Page 9

9

ROMAN

“ Y ou want to talk about it?” Dimitry glances at me as we turn onto the highway.

“Nope.” I stare at my phone, which is still silent. It’s been five and a half hours since I gave her the contract.

Three hundred and thirty minutes.

And only thirty minutes remain until the deadline is up.

I keep seeing Lucia as she was when she came to my office this morning: eyes wide, lips glistening, and hair piled up in a way I haven’t seen before. I have an almost irresistible urge to tug it free of whatever pin is holding it precariously in place and watch it tumble down. Preferably over my hands, while her mouth is full of my dick.

By the way her luscious chest was heaving when she arrived in my office, she’d clearly left it until the last minute to decide to actually show up. And now here I am, for the second time today, watching my phone and counting the goddamn minutes.

I don’t like being strung along, any more than I’d liked her referring to her proposed role as my “live-in sex slave.”

Not that the term doesn’t raise a mass of delicious fantasies, many of which involve those glistening, bee-stung lips.

Moaning my name.

Devouring my cock.

Screaming as she loses it.

I want to make her come undone, bring her to the edge over and again until those lips beg me for release. I can already imagine them against my ear, whispering every filthy fantasy she’s been harboring in the months since we met.

“Lick me . . . please . . . I need your tongue. I need you inside me, Roman.”

I shift restlessly. The lingering state of arousal I’ve been in ever since I watched that video playback is turning into full-blown fantasy. The slightest recollection of her trembling under my hands is enough to make me iron hard.

Which, I tell myself, is the exact reason I put this proposal to her in the first place.

I need to get Miss Lopez underneath me as soon as possible. Get into her, then get the fuck out of the weird state of crippling lust her mouth-watering body has put me into.

“Hey.” Dimitry snaps his fingers in my direction. “I said, answer your phone. Pavel’s trying to get hold of you. Something about a background check?”

I answer the eternally vibrating phone without meeting Dimitry’s curious eyes. “You got what I asked for?” I snap.

“Well—yes and no.” Even down the phone line, I can tell the tech head is quaking in his ridiculous trainers.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I drum my fingers on the leather seat impatiently. “You can hack the damn Pentagon. Surely a simple background check is within your capabilities?”

“It is if I have enough to go on.” Pavel’s indignation is palpable. “You gave me a name. Nothing else. No birth date, no address, no passport number. Do you have any idea how many Lucia Lopezs there are in Spain?”

“I gave you her workplace.”

“Which is notorious for hiring illegal immigrants and paying them in cash. Despite that, I did manage to narrow the options down based on approximate age and location.”

“Then stop fucking around and give me what you’ve found.”

“Sending it through now, sir.” Pavel’s injured tone makes it very clear that he doesn’t appreciate his skills being used for such mundane tasks as running background checks. I don’t give a fuck. I pay him to do whatever is needed. And Pavel is the only person I trust to sift through Lucia’s past.

“Background check, huh?” Dimitry has a shit-eating grin that tells me he knows exactly who I’m looking into.

“I need an au pair.” I open the file Pavel has sent through.

“And you think the delectable Miss Lopez possesses the appropriate... erm... skills , for that particular role?”

I give him a look that’s left hundreds shaking in their boots, but seems to have no discernible effect at all on Dimitry, the prick.

“She speaks several languages. She’s clearly a hard worker. And she needs a job.” Despite my harsh rejoinder, he’s still grinning in a way that thoroughly pisses me off.

I flick through the pages Pavel has sent. He’s right; there’s fuck all here, and what there is comes from the application she made for a medical card, and its subsequent use.

Lucia is listed as Argentinian. She may or may not have come from Morocco by boat. It seems she’s currently living in cheap motels, shifting every other day. The medical card has been used far more than I would have expected, and the current motel manager, Pavel reports, is very annoyed about the wheelchair used by the “old man” who is her companion.

I put my phone down and frown out the window.

Old man?

If he’s in a wheelchair, it’s unlikely to be a boyfriend.

Which is good, considering that even the thought of Lucia Lopez having a boyfriend is enough to make me want to punch something again.

But if it’s an ailing relative, then that can only work in my favor. It means Miss Lopez has responsibilities. Someone she has to care for.

A reason to say yes to my contract.

I stare at my phone.

There’s fifteen minutes to go.