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He wants me.

So, yeah. I’m trapped in his headlights.

His words swirl in my mind, and I lift my head to meet the ice-blue of his eyes. Right now, they’re flames of pale-blue fire and I want to test that heat.

“Staying or going?” he asks again. That low voice does things down deep. I’ve no idea who he is apart from perhaps of Russian descent or one of the countries from that area. He’s pure American in speech, but the foreign words are a giveaway—da, doubly so. It’s the one word I pathetically recognize.

So what I know is he’s seen me naked; he’s perhaps of Russian descent, and he’s very, very rich. Which is nothing at all.

There’s one more thing.

He. Wants. Me.

That’s something.

I swallow, taking in a shaky breath. “Staying,” I whisper.

The world seems to go still as my word hangs in the suddenly charged air.

Oh, holy shit. Am I doing this? Stepping into the fray of one-night stands with the biggest bang possible? A rich man—whose name I don’t even know—just propositioned me, and it's beyond fantasy-tier level. I don’t even do one-night stands.

But there’s something about him. Mesmerizing, compelling. Something that I can’t say no to. When he touched me… I can still feel the pads of his fingers and thumbs on my cheeks. Like he held me with a deep, dark pressure. That’s the effect his gentle touch of skin on skin had.

A brand.

I’m drunk. Not on the booze I’ve had. On him. He’s intoxicating.

And he’s looking at me with a propriety gaze, like I’m his.Like I’m the only woman in the world. Tiny jolts of electric current spark down my spine.

“Staying?” he asks, even though his tone suggests he didn’t think he’d hear a different answer; it’s smug, masculine, triumphant. And it holds pleasures I want.

I don’t do this. And I haven’t wanted to get out there, my wounds still fresh, my self-worth down and sodden on the floor. Holding my own in the boardroom or a meeting is different than opening up to someone. Toby was the last guy I thought I’d do that for, and I trusted him with the inner me, the whole jumbled mix of who I am inside, and he threw it in my face, finding it—me—wanting. Finding someone else.

I shove it from my head.

I don’t need that. I want this. Whatever fantasy this man is offering. And he’s right, there’s something extra lascivious about him not telling me his name.

“Staying.”

“You and me,” he says. “Fuck your ghosts.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Lies.” His mouth twists up and the air throbs with unspoken needs and wants. “But leave the prick who made you hesitant at the door,Lyubimaya.”

How the fuck did he pick up on Toby? I’ve always been a little shy initially, but I’m not the closed-in thing I’ve become. Toby didn’t like flash or attention going to me. He liked me as his, at home. And I whittled away my downtime with friends, including Kara, for him. More time for me, more time to concentrate on my career.

But as I look back, I can see it. How I compromised for him, changed, let his criticisms and words get to me.

I smooth my fingers down my thighs, and I’m not sure what to do. He comes in, brushing me with his body, and I light up, wild, exhilarating. His erection is there, so there and?—

“Why the fuck do you hide your gorgeous form in this shapeless dress?”

“Work?”

“Hmm.”

He’s right. Before Toby, I never would have gotten this dress. I’ve never been sexpot style, but I had style and that’s gone too. How did I not even notice that? He got me down to be the woman he could have there, dull and dutiful and going nowhere, until he decided he wanted something else.