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My cheeks burn as I approach Janine and ask, “Did you do the floors yet?” I sniff the air. “Doesn’t smell like it.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Did you just hook up with that guy inDmitri’s office,girl?”
“What guy?”
“Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy!” Janine said. “Don’t act stupid. I saw him from the hallway when he walked into Dmitri’s office—and then I sawyougo in there after Dmitri was dragged out.”
I flushed. “No, I didn’t hook up with him.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I’m…working?”
“Girl!” She slaps the register shut, places a hand on her hip, and rustles her short, dyed red hair. “Are you flipping serious? It’s not every day a guy comes in, tips like he’s got limitless cash, and then scares the daylights out of our shitty boss.”
“I know, but—”
“Butnothing. If I were you, I’d climb that guy like a damn tree!”
My gaze roams to the office door before I can stop myself. Pavel is right behind that door. All I need to do is walk inside and take my seat on that couch, reach for another shot, and flirt a little bit. How hard can it be?
Willow said it herself:
It’s not too late to let loose a little.
Desire pinches my core as I struggle to make a decision.
“Listen,” Janine says, “I’ll close everything up while you go live a little.”
“You sure?” But I don’t wait for her response as I sneak toward the door. “I mean, if you’ll handle closing…”
She holds up her hand. “I’ll even remember to mop.”
“Thanks, Janine.”
The light in the window of the office hypnotizes me, beckoning me.
And like a moth drawn to the flame, I heed its call.
Chapter Four
Pavel
No ordinary silence envelops me in the office. It’s a pensive and curious quiet, a sort of reflective blanket that cradles my shoulders as I stare at the two shots I’ve already refilled on the table in front of me. Dmitri doesn’t have a stellar office, but that’s far from important. My only goal is to make sure that Liya comes back.
Which means I have to be patient.
My commitment to the Suvorov Bratva has taught me plenty about patience. It’s all about waiting for the right moment, lurking in the tall grass while observing which gazelle might be weakest in the group. And when I attack, I need to make it count.
Liya isn’t necessarily a target in any traditional sense, but she’s in my crosshairs nonetheless—and I hope she comes back. It isn’t a forward request. The implication rested between the syllables of the words I spoke to her, landing precisely where I knew they would:
Between the realm of possibility and desire.
If I learned anything about her in the short while we were together, it’s that her innocence is likely a facade guarding something else. I wonder what type of person hides beneath the surface. Does she have fantasies? Are those slender fingers skilled at anything besides slinging drinks? Do those cheeks redden from more than shyness? Does she bite her lower lip in pleasure?
I intend to find out.
My eyes fall to the space on the couch where she once sat. Reaching for the cushion feels like second nature, and I watch with an almost detached feeling as I stroke the fabric where her thigh was. How soft is the skin between her legs? Is she shaved, or does she leave a design behind when she grooms?
