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She’d been VP of the top public relations firm in the Kingdom before everything went to hell. It was her passion, her talent, and the only job she ever wanted. It was also an industry that wouldn’t tolerate a bad rep from anyone, especially a bad rep that had been earned. No one cared that she had served her time, that she was properly ashamed of herself, or that she had no urge to repeat the horrible mistakes that had earned her five years in the dungeon.
An ex-con was an ex-con. She couldn’t get hired to man the cash register at Kingdom Burger, let alone offer consult on a client’s public image.
That’s why she had taken this gig in the first place. She was out of work and out of options. The lure of earning the money she would need to start a new life—along with the opportunity to show the Kingdom she had gotten her act together—had been more than she could resist.
She had to have faith that this could still work out, and that there was a way to salvage a working relationship that had gotten off to a rough start.
“After you, Katarina.” Serge opened the door to the office building, revealing a stretch limo with black tinted windows waiting at the curb.
She should have known they wouldn’t be taking a cab.
Now they would be alone for the next fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on traffic. Plenty of time to turn lemons into lemonade…
CHAPTER THREE
Serge
Katarina was a handful and strung so tight she looked as if she would snap in two. She was too tall and too thin, her breasts were barely apple-sized, and he imagined her hipbones would stab a man to death if he ever managed to convince her to let him be on top. She was also older than his usual girl—somewhere in her mid-thirties, though her tomboy figure made her appear younger. Her only real draws were her luxurious dark red hair that looked as soft as silk, and her stunning sea-green eyes.
But who could enjoy them when she kept her sharp face narrowed in a glare half the time?
Kat Masterson wasn’t his type, not any of them, and he was a man who appreciated a wide variety of feminine charm. She was also currently in his employ, making her off-limits. He didn’t cross that line. Sure, he had danced along it from time to time, but never crossed it.
Work and sex mixed about as well as peanut butter and salami.
So why was he so drawn to her?
“I’m sorry we got off to a rough start. I’m just really nervous.” The flush across the bridge of her nose highlighted freckles he hadn’t noticed before. “It brings out the bitch in me.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” That was exactly what he would have said, but she was clearly trying to make a fresh start and the freckles were cute. They softened her a bit, allowing him see the woman she might have been if her life had taken a different direction.
“You’re nice. A liar, but nice.” Her tongue slipped out to dampen her lips. “So listen, I know giving me any kind of artistic control is off limits. I get that. I just want a fair shot and a chance to show my good side as well as my bitchy one. Is that something we might be able to agree on?”
Serge nodded, still feeling bad for hurting her feelings back at the office. “Yes. I want this to be a fair competition. I’ll speak to Matthew and let him know I expect as much. Backstory is acceptable, forcing a narrative is not.”
“Thank you.” Her smile was stunning, transforming her thin face into a thing of beauty. “Seriously, thank you so much. I really appreciate it, Serge.”
With a soft sigh of relief, she leaned back against the seat to look out the window, clearly content to take the rest of the ride in silence. If only she’d chosen to cross her legs, as well. Maybe then he would have been able to look out the window, too.
As it was, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the long, toned lines of her calves, or the creamy insides of her thighs. He could just glimpse where her thigh-high pantyhose ended and her slightly paler flesh began, and it was enough to succeed where Sally’s teasing hand on his thigh had failed.
The swelling against his fly was so surprising it made his heart skip a beat. He had been having a hard time getting aroused for almost a year. He’d even made a visit to his doctor in hopes of discovering what was the matter with him. He loved women, he loved making love to them,
and he’d never had a hard time getting it up before, even four or five times in a single night.
He had feared a circulatory problem or that his compulsive protective measures might have failed him. But even a venereal disease seemed preferable to the even more horrific culprit of “old age.” He was only forty-one; he should have at least a decade or two left in him before he was forced out to pasture.
He had submitted to what seemed like a million tests only to discover that there was nothing physically wrong with him. It was something else, something twisted up in his mind that was taking its toll below the belt. It was frustrating, embarrassing, and at times flat out enraging.
Sergei Sokolnokov was the master of all he surveyed. The fact that his own cock was rebelling against his control was enough to drive him insane. The only thing crazier was that this woman, this woman, was the one who had managed to arouse his interest.
Thank God she wasn’t looking at him or she would see the shock on his face and the furious erection tenting his pants.
But she was still looking out the window, her features soft and relaxed and her lips parted as if she were thinking something that made her slightly breathless. She’d unbuttoned her suit coat when they’d settled into the car and the pale green shirt underneath was doing little to conceal the budded peaks of her nipples.
Was she chilly or was it something more?
Could she possibly be feeling the same bizarre attraction that he was?
