know me. It was a clean slate with no expectations, no boundaries, no shadows hovering over me—just me and him.
I can still feel that scorching hot kiss tingling on my lips when our bodies slid into each other. Or, more accurately, I’d slid butt naked in all my glory into Andrey. Our second collision ended with me showing off all my wares and wet once again!
I mentally sigh as I watch him sit back with two glasses of sparkling champagne. He hands one to me, capturing my eyes with his as he turns towards me, his thigh touching mine, sending instant tingles to all my erogenous zones.
If I’d just said, I want you, to Andrey when he asked me to tell him what I wanted, maybe we’d be having sex all over the bathroom and his office right now. But no, I have to go and open my big fucking mouth and blurt out. I’ve never had sex before; I’m a virgin.
I broke the number one rule of the night.
I can hear Stacy’s voice on the drive to the club echo through my brain as I sip the sparkling liquid and the bubbles tickle my nose: Bells, if you’re going to get laid, you can’t tell the man who’s going to be your first that you’re a virgin.
Stacy said they’ll find out soon enough, and by then, no red hot-blooded male would want to stop. Problem solved—no longer the only twenty-one-year-old virgin left in Boston!
Well, my problem isn’t solved because I stupidly broke the golden rule, and I see what Stacy means that some guys get weird about virginity. Lesson learned the hard and frustrating way.
Now, here I sit next to a virile, sexy hunk instead of under him because he has a code of conduct about virgins, and because Stacy has gone MIA, this may be my last night of freedom ever! Especially if James or Genevra wake up before I get back, or I’m not on the other side of America in Vegas, having a six-hour lead over James, who I know will come to find me.
When I started out this evening, I was sure I was on a win-win. But here I am, fast sliding into a lose-lose situation and giving my daddy dear a virgin to hand over to Conference Voice and his son Quasimodo. This time, six months from now, I’ll be fitting wedding dresses and probably wearing a chastity belt if I get found out about my illicit evening out.
Especially if I don’t get rid of this damn virginity. What the fuck is wrong with men? Sex is sex! I suddenly wish I was in the seventies, the age of sex, drugs, and disco. I think I’d look quite good in psychedelic colors and bell bottoms—they were all about losing virginity and fighting the man.
“A penny for your thoughts!” Andrey’s voice penetrates my thoughts.
“They’re not really worth even that much,” I tell him and take a bigger sip of the golden liquid.
“Why don’t you let me decide?” He moves closer, and I can see the silver highlights in his blue eyes. His scent is intoxicating my senses as it mingles with the alcohol.
Why not fill him in on my shitty afternoon? I take a long swallow and finish the champagne. Andrey leans over, takes the bottle, and refills my glass.
“Now I know they’re worth more than a penny.” Andrey grins, putting the bottle back on ice. “Downing champagne usually means you’re having some sort of problem?”
“Have you ever just had one of those days where everything that could go wrong goes wrong?” I take another swig, and the drink is beginning to taste better and better.
“I’m actually having one of those myself today,” Andrey tells me, taking a swallow of his drink. “I would probably go as far as to say it was another bad, life-altering day.” A grin lifts his mouth as his eyes travel seductively over me. “That was until a little spitfire hurtled into me.”
“You walked into me,” I remind him, but I can’t help the smile that springs to my lips.
“The most pleasant accident I’ve ever had,” Andrey tells me, holding up his glass to mine. I oblige with a gentle chink of crystal meeting crystal. “So why are you having a shitty day?” He stretches his arm along the back of the sofa, running a hand over my cheek.
His touch instantly scrambles my horny senses that lull me into telling him the truth. Well, part of the truth anyway. Just in case he knows Quasimodo.
