He looked me over slowly. From my bird's nest of curls to the oversized old T-shirt hanging off me like a sack, finally landing on my hand gripping the doorframe so hard my knuckles went white.
A wickedly amused curve spread slowly across those sharp lips.
"Morning, firecracker." He turned toward me, barefoot. With each step, that scent—cedar, masculine sweat, faint gunpowder—intensified, rolling over me like a wave.
"Morning, boss man." I forced my chin up, trying to mask my racing heartbeat with my usual defiance. "If you're wandering the halls half-naked first thing in the morning just to show your fake fiancée your body fat percentage, I gotta admit, your vanity's as pretentious as your cufflinks."
Nikolai let out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating. He closed the distance, that six-foot-three frame blocking out all the hallway sunlight.
He didn't stop. Instead, he moved closer. I instinctively tried to back up, but he was faster—his right hand shot out,slamming against the door behind me, caging me between his chest and the wood.
"I thought in my own house, I had absolute freedom to dress however I want, sweetheart." He lowered his head, closing the gap. That startling heat radiated off him, his breath hot against my cheek, making me scrunch my neck.
Those gray eyes locked on mine, dark fire flickering in their depths. "But you, Vivienne. You were staring at my abs without blinking. If you need any 'further observation' for academic purposes, feel free to just say so like you did last night. No need for this roundabout way of getting my attention."
"Deflection is a weak man's defense, Mr. Volkov." My cheeks flushed hot, blood rushing to my ears, but my stubborn, fiery nature refused to show weakness in front of this gangster.
I took a deep breath and deliberately pushed my chest forward, letting what my oversized T-shirt couldn't hide brush against his damp, hard pecs. I raised one finger and traced it slowly, provocatively down that warm skin on his chest.
"I'm just assessing my 'writing material.' After all, a proper romance novelist needs accurate knowledge of character anatomy. But since you're being so generous, I'd love to see if what's under those sweatpants is as confident as your mouth."
I arched an eyebrow, my gaze deliberately dropping to his waistband.
Nikolai's body tensed violently the instant my finger touched his abs. Those dark gray eyes turned dark, predatory, burning with desire that could melt me alive. His hand pressed against the door tightened, knuckles white.
"You're really asking for it, firecracker." His voice came out raspy, hoarse as he leaned down, lips almost brushing mine, his large hand already wandering toward my waist.
Just as the electricity between us was about to ignite the air, as reason teetered on the edge again—
"Ahem."
A subtle but deliberate cough came from down the hall.
I jolted like someone dumped ice water over my head. The sheer mortification of getting caught doing something inappropriate in someone's house flooded through me. I shoved Nikolai's chest away frantically, wishing I could find a hole to crawl into, my entire face burning scarlet.
Nikolai seemed perfectly composed. He reluctantly withdrew his hand from the door, casually draping the sweaty towel over his broad shoulder, his gray eyes returning to their usual cold sharpness as he looked down the hall.
"What is it, Sophia?" His voice was perfectly steady, as if the man who'd just cornered me wasn't him at all.
The estate's head housekeeper, Sophia, stood ramrod straight a few steps away. She wore her impeccable black uniform, hair styled like a helmet, clutching a thick folder. Her weathered face showed no extra expression—rational, detached, like a lifeless sculpture.
"My apologies for the interruption, sir." Sophia gave a slight bow, her tone professionally detached to the point of being chilling. "The traditional Russian breakfast prepared by the chef has been served in the dining room downstairs at optimal temperature. If you and Ms. Cole don't need to continue your 'morning fitness assessment' in the hallway, I believe now would be the ideal time for dining."
My toes were already curling with embarrassment inside my pants. I kept my head down, twisting the hem of my T-shirt, not daring to meet Sophia's eyes.
"Understood." Nikolai gave a brief nod. "I'll shower and come down. Take her to the dining room first."
"As you wish, sir." Sophia bowed again.
Just when I thought this public execution was finally over and I could escape with Sophia, the veteran housekeeper who'd served this estate for eighteen years, suddenly stopped.
Her experienced eyes swept subtly between me and Nikolai's bare torso, then, in an extremely tactful tone—almost like a caring elder—she delivered her parting words.
"Also, Ms. Cole, sir. While only the two of you currently reside in the west wing, to avoid any unnecessary... mentalshock to the younger staff in the mornings, I personally suggest that when you engage in such passionate discussions in the future, you remember to close the door. Washington mornings can be quite breezy."
With that, Sophia flashed a graceful, inscrutable smile, turned on those soundless leather shoes, and elegantly departed.
Leaving me there, face exploding red, completely mortified.
