Page 11

11

LUCIA

B y the time I’m checking my reflection in the Hale elevator, it’s two minutes to six. I step out to find the reception desk empty and the entire floor seemingly deserted. Heart thudding, I knock tentatively on the heavy door.

“Come in.”

Roman’s low growl sends a thrill straight from ear to groin.

The lights are low when I enter the vast office. Beyond the plate glass windows, the dying sun is setting fire to the sea, painting a brilliant backdrop to the pinprick city lights below. Roman is standing behind his desk, unsmiling and unreadable as ever.

“You do enjoy living dangerously, Miss Lopez.”

I almost laugh aloud at how closely his words mirror my own recent thoughts.

“Your message came right at five p.m. Now you make it to my office right at six. Let us both hope your precision timing is an indication that you take punctuality seriously.” The sardonic tone in his voice suggests his meaning is quite different than his words. It also gets my inner sassy coffee bitch going.

“You could always try giving me a little notice of your intentions.”

His eyes gleam. “I give the orders, Miss Lopez. I don’t take them.”

The thought of Roman Stevanovsky giving me orders opens a realm of possibilities that make my mouth suddenly dry.

Take your dress off, Miss Lopez.

Wrap your mouth around my cock, Miss Lopez.

I’m going to fuck you hard against the plate glass windows until you scream, Miss Lopez...

The mere thought of any of those options has me swollen and ready for every one of them. Suddenly I’m impatient as hell to get on with this. Ever since I screamed into his hand, my body has been screaming out for him to take it, any which way he pleases, as hard and often as he can. And right now I’m so damned hot I just want him to—

“The children arrive tomorrow morning.”

Uh . . . what?

“Sit down, Miss Lopez.” His dark eyes are hooded and unsettlingly disinterested. He waits until I’m seated, then takes his own chair. “Luis is the children’s driver. He will pick you up at eight thirty tomorrow morning and take you to the airport to meet their flight, which arrives at ten.” He sounds like he’s giving orders to one of his minions.

Then I remember that I am one of his minions.

“Luis will take you straight from the airport to the children’s apartments, where your rooms are. You will have your belongings ready when he collects you in the morning, since you will be living in my building from tomorrow.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Of course, I knew the contract began tomorrow. But that gives me only tonight to organize accommodation and care for Papa, not to mention concoct a story that he won’t see through.

“Is there a problem, Miss Lopez?”

For a man who has recently signed me up to be his sexual plaything, CEO Man appears to be anything but interested in ravishing me. Which, after the tension of the last few days, I find oddly disappointing.

Oh, girl , I hear Abby’s voice chiding me in my head, you have got it baaaaad.

“I just have—a few things to organize.”

He frowns. “Then I suggest you organize them, Miss Lopez.” He glances at his laptop screen. “I notice you haven’t provided us with bank account details for your salary, nor your passport number, as stated on the form.”

Oh, crap. I should have seen this coming. Actually, I did see it coming.

I just hadn’t wanted to.

“I also need an address for Luis to collect you from.” He pins me with a penetrating stare that sets my danger radar to sky-high. “Or should I assume you will be in the same motel in which you passed last night?”

I swallow again, barely trusting myself to speak. “You spied on me?” But if I hoped to sound challenging, I fail dismally. My voice is a faint rasp, and even I can hear the trembling fear beneath it.

Damn it.

I can’t control the sudden wash of terror that leaves me breathless. If Roman can find me, then others can. And if he knows where I live, does he know about Papa?

How much does he know, exactly?

Mentally I calculate the distance from desk to door, but part of me already knows it’s futile. The pounding of my heart is like the roar of the ocean in my ears, and I’m blazing hot then freezing cold at the realization of my own stupidity.

How did I ever think I’d get away with this?

“Relax, Miss Lopez.” Roman is watching me through narrowed eyes, but I don’t see humor in his expression. I can’t read it at all, if I’m honest. Not to mention that I’m still reeling with shock and fear. “I run a background check on all my employees.”

And no background should exist. None.

“I ran yours privately.” He’s still watching me. I get the feeling he is aware of every terrified heartbeat, every hitched breath as I try to calculate what damage has been done, what has been exposed and to whom.

“I thought it was wise, given that most of the employees at that café are here without visas. My security man is very discreet, and his online activities well hidden. Then again”—he leans back, clasping his hands behind his neck—“so are yours. My search turned up very little indeed. You are something of the enigma, Miss Lopez. And given the skills of my security team, that is saying something.”

I stay silent. I have no idea what to say. I’m still cursing my own naivety in thinking he wouldn’t check into me. Of course he would. What self-respecting criminal risks hiring another one?

“I will require your passport, Miss Lopez.”

“I don’t have one.” That answer is easy enough. And honest. I meet his eyes when I say it.

“Your date and place of birth, then.”

He watches me hesitate. Finally I give him the Lucia Lopez date of birth from my fake passport. It shouldn’t lead anywhere or raise any red flags. But that doesn’t mean I like taking the risk.

“I take it that your lack of a bank account is due to your illegal status?”

He nods curtly when I confirm this. “I will give you access to one of our business accounts. It won’t be in your name, but you have my word it will be exclusively yours. It will also be entirely untraceable. I take it that will be acceptable?”

Acceptable? Who the hell can organize an untraceable account under a fake name at a moment’s notice?

Bratva, that’s who.

But given the circumstances, it’s also an incredibly generous offer. If I’m honest, such sensitivity isn’t something I’d have expected from CEO Man. He hasn’t particularly struck me as the caring type.

Except when his hands were taking care of every inch of you...

I wrench myself out of that line of thought, deeply disturbed that when faced with the possibility of my carefully disguised identity being uncovered, all I can think about is getting naked with the very person threatening my exposure.

“Yes.” I gulp. “That will be acceptable.”

“This doesn’t mean my security man will cease his background search, Miss Lopez.” Is it my imagination, or is there the faint hint of a question in that comment? Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m not saying anything that will make this situation more perilous than it already is.

And besides, his security man won’t find a damn thing, no matter how clever he is. Beyond one long-ago flight from Argentina to Morocco, Lucia Lopez barely exists. Nor is there any connection between her and Juan Ortega, an old Argentinian man who made the same flight several days after her and never returned. There’s no record of either of us ever arriving in Spain.

There is no trail to find. Which, I remind myself, inhaling deeply, is why I did feel confident to take this job. No, I didn’t have time to play this exact scenario out in my mind, and despite all I’ve been through in the past few years, this moment is probably the first time I’ve genuinely feared someone looking closely into my false identity. But you’re not a naive fool, Darya , I tell myself sternly. I’ve covered our tracks at every step. Nor am I a criminal. Or not in any way that poses a threat to Roman’s household. As far as he will ever know, I’m just an illegal immigrant who needs to catch a break.

And this is that break.

Now all I have to do is keep my mouth shut for a few months—then run. As far, and as fast, as I possibly can.

Roman stands up, and my heart starts that slow thudding again.

Is this the moment?

His hands grip the edge of his desk, and all I can think of is how those long fingers stroked me until I was wet and wanting, before plunging into me and sending me rocketing into oblivion.

“Miss Lopez.” Roman is looking at me with slightly raised eyebrows. “I said that we have a table waiting.”

He stands, gesturing to the door. I stumble to my feet, almost knocking the chair over in my haste.

That’s it?

No ravishing on the desk? No clever fingers right where I’m aching for them?

Maybe he wants dinner first.

I wasn’t expecting seduction. But so far, this is all far more businesslike than I was expecting.

R oman drives us to the restaurant himself, in a gleaming black Mercedes-Maybach sedan that whispers through the streets in the silent luxury only custom-made leather and steel can deliver. He drives with the same ruthless precision he runs Hale. I try not to imagine the dexterous hands on the wheel caressing my body.

We don’t speak for the duration of the journey, not least because I’m trying to work out how the hell I’m supposed to organize the shitstorm that is my life by tomorrow morning. Especially if I’ll be spending tonight spread out across Roman Stevanovsky’s bed.

I cross my legs and look away from those hands. My almost unbearable state of sexual tension is extremely unhelpful in my efforts to think analytically.

Roman parks at the rear of a restaurant I’ve never heard of, and we’re met by a ma?tre d’ who is clearly expecting us. He shows us to a private terrace overlooking a small cove just beyond the main beaches. Night has fallen, and we’re far enough from the city lights for the stars to glisten on the sea below.

Champagne arrives in tulip glasses, along with morsels of tapas I have absolutely no appetite for.

“Lucia.”

Oh, the way he says my name.

“Mr. Stevanovsky.” I sip the champagne, which is, predictably, divine.

“Outside the office, please use Roman.” His mouth quirks at my visible surprise. “It’s less confusing for the children if you address me as they do.”

“Roman, then.” The name feels like sin on my lips.

Sin and danger.

“I invited you here tonight because there are some matters that are better said in a less formal setting than the office.”

“Oh.” I swallow more champagne to hide my nerves. I’m not certain if this is my signal to leap into seductress mode, nor do I have any idea of how I would go about that anyway.

“In the children’s presence, I will be your employer, nothing more. Our private arrangement will, under no circumstances, be disclosed to them in any way.”

“I’m pretty sure I got that message loud and clear in your office.” I don’t know what it is about him that triggers my snark setting. I just can’t seem to help it, just like I can’t help holding his eyes as I take another sip.

His eyes darken. “I don’t generally tolerate sass in my employees, Miss Lopez.”

“And I think it will be less confusing for the children if you call me Lucia.”

“Touché.” His lips almost tug at the corners. “And agreed.”

“Look at us,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “Agreeing already.” I’m pushing it, and I know why. What I really want to do is to reach across the table for his strong hands and put them on me. I want to close the door on the restaurant and beg him to take me on this terrace, or anywhere else he chooses.

Now that I’ve signed his damned contract, I want what I signed up for. Only I can’t ask for it. I’m more than aware that no matter the intimacy of this setting, Roman Stevanovsky will explore the details of our contract entirely on his own terms, and not a moment earlier.

Which does nothing to alleviate the strung-out tension in my body.

“Our agreement is a financial one, Miss Lopez. Nothing more.” His curt use of the formal address is enough to confirm my suspicions. “I will provide you with enough money to take care of whatever personal and financial commitments may make demands on your time.”

My hand stops halfway to bringing the glass to my lips, hovering uncertainly in midair. What, exactly, does he know? I’m thrust back into the same anxiety I felt in his office. I force the glass to continue to my lips, trying not to let it shake.

“In exchange,” he goes on, “you will make yourself entirely available to meet whatever demands I make on your time.” He turns the tulip glass slowly on the table, never taking his eyes from my face. “But I don’t date, Miss Lopez, and I don’t have either the time or interest to meet anyone’s emotional needs. Do not mistake our agreement for anything other than a business one.”

His meaning is cold, loud, and crystal clear. But contrary to the grim warning he surely intends, his words almost make me laugh aloud with relief.

As far as I’m concerned, the less interest he takes in my life, the better.

“You mean you’re going to try not to fall in love with me? I’m shocked, Mr. Stevanovsky.” I raise my glass in his direction. “And good luck with that, by the way. I make a hell of a good cup of coffee.”

This time I get the sardonic smirk that always makes my flesh quiver. “I’ve been drinking your particular brew for several months now, Lucia. Trust me when I say there’s no chance of any unexpected side effects.”

“No chance, huh?” I shake my head in mock disappointment and give him my best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation. “You, Mr. Stevanovsky, are no gentleman.”

“And you, Miss Lopez, are no lady.” He throws Rhett Butler’s line right back at me. “Or you wouldn’t have signed that contract.”

Ouch.

“I think we can both agree we’ve crossed a moral line, Lucia.” He leans across the table and fixes me with the stare that always leaves me breathless. “But I’ve always liked the danger zone. It’s where the most exquisite pleasures are found. And the delivery of exquisite pleasure is a skill I enjoy practicing. At every available opportunity.” His eyes linger just long enough to set my nerves afire. Then he lounges back in his chair with a return of the sardonic smirk, toying idly with his glass. “Our private contract will be played out only in my penthouse. I will ensure you always return to your own apartment before the children wake.”

“No pajama parties, then?”

The dark eyes gleam. “Pajamas play no part whatsoever in any of my plans, I assure you.”

I asked for that one.

“There is some personal time built into your schedule.” His tone is crisp and businesslike once more. “Rest assured I will respect it.”

I tense slightly. “Can I trust that personal time means I won’t be followed?”

He scowls. “I have better things to do with my time than trail every one of my employees, Lucia.”

Well, that’s something, I guess.

If he means it, of course. I try not to think of how much I’m going to need to organize in whatever sliver of personal time he allows. It’s a moment before I realize Roman is watching me closely.

And he doesn’t look happy.

His hand has stilled on the table, his jaw hardening as his eyes bore into mine. “If you’re contemplating any illicit liaisons, Miss Lopez, I advise you to reconsider.”

I’m not contemplating anything of the kind, obviously. But that doesn’t stop his death stare from sending a shiver down my spine.

“For the sake of absolute clarity,” he snarls, “let me reiterate the exclusivity aspect of the contract. You’re mine now, Lucia. To touch. To fuck. To take whichever way I choose. Mine, and nobody else’s. Do I make myself clear?”

I’m not laughing now.

In fact, I can barely breathe.

I should be appalled by him claiming me as his possession. Instead, it’s a measure of how far over the line I really am that my body is so hot and ready I’m almost squirming in my seat.

“Perfectly, Mr. Stevanovsky.” My mouth is dry. “And just as we agreed, that exclusivity goes both ways?”

His eyes flatten with boredom.

“I don’t make a habit of repeating myself, Miss Lopez.” His tone is clipped and dismissive. He glances at his phone. “We should eat. As you mentioned, you have a lot to organize before tomorrow morning.” He nods at the window, and the ma?tre d’ appears with a selection of exquisitely arranged tasting plates, which, unfortunately, I barely appreciate.

I can only think of what will come after this meal.

Will he fuck me right here? Take me back to that sinfully decadent penthouse? On the leather sofa? Or maybe up against the windows, so the whole city can watch him take me from behind...

I push the food around on my plate, my body heavy with anticipation.

“Let me make one thing very clear.” Roman’s harsh tone snaps me right out of the fantasies that have me wet and wanting and quite abruptly back to the present. “Please do not misinterpret my agreeing to the exclusivity clause as anything other than good business. Don’t for an instant imagine this contract will lead to anything other than financial and sexual satisfaction. Our agreement lasts until the end of the school year. Five months. There won’t be any extensions.”

I’m mortified. My eyes have always given me away, and if they’re a window into what the rest of me feels right now, Roman probably thinks he’s contracted some dewy eyed desperado. I gather myself with an effort.

“Ah, you say that now.” I return to snark setting with no small effort. “But they tell me coffee withdrawal is a bitch. I predict it will be you begging for the extension, not me.”

He clasps my wrist, his grip loose but undeniably strong, dark eyes boring into mine. “The only person begging will be you, Miss Lopez. Begging me not to stop. Or to do it again. Harder. Faster. Deeper.” His words send my body into a hot tailspin, his fingers searing straight through my skin. “Five months, Miss Lopez,” he growls. “No extensions. No withdrawals. I will take you, Lucia. I will have you.” His eyes reach into my soul, setting the flames inside me licking higher and higher. “And then,” he says, letting my wrist drop limply to the table, “I will let you go.”

I suck in a breath. I’ve never felt more unhinged in my life.

“Understood.” I’m astonished my voice sounds so even.

“Good.” He sits back and nods at the food. “Then perhaps now we can eat.”

I have no idea how I get through the meal. The food is divine, of course. The setting is stunning.

I barely notice any of it.

I do, however, make certain to keep my attention on what Roman is saying, rather than what will come next. I might have just signed my body away to him, but I’m going to try to keep at least some of my mind to myself.

Try.

“Luis will pick you up at the motel,” he’s saying now, “unless you change addresses before morning, in which case you can text him. You will find his number in the file I’ve sent to your phone. It includes details about the children, as well as their schedules and all the relevant telephone numbers. Obviously, I expect you to study it tonight in preparation for their arrival tomorrow.”

“Obviously.”

Before or after you fuck me senseless? Sleep is clearly not going to be on my agenda tonight.

The rest of the meal is taken up with various logistics pertaining to the apartment block security, codes, etc. Then Roman picks up his phone and gives an order. He stands up as the last of the plates are cleared away and walks me downstairs, where a black SUV is parked by his own.

“Luis will take you where you need to go.” He opens the rear door.

“You mean that I’m not—that we won’t be—” Oh wow, Lucia. Subtle.

“Since you’re clearly a Gone with the Wind fan, let me give you another quote, Miss Lopez.” His mouth settles back into his customary sardonic smirk. “ Some day, I will kiss you and you will like it. ” The smirk deepens. “ But not now .”

I stare at him, torn between indignation and crippling desire.

He grins. “Tomorrow is another day, Miss Lopez.”

Then he shuts the door.

I settle back into the leather seat, every part of me unsettled and restless.

That’s the second damn time I’ve wasted my best lingerie.