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His eyes darken as they graze down my body. “Yes, I remember well. My dick has been in a major slump ever since.”
I roll my lips. But I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. In his thick Russian accent it sounds hilarious.
“A major slump? It’s not even been a week.”
He smiles, his eyes dipping to my lips. Every single time he looks at me, it feels like a caress. Like he wants to ravage me right here and now, despite the fact Doris may come knocking at any given moment.
“Longest week of my life.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you seeing anyone else?”
His lips part with surprise. Two can play at this game, Mr. Petrov.
A horrible thought goes through my mind that he could be married, or have a girlfriend, or many girlfriends.
“I’m not.”
“No other unsuspecting mystery dates at swanky hotels?”
“I’m glad you think my hotel is swanky.”
I shake my head. “Wait, you own the hotel?”
“Yes. I have a suite for my trips to Seattle.”
Of course you do.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“No. I don’t have a wife.”
“Perfect, but that wasn’t my question.”
“By all means —”
I take a deep breath. I really do have to get this off my chest. “Have you really never done this kind of thing before?”
He tries to distract me by running one hand up my leg toward my knee. My skin bristles at his touch. I slap his hand away. “I already told you that.”
“Khristian… we can’t… do this here.”
His eyes dance with mischief. “You’re teasing me with this whole uptight secretary thing. Maybe I’ll make a new job description for you.”
I roll my eyes. “There is no job description for what I’m sure you have in mind — not a legal one anyway.”
He cups my face with one hand, startling me. “No, you’re right, Krasavitsa. There isn’t.”
I know he wants to kiss me, and I want him too. Jesus, I'm in way over my head here.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door.
“One moment,” Khristian calls out. He grips my chin and tilts my head to his. “Never mistake that I have the best intentions for you, Imogen. I may want you more than I care to admit, but that’s because I’m incredibly selfish. Especially where you’re concerned.”
He stands, adjusting the rock-hard bulge in his pants and moves back around to his desk and sits. Still staring at me, my mouth agog, he calls, “What is it?”
A few moments later, Doris appears in the doorway. “Mr. Petrov, I’m sorry to interrupt, but your meeting is about to start.”
He gives her a look. “The intercom still works just fine, Doris.”
