Page 6

6

LUCIA

“ I cannot go up there.”

The sun is gleaming down outside, but I’m as oblivious to the glorious spring weather as I am to the throng of tourists already clamoring for breakfast. All I can think about is the text message I received from Roman last night.

“And he didn’t give you any idea about what this offer is?” Abby takes the coffees I’ve just made. “Nothing like, Make sure you wear a hot bra and no panties so I can get my hands into your tiny shorts again, Miss Lopez ? Or maybe I have a severe case of blue balls that only you can relieve, Miss Lopez ?”

My glare only makes Abby laugh.

The truth is, I haven’t got a clue what he wants.

I’m not certain what I thought might happen when I fled Roman’s office, fixing my clothes as I went, to the low sound of his amused chuckle behind me. But three days of deafening silence and Roman’s notable absence from my coffee machine had sent what I thought was a pretty clear message of disinterest. Until I received his message last night.

“I have no idea what he wants, or what his so-called offer is.” I get more milk as an excuse to bury my flaming head in the fridge.

It doesn’t help.

I feel like my entire body has been on fire for days.

“But after what happened last time, going up to his office is definitely not a good idea.”

“And like I told you the day it happened: it’s about time you got off, Luce. You know I’d never put up with you being pressured into anything, but you two have been eye fucking from the day he walked in. And you have to be missing the size of his... tips.”

For all Abby’s sarcasm, the last comment is, sadly, true. I’m so broke I almost wish I’d taken that damn envelope when I fled Roman’s office.

Almost.

“I hate to break it to you, chica, but it’s not just you who’s missing those tips. The kitchen boys have been literally paying their rent from delivering to the Stevanovsky apartment. And besides.” Abby shoots me a lascivious wink. “CEO Man’s bodyguard is my favorite piece of eye candy on the daily. Hot. I mean super hot. And you can’t tell me,” she says, pausing to push coffees across the counter and ring them up, “that you aren’t into whatever kinky fuckery CEO Man pulled in his office. I saw you when you got back here.” She wags a finger at my crimson face. “You were barely able to stand up, let alone speak. Is there really any harm in going back for an encore?” She eyes the clock. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to make your mind up.”

Gah. Fifteen minutes.

No matter how many times Abby tells me there’s nothing wrong with what happened between Roman and me, I feel absolutely terrified to face him again. What am I supposed to do, just walk into his office and say, “I know the last time I saw you I screamed into your hand and all but begged you to fuck me senseless—but, hey. How you doin’?”

I’m never getting those images out of my head. I’m pretty sure the entire experience will be seared on my brain forever.

And Abby knows me too well. Despite my absolute certainty that I should stay the hell away from CEO Man’s office for my own sanity, I spent the entirety of last night wondering if his offer might just involve some kind of repeat performance.

Surely not, if he’s avoided the café for days on end.

But what if it does?

I admit that I prepared for work today with a little more care than usual. There’s not much I can do about the uniform. But I’ve put my hair up properly. Added mascara, lip gloss, and nice earrings.

Oh, and I might also have spent a few euros I don’t officially have on an underwear set I definitely can’t afford.

Just in case.

“Earth to Lopez.” Abby clicks her fingers under my nose with a sly smile. “Clock’s ticking, chica.”

“I can’t face him, Abby.” But even I can hear the wavering tone in my voice.

“Be selfless. Think of your friend, who hasn’t been laid in almost a week and hasn’t even had her daily dose of bodyguard thirst trap.” She gives me lewd wink. “Unless Stevanovsky is chaining you up and using a whip, go and get our Hale business back.”

Chains and whips.

I shiver, hearing Roman’s husky voice: “My methods of punishment are far more twisted than you can possibly imagine...”

“Eleven minutes.” Abby gives me a Cheshire cat grin. “You better hurry. Fifty floors is a long elevator ride.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” I untie my apron, throw it on the counter, and run for the building opposite.

I only just make it, and in only a slightly less flustered state than last time. A new assistant, male this time, buzzes me in at exactly ten o’clock. The light in Roman’s office is almost blinding, sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It gleams on sleek black couches and glitters off the long oval glass conference table. At the end of the room Roman is sitting in a tall leather chair behind a midnight steel desk the same iron color of his eyes, speaking in low Russian to someone on his cell. He looks up as I enter and nods at a chair in front of him.

If we were playing our old game, I’d have lost already.

I was blushing before I even got here.

Now, staring at the desk and remembering what happened last time I was close to it, my face is on fire. Roman, by contrast, is coolly impersonal and focused on his call.

“ Nyet ,” he says curtly, staring at something on his laptop screen. “ Segodnya .” Today. Some poor minion has just been given an impossible deadline. It’s almost a relief to find CEO Man behaving so true to form, like a return to our weird normal.

Then he hangs up and stares at me, so long that my toes begin to curl and the color mount on my face. He waits until every inch of me is siren red before he finally speaks.

“You cut it fine this morning, Miss Lopez.” His expression is as unreadable as ever, his steel gaze pinning me to the seat. “Another minute and you would have been too late.” The ice-burn eyes run over my still-heaving chest and red face with the same narrow scrutiny they did days ago. “Last-minute decision, I gather.”

I can think of a dozen things to say, but they all sound incoherent even in my head, so in the end I just gulp and stay silent.

Roman steeples his fingers on the desk. “Your recent departure from my office left me with something of a dilemma, Miss Lopez,” he says finally.

I can’t imagine what kind of dilemma he means.

Whether to come back for coffee again? Whether to have me deliver it every day?

“First, you left your tip behind.”

Every part of me is burning red. “I told you that I don’t need your money. And it seemed inappropriate—”

“I think we both know the first part of that statement is untrue.” He cuts me off brusquely. “And given that you came on my hand the last time we met, I think we are long past inappropriate .”

I almost choke on air.

“Tell me, Miss Lopez. In my shoes, how would you approach this dilemma?” Sitting back in his chair, he regards me with polite interest.

Completely unnerved, I open my mouth and let whatever is in it fall right on out. “Just forget what happened and let things go back to normal?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s an option, Miss Lopez.” He stretches and cracks his knuckles, then interlaces his hands behind his head. It’s hard to look at those hands without remembering what they were doing to me last time we met, and by the faint smirk on his face, Roman is well aware of my discomfort. “Here are the two options I am putting on the table. You can take either offer or neither. It’s entirely up to you.”

He opens the drawer and pushes two envelopes across the desk toward me. “One of these contains the tip you left behind. Given my previous assurance that I wouldn’t call you back to my office, I’ve doubled the amount inside it.

“The other”—he taps it with one forefinger, his eyes holding mine—“contains a contract of employment.”

Employment?

“Take the tip, and you have my word you won’t hear from me again. Take the contract, and for the next several months, you will belong, exclusively, to me.”

There’s an odd ringing in my ears, and the air around me dances with strange lights that make me think I’m about to actually faint for the first time in my life.

“ Belong to you ,” I echo hollowly. “You mean... wait.” I swallow, catching myself before I say something I can’t come back from. “What do you mean, exactly?”

He nods at the larger of the two envelopes. “Open it.”

I do, withdrawing the sheaf of papers inside and glancing at the opening page.

Then I glance at it again.

At first I think I must be misunderstanding what I’m reading. Then I feel a passionate rush of relief that I didn’t embarrass myself by finishing my initial interpretation of his words. Then, finally, I read it again and suspect this is some kind of weird joke.

“A nanny.” I stare at him in complete astonishment. “You want to hire me as a nanny ?”

I don’t even attempt to hide my disbelief.

“ You have children?” I shake my head. “ You. Children?”

I can’t reconcile it. It’s like my entire universe has just juddered off course. Roman Stevanovsky—father figure?

The same grade A asshole who reduces grown men to tears on a daily basis? Seducer of models and beloved by paparazzi? That Roman Stevanovsky has children ?

“Godchildren.” Roman’s insolent smile says he’s clearly enjoying my incoherent shock. “Three of them. They are temporarily in my care, hence this contract being for a matter of months only.”

I check the contract again. There it is. Three godchildren. Aged fifteen, fourteen, and just turned five.

Who the hell was insane enough to make the devil himself the guardian of their children’s spiritual and moral well-being? Let alone leave them in his so-called care?

More to the point, why would Roman want me to look after them?

It makes not one lick of sense. Given Hale’s resources, he could hire anyone he wants. His local waitress, especially one he recently brought to an earth-shattering orgasm in this very office, hardly seems the most sensible choice.

“There must be a thousand nanny agencies in Spain. Why—?”

Oh, no. Unless . . .

“Page two, Miss Lopez.”

I flip hastily to the next page. Roman just sits there, hands behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him, watching me with a dark gleam in his eyes that does nothing to reduce the tension racing around my system.

Tension that gets worse with every word I read. Oddly enough, this one I don’t have to read twice. It’s blatant enough to leave no room for misunderstanding.

“I’d be living in your building.” I read over the lines without looking at him.

“That is a requirement, yes.”

“But not just to care for the children.”

“Your apartment is on the same floor as theirs. But no, that isn’t the only reason I require you to live in the building.” I finally meet his eyes. He’s lounging in his chair, entirely unperturbed by the extremely disturbing proposition he’s just put in my hands. “You said it yourself, Miss Lopez. You don’t have time for a personal life. Neither, as it happens, do I. I believe this arrangement meets both of our needs.”

“You want me to be your... au pair, with benefits.”

“Do you know what the literal definition of the term ‘au pair’ is, Miss Lopez?”

“Amaze me,” I mutter, still staring at the pages.

“It comes from the French term meaning ‘at par,’ or ‘equal to.’ The term is meant to indicate that the relationship is one of equals, rather than the position of a traditional domestic worker.” He watches me with still, dark eyes. “That is what I am proposing, Miss Lopez. A five-month contract between equals. One for which you will be extremely well compensated.”

Roman seems to have blithely skipped over the outrageous part of his proposal, as if it were nothing more than a meaningless subclause. I’m not sure entirely what I expected to be on offer. My new underwear is evidence enough that I was prepared for something . But not this. This is right out of the park.

“Just to be clear,” I say slowly, surprised I can actually talk at all. “You’re proposing that for the next five months I will live in your building. In addition to providing nanny duties for three children, I will also be providing naked duties for you .” I glance at the wording. “ As and when required, to be exact .”

“Naked duties.” The sudden narrowing of his eyes sends a savage rush of heat between my legs. “Not the term I would have used, although the idea of you naked and dutifully on your knees does have a certain appeal, Miss Lopez.”

Oh, save me.

“But essentially, yes. During the designated hours, you will be a nanny. And outside those hours, you will be mine. Exclusively.” Something dangerous flares in his eyes, there and then gone. “That part is nonnegotiable. No dates, no boyfriends. I don’t share, Miss Lopez.”

There’s a certain ruthless edge to his words that makes absolutely clear the kind of savagery that will be unleashed if this particular clause is broken.

It should horrify me.

It doesn’t.

Going by the intense pulsing between my legs, savagery is my own personal brand of aphrodisiac.

“There are other conditions, too.”

The dark gleam is still in his eyes, suggesting he can at least sense how aroused I am.

Will he do something about it? I’m ashamed of how much I want him to.

“You might want to take the contract away and read through them. But do it quickly. I need an answer by this afternoon. Your start date, if you agree, is tomorrow.” He lifts the screen on his laptop, a move I’ve seen him make a thousand times in the café when he wants to get rid of one of his minions.

So, no naked duties today, then.

I’m not sure whether it’s my frustrated body or my indignation at being treated like a subordinate that triggers the sudden return of my snark setting.

“This exclusivity clause.” I fold my arms and regard him as steadily as I can. “Is that mutual, too?”

He’s silent for a considerable amount of time, his blank expression giving nothing away. Finally he nods curtly. “For the duration of the contract, yes, I will agree to that.”

Roman Stevanovsky. Exclusively mine.

I’m not going to deny how tempting that sounds, even for a short time. Nor can I deny the amount of zeros in the salary he’s offering.

Enough to move Papa into a new apartment.

To get him proper care.

Enough to buy us new identities.

Even, perhaps, to start rebuilding the Petrovsky bratva.

In short, life-changing money. Not for me, but for my father, and possibly my brother.

It’s the only reason I haven’t told Roman to go to hell, just on principle.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

“You have until five this afternoon.” Roman glances at his phone. “Six and a half hours should be more than enough time to read through the contract.” He nods curtly in dismissal and starts typing.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. A trial run of some kind? A naked session on the oval table? Bent over the desk, an ever-winning fantasy?

Certainly not to be dismissed without even the chance of parading my fancy knickers.

I walk to the door slightly unsteadily.

“Miss Lopez.” I halt, heart thudding, half hoping and half dreading what he will say next. But if I thought some kind of indecent proposition was forthcoming, I’m sadly disappointed.

“There is one condition I must insist on before you leave.” I turn to find him pinning me with an uncompromisingly ruthless stare. “While your position as au pair in my household will be public, the rest of our agreement will remain strictly confidential. Do I make myself clear?”

I give a strangled laugh. “If you think that asking me to formally become your live-in sex slave is a fact I want widely advertised, then you’re even more delusional than I thought.”

Then, for the second time in a week, I flee.