Page 6
“Beautiful,” I echo.
“Stunning,” he says, and every syllable rings true. “Your body is lovely. There’s nothing about it to hide.”
He turns toward the door to give me the room. “You don’t have to leave,” I hear myself say, and my insides erupt into instant, roaring regret.
He turns back, brows lifting. “Do you understand what you’re offering me?”
“I don’t want you to leave.” The confession slips loose. I very nearly bite through my own tongue.
He loosens his tie and leans against the door. “Then I’ll watch. Don’t change your mind on me now.”
I cross to the far side, his burning gaze pressing hot between my shoulder blades. I shrug off the heavy jacket and the ruined shirt, and I stand there in only my bra and skirt, keeping well clear of the mirror. I’m far too aware of my weight, of the red bra, of the simple fact that nobody has ever seen me out of my clothes before.
The reflection in the glass is soft and round no matter how I hold myself. Soft belly, wide hips, full heavy thighs. Nothing in that shape matches the bodies the world keeps insisting I should want.
I slip into the couture without letting myself look back, and the fabric glides over me smooth as poured water. It’s not a stiff formal gown at all. It’s simple, weightless, and elegant enough to belong anywhere. I reach for the zipper, and it climbs to my chest and jams solidly.
“Let me help you.”
His voice comes from directly behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. His fingers begin to walk up my spine, their heat bleeding straight through the fabric. He works the zipper the rest of the way home, but his hand keeps climbing after, knuckles grazing my bare skin. The rough drag sends a tingling ache low into my belly.
“Breathtaking,” he says, catching my eyes in the mirror.
I stare at my own dazed reflection. The dress carves my round figure into a clean hourglass. My chest and hips finally seem to agree with each other. For the first time in memory, I don’t need to shrink or apologize for taking up space. “Is that honestly me?”
“That’s the real version of you,” he says against my hair. “This is how you should always look.”
Our bodies drift together, chest to back, both our hearts knocking in the same reckless rhythm. I know I should step away. But I don’t want to. I reach up and touch his temple, bold in a way I never am. “It should be a crime to flirt with a face like this.”
He catches my hand mid-air. “Be very ready for what you’re saying to me.”
Then he turns me and kisses me, his tongue sweeping into my mouth without asking. My whole body pulls tight as a wire. His hand closes over my breast through the thin fabric, and tingling sparks race everywhere at once.
So, this is what all the noise was ever about.
“So fucking soft, moya krasavitsa,” he growls against my lips. He walks me backward until the leather couch catches my knees, presses over me as I sink down, strokes my lower lip with his thumb, then slides two fingers into my mouth.
I suck his knuckle while he watches with open, hungry greed. His thumb drags wet across my bottom lip, and he watches the shine of it. He fits his mouth to the hinge of my jaw, then lower, teeth grazing the frantic pulse at my throat, and every place he touches lights up and refuses to go dark again. No one has ever looked at me like I’m something worth being hungry for. God help me, I could get used to it.
He lifts the new skirt, pushes my—
“Boss.” A fist raps the door, apologetic and terrified. “The floor’s closing. Even the police are downstairs for the incident report.”
Lev’s expression sours. He keeps his thumb moving over me anyway, in no hurry to stop for anyone, and the man beyond the door doesn’t knock again. But reality comes flooding back regardless. My arousal drains as sense returns.
Boss?
WTF?
Have I lost my entire mind tonight? I nearly slept with a total stranger, my own ex’s twin, on a couch above the bar where I serve drinks.
By the time he straightens, I have tugged my clothes right and rebuilt my composure from the ground up.
“I really should go,” I announce. “It’s over now.”
“Do you have plans?” he asks, his voice still rough at the frayed edges.
“Nothing at all. This shift was the only thing on my night.”
