Page 41 of The Agreement

The only problem with that?

He was a bad fucking liar.

Always had been.

• • •

Maxim and Dima had to have known that Roman held no interest in breaking bread with the rest of the Yazov men. And yet, there was nothing they could say about it since Roman had accepted their invitation.

Once he’d walked out of Maxim’s office, he decided to take the boss’s suggestion of checking out the mansion and the rest of the estate. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and any plans he might have had were fucked now. Nonetheless, he was under no disillusion. He understood good and well that he was always being watched. Men showed themselves in every corner of the mansion, and only a few cameras covered certain areas.

Maxim would be sure to get an exact report of Roman’s every activity in his house. If this was New York, and his father had essentially forced him to stay until dinner, Roman would have gone up to every camera that was watching and given it some footage to remember.

This was a whole different ball game. He had to consistently remind himself to watch his ass—nobody else was going to do it for him.

Maxim Yazov’s mansion was considerably large, and sat on a plot of private land that kept any curious neighbors far away. He passed more corridors and rooms than he would know what to do with if this was his home. Wealth covered every bare inch that it could. From the rich stains that glossed the hardwood floors to the heavy, silk drapes hanging from every window.

It was much bigger than the Avdonins’ family home. But then again, Roman’s mother always insisted they didn’t need to go overboard with the size of their home as long as it had everything they needed, and was easy to maintain. Clearly, the values of his parents differed from that of the Yazovs.

This house reminded him of jocks in a locker room bragging about the size of their cocks. Ultimately, none of it mattered if you didn’t know what to do with it.

He had slipped out of the sliding doors at the end of one of the rear hallways to find himself inside what could be best described as a conservatory. A glass dome-shaped extension at the back of the house that was big enough to contain its own large swimming pool. A good thirty by forty feet with an apparent deep and shallow end. Perfectly maintained, green grass with a stone pathway leading to sitting areas at the edge of the pool, and the light inside this conservatory seemed to make everything magnificently brighter than it needed to be. Everything appeared magnified, and the sun’s heat was trapped because of it, making the air hotter than it already was. Every breath he took was accompanied by the taste of chlorine.

Roman blinked, glancing up to stare at the sun through the curved glass roof. He was about to shade his eyes when he heard a splash. His first clue to the fact that he wasn’t alone in the space.

He was too far away to see the pool clearly, thinking so far that he had been completely alone. Finally rid of the men who were milling about the place, and seemingly watching him from a safe distance, he moved toward the edge of the crystal clear, cerulean water. All he could see of his unknown companion in the pool was the flash of an arm—wet, cream-toned skin—and a dark head of hair bobbing below the surface.

The closer he got to the pool, the more certain he was that the person swimming in it was a woman. She sluiced through the water expertly, traveling with impressive speed from one end of the pool to the other without once showing any sign of fatigue. She only came up for air just quick enough to dip back down in the water, and not for long enough to notice that she was no longer alone.

One lap.

Then a second.

Roman came up to the edge of the pool, watching all the while. She still hadn’t noticed him because she hadn’t once looked up. Whatever was motivating her to keep swimming wasn’t about to slow her down yet. He couldn’t take his eyes off her even though he didn’t know who she was, and if he was even supposed to be watching her in the first place.

There were definitely rules in the Yazov home he wasn’t aware of, and he wasn’t in a position to break them. All things considered ...

But Roman knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he had seen this woman’s face. At the end of the third lap, when she was on the other side of the pool, she finally stopped to reach up and grab the ledge, straightening herself slowly while she wiped her face with the crook of her elbow.

He hadn’t seen her face yet, but her slender back was on display for him now, distracting his attention as his gaze traveled over the curves of her shoulders and the water dripping down her spine. She appeared to be wearing a bra instead of a proper bikini top. The semi-sheer, white lace was nearly the same color of her pale skin.

Finally, she looked over her shoulder, and the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen found his. At first, all that stared back from her was distance—or rather, it was like she saw right through him. As if he wasn’t standing there at all.

But goddamn.

He had never seen eyes like hers before; shockingly beautiful from so far away and yet entirely blank at the same time. There was something striking—and haunting—about them.

Because he couldn't seem to look away. Even though she was in the water, he was the one drowning.

Only her voice broke the daze.

“Did they send you to come get me?”

She called out to him from the other end of the pool. Her voice had a slow and dreamy quality, like she was taking her time with each word before she let them escape her lips, a careful consideration of the things she chose to say. It made her voice all the more melodic because of it, too.

She turned to the side ledge of the pool then, and began to drift towards him. Her slender shoulders bobbed gently in the water, small waves kissing the column of her neck with each rise and lower.

A woman moving through water shouldn’t be an entire experience, but there Roman was ... fucking experiencing it. Whatever it was.