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“A gym?”
“Of course. There’s also a full golf course and putting green, a cinema, tennis court, bowling alley, and a twenty-five-car garage. Anything else you want to quiz me on?”
“All that’s missing is a dance floor.”
His eyes are on me again. “I have one of those too.”
I turn and narrow my eyes. “What about a stripper pole?”
His lips twitch. “Not necessary.”
“Right. You own all the strip joints in town.”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes…they’re on me like a blazing fire…
I lean forward. “Four poster beds?”
“Super King-sized.”
I lick my lips, and his eyes dart down for a nanosecond.Holy shit.
I’m not attracted to this asshole!
My lips curl into a smile as I whisper, “With mirrors on the ceiling?” I’m pushing it, as his nostrils flair ever so slightly.
“Why do you make everything sexual, Katiya.”
It fucking rolls off of his tongue like butter…and now I’m thinking about his goddamn tongue.
No! Get a fucking grip.
I steel myself, my mask securely in place.
Marco Medici may be attractive, but he’s the devil in disguise.You hear that, libido? THE DEVIL!
“I’m just making conversation.”
“About stripper poles and mirrors on my bedroom ceiling.”
“Hey, I never said your bedroom.” I rock back on my heels, hoping I’m getting under his skin. “Well? Are we going to stand here all day debating, or will you show me to myquarters?”
A few moments later, a man appears in a monkey suit, and he practically does a bow at Marco’s feet.
“Maurice, this is Katiya. She will be my guest for the next few days and will occupy the East wing exclusively,” he says as Maurice takes in his every word. “See to it that she has all she needs while I am indisposed with work.”
“As you wish, Sir,” he replies. He doesn’t even look at me.
Sir?Oh, for fucks sake, who is this guy? The King of England?
“Hello,” I say cheerily, sticking my hand out to greet Maurice. “My friends call me Kat, by the way.” I turn to Marco. “That doesn’t include you.”
Maurice’s eyes widen as Marco’s jaw ticks ever so slightly.
He looks at my hand like I’ve just handed him a dead fish.
“Don’t mind her, she’s Russian,” Marco explains. “They have to be touching people any chance they get.”
Maurice politely takes my hand and says, “Miss.”
