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And underneath it all is desperation. I can see it, feel it… smell it. Fear, hopelessness—it has a scent, like blood. And like blood, it calls to the darkest parts of me, to the beast that I’ve been keeping carefully leashed. Worse yet, this inconvenient attraction isn’t one-sided.
Chloe Emmons is drawn to me.
Masked by her bright, friendly smile is a purely feminine interest, a response as primal as my reaction to her. When I shook her hand, I felt a tremor run over her skin, saw her lips part on a shallow exhale as her delicate fingers twitched in my grip.
No, the girl is not indifferent to me at all, and that makes her fair game.
“I thought Slava was very bright,” she answers, and my gaze falls to the tempting shape of her mouth. Her upper lip is a bit fuller than the lower, giving the impression of a slight overbite when she’s not smiling. “I’m not sure why he refuses to learn English from you, but I’m confident I’ll be able to teach him,” she continues as I ponder if that small imperfection makes her features more or less appealing. More, I decide as she explains the teaching methods she intends to use. Definitely more, because all I can think about is how much I want to taste the plush softness of those lips and feel them on my body.
With effort, I refocus on her words.
“—and so we’ll start with the—”
“What’s your take on corporal discipline for children?” I interrupt, leaning forward. I’ve heard enough to know that she’s capable of doing the job. There’s only one other thing I need to know now. “Do you believe in spanking and such?”
She gives me an appalled look. “Of course not! That’s the last thing—No, I would never condone that.” Her eyes narrow fiercely as she leans in, slender hands balling into fists on the table. “Do you?”
“No. I don’t.”
She visibly relaxes, and I conceal a satisfied smile. For a second there, she looked like she was going to punch me with those tiny fists. And that reaction wasn’t faked; every muscle in her body tensed at once, as if she’d been about to launch herself into battle. The mere possibility of my son getting spanked made her forget whatever is behind her desperation and ready to rip into me like a mama bear.
That’s not the reaction of a woman who’d ever hurt a child. Whatever danger Chloe Emmons poses, it’s not one of violent tendencies—at least none that would be directed at Slava.
The jury is still out about the true cause of her mother’s death.
It’s probably yet another sign that I’m unfit to be a parent, but a part of me is looking forward to the trouble she might bring. It’s quiet here, in this remote corner of Idaho—beautiful and way too fucking quiet. The life I left behind is nothing like the one I’ve been leading for the past six months, and I can’t deny that I miss the adrenaline rush of being at the helm of one of the most powerful families in Russia.
This girl with her intriguing lies and porn-doll mouth won’t replace that for me, but one way or another, she’ll provide some entertainment.
Leaning back, I lace my fingers over my ribcage and smile at her. “So, Chloe… when can you begin?”
6
Chloe
I almost jump up and shout, “Now! This minute. This second.” Only that would betray my desperation and ruin the whole thing, so I stay in my seat and say with some semblance of composure, “Whatever works best for you. I’m available right away.”
Nikolai’s eyes glint dark gold. “Excellent. I’d like you to start today. I assume you’re okay with the salary stated in the ad?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s adequate.” By which I mean it’s more money than I could’ve hoped to earn anywhere else, but all the interview books tell you not to appear too eager and to negotiate. I don’t have the balls to do the latter, but I can attempt the former. Striving for a casual tone, I ask, “How often will I be paid?”
“Weekly. We’ll count today as your first day, so you’ll get the first paycheck next Tuesday. Does that work?”
I nod, too excited to speak. One week—or rather, six and a half days—from now, I’ll have money. Actual, real, substantial money, the kind that would provide me with food and gas for months if I have to run again.
“Excellent.” He rises to his feet. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
I follow him, doing my best not to notice the way his designer jeans hug his muscled thighs and how his well-fitted shirt stretches over his powerful shoulders. The last thing I need is to lust after my employer, a man who’s most likely married to a woman I have yet to meet. Which, come to think of it, is strange.
