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I look at him like he’s batshit crazy because I’m starting to think he truly is. “You’re insane.”
“I know. Now get dressed. We have places to be.”
“Places to be?” I rub my temples, feeling another headache coming on.
“A dinner party. I want to give you a test run.” He smirks.
I ignore the innuendo and shake my head. “I have nothing to wear, unless you want me to go in my bloody PJs?”
He frowns and turns, looking at the garment bag I’d forgotten all about.
“I think you’ll find that you have everything you need.” He looks at his watch and frowns. “You have thirty minutes. I need to make a call."
He turns and leaves before I can punch him again, which is probably for the best. The man is infuriating.
I stomp over to the bag and unzip it, reaching inside and grabbing the hanger. Lifting it out carefully, I find a stunning floor-length gown made of black lace. I lay it across the bed and reach into the bag again, pulling out a shoebox and, inside, a pair of strappy, red-soled heels. Pure shoe porn. I check them and see that they are also my size, and I can’t help but laugh.
“He might be crazy, but the man has his talents.”
I check the bag and find nothing else inside. “Of course,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. I guess I’ll be going commando tonight. I hope this thing covers all the goods. With a sigh, I head to the bathroom to fix up my face.
Once inside, I grab the makeup from the duffle bag. Thankfully, it’s a good brand for covering up bruises, though there isn’t much I can do about the swelling. I take my time, wincing whenever I touch a particularly tender spot, especially my lips, which are now scabbed over. When I’m finally finished and feel somewhat like myself again, I figure it was worth it.
My hair is a little crazy right now, and I don’t have much time to do anything fancy, so I run a brush through it before parting it down the middle and tucking it behind my ears. Then, with a small amount of conditioner thinned out with water, I smooth down my hair as best I can. Once it’s as good as it’s going to get, I move back to the bedroom and wiggle into the dress.
It’s not as easy as I’d hoped. I’m ready to lie down by the time it’s on, but as painful as it was squeezing into it, I can’t deny how sexy I feel. Skin-tight with a high neck, the dress covers me from my throat all the way down to my toes. It even has long sleeves, so all my bruises are carefully hidden from sight. The black lace gives the illusion that I’m completely naked underneath, but there is a thin layer of skin-colored material covering all the parts that need covering. But my favorite part of the dress is the slit that starts at mid-thigh, separating the material and showing a whole lot of leg when I walk. It’s both risky and demure.
I eye the shoes and grit my teeth, knowing this is going to hurt, when I hear the key in the door. I turn to face it as it opens and Maxim walks through. He freezes when his eyes land on me, and—no kidding—his mouth drops open. He whispers something in Russian, and even though I have no clue what he said, I feel my skin flush.
“You look—” His eyes move over me hungrily. “Edible,” he finishes.
“Well, I’m not on the menu,” I tell him as I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the beautiful shoes.
He must realize my problem because, before I can say anything, he’s on his knees in front of me. With his eyes on mine, he lifts my foot, making my dress fall open. I place my hand over the top of the split, not wanting to give him a show, as he slips the shoe on and fastens the strap. His hand slides up my calf briefly, making my breath hitch, before he gently places my foot back down and reaches for the other.
He repeats the process, all the while his eyes stare into mine, until he has the buckle fastened. Then his hands slide up my calf, only this time they keep going. His eyes drop to follow the path his hands take. When they reach my knee, I reach over and stop him, completely forgetting about my lack of underwear situation. It’s the grumble in his chest that reminds me. That, and he shakes off my hands and slides them up my thighs, his thumb a hair’s breadth away from my pussy.
I use my very pointy shoe to shove him back. “Learn some fucking boundaries, Maxim, or I swear, pakhan or not, I’ll geld you,” I warn him, my pulse beating wildly out of control. As much as I’m trying to hide it, I’m turned on. If he had reached the holy land, he would have felt evidence of that himself.
I stand up and smooth my dress into place, then look down at him with the most condescending look I can muster. “Well, are we doing this or what?”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
“So, tell me what I need to know,” I say quietly once the partition is closed and the driver can’t hear us.
“The house we are going to belongs to one of my brigadiers, Boris Golubev. He will be there with his wife, Polina, but he will leave later to fuck his mistress, Vera, and no one will blink an eye, even Polina.”
I roll my eyes. “Gross, but not surprising.”
“This world is different from the one you’re used to, Sugar.”
“You have no idea what I’m used to, Maxim,” I point out.
He shakes his head. “You must bite your tongue. Women are not allowed to speak their minds so freely. If a man wishes to indulge his woman behind closed doors, he will. But in public, she will always defer to her husband.”
“I might not like or agree with any of it, but I know how to play the game. Once I step out of this car, I’ll be the doting girlfriend, and nobody will suspect otherwise. I know what I’m doing, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it, now, does it?”
He dips his head in acknowledgment.
