Page 25 of Sasha’s Secret

Sasha was barefoot, clad only in boy shorts and a crop top that left little to the imagination. He’d had no idea her crisp, professional appearance concealed a body a woman fifteen years her junior would have been proud of. Both his hormones and his cock sprang to attention.

A new piece of music started up, one Rocco recognized. It was an instrumental version of Love Me Like You Do, and as he stood there in silence, he could only watch in awe.

Swaying in perfect time with the music, Sasha grasped the pole with one hand, spun and pirouetted around it, and then somehow, using both hands and maybe some weird kind of esoteric magic, she was a foot off the ground. The series of elegant spins and fan-like kicks that followed left him mesmerized by her strength and agility.

He’d never seen anything more graceful in his life. Some of her moves seemed impossible—one leg wrapped around the pole, with the rest of her body arranged in a way that left both hands free as she rotated. Then she grasped the pole again, and all of a sudden she was upside down and making gravity-defying moves even a ballet dancer might envy.

And while the athleticism was impressive, the sheer sensuality of her dance was off the charts. She moved as if the pole were her lover, caressing it, twining her body around it in a way that left him hard as granite, wanting even more to be the lover she’d wrap herself around in search of the most basic of human pleasures.

When it came to anything arty, Rocco would readily admit he was pretty much a philistine—he wouldn’t know a good painting from a hole in the ground. On the other hand, he knew what he liked, and he liked what he saw—even if it was an oncoming tsunami of living, breathing temptation. And the longer he watched her, the more intense his internal conflict became. With each passing second his desire for her grew ever more feral, and the consequences of surrendering to it ever more insignificant.

In spite of that inner turmoil, he recognized the song was coming to an end, and when it did, she’d stop dancing. He should disappear—right now—and leave their relationship at its frosty, business-only status quo, but his feet still refused to move. At least, not in the direction they should. Instead, he pushed the door further open and knocked.

Towel in hand, Sasha spun around to face him. For a split second she reminded him of a delicate bird caught in a net, unable to escape, but then a veil of glacial composure slipped into place. “Mr. Equizi. What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d make a start on familiarizing myself with the place.”

“By coming to an area you’ve already visited?”

She pointed out the blatant flaw in his response with cutting objectivity. Rocco refused to be deterred.

“I was going to take the path around the rear of the building, but I saw the lights and thought it would be a good idea to make sure nothing was amiss.”

“Really?” She lifted the towel and pressed it to her glistening cheeks. “So did you find anything ‘amiss’?”

Rocco folded his arms—it was the only way to make sure they didn’t go anywhere near her. “Only you.”

“So how long have you been there?” She folded her towel and dropped it on the table beside her.

“Since the beginning of that last track.”

Her lips pinched together. “I see. Do you always spy on defenseless women, Mr. Equizi?”

No matter how he answered that, with the way things were between them, there was a very good chance she’d spit-roast his balls over a barbecue—she was far from defenseless. “How can I possibly answer that, Miss Morgan? If I say yes, then it’s an instant admission I’m a stalker, yet if I say no, it might imply I sometimes spy on… defenseless women.”

He was goading her, and he had to be crazy to do it. The only sensible course of action was to walk away, so that was what he’d do. Any. Minute. Now.

A raised eyebrow told him he hadn’t won her over. “But, Mr. Equizi, I didn’t specify a yes or no answer. Give me an answer that’ll… convince me.”

She prowled toward him, all sinuous female grace and predatory feline intent. Some men—men with more intelligence than he possessed—might take the prudent action of beating a hasty retreat, but not Rocco. He shifted his weight to both feet and waited, prepared for whatever she fired in his direction.

She stopped inches away from him, all lush woman at the peak of her attraction. He didn’t care that she was older than him—four years was nothing, and age was only a number anyway. The only thing that mattered was this insane, intense attraction that wouldn’t go away.

“So, how do I do that?”

Now he was pushing her. Those words should never have left his mouth. Any second now, she was going to tell him in no uncertain terms to fuck off and stay out of her way.

Except… she didn’t.

“I was hoping for something like this.” Her hands framed his face and she stepped closer, one knee opening up the space between his legs, so his cock and balls became intimately acquainted with her thigh. “Rocco.”

The husky way she spoke his name, sweet honey and smooth whisky, was hypnotic and enthralling, and when her arms went around his neck, his craving to take her soared into orbit. She claimed his mouth, and when the tip of her tongue swept across the seam of his lips, his hunger for her surrendered easily to her demand.

A wild game of tease sprang to life. He responded in kind, kissing her the way he’d wanted to since he’d first seen her. Her lips closed on his lower lip, gentle suction teasing him into her mouth, and his dick responded as if it were the lucky recipient of her attention. He sensed her smile—it didn’t take a genius to work out what she was smiling about. She’d have felt his body’s reaction through a suit of armor.

“Basta!”

Reality gatecrashed the party, reminding him of what still stood in the way of what he wanted. He couldn’t let this continue until he was certain Sasha wasn’t implicated, and getting involved with her wouldn’t compromise his ability to see the job through. He had to get the hell out of there fast, before his willpower crumbled.