Page 9

My hands tremble with excitement as I smooth out the raw silk on my work table. The sunlight streaming through the studio windows catches on the sheen, sending tiny slivers of light dancing across the walls. I can't help but grin, imagining how stunning this gown will look on my new model.

"This is it," I whisper to myself, running my fingers along the delicate beadwork. "My big break."

I've poured my soul into this collection, and with the right model, I just know it'll be my ticket to the fashion world's inner circle. If I do this well, it will only be a matter of time before word-of-mouth spreads and the orders roll in. My mind races with visions of runway shows and magazine spreads as I make a few last-minute adjustments to the dress form.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily, each second bringing me closer to more news on my mystery model. Denis said I was to begin working on the new outfit today! I keep shaking my legs, too keyed up to sit still.

As if summoned by my impatience, I hear footsteps approaching. My heart leaps into my throat. Finally! More news on who I’m designing for!

The door swings open, and I take in the tall, muscular figure filling the doorway. Those piercing gray eyes meet mine, and I jump out of my chair.

“Have we found her?” I ask, running over to him. “I have so many designs ready to showcase and pray she likes them. Who is she?”

Denis's lips quirk up in a half-smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Found her? Natalia, you're looking at your model."

The joy that had filled me moments ago vanishes in an instant. I take a step back, trying to make sense of this situation. "You?" I splutter, my voice rising in disbelief. "You're my model? But you… you can't be serious. This is not how this is supposed to work! I design dresses, Denis."

Denis shrugs, the movement making his tailored shirt stretch enticingly across his broad shoulders. I hate that I notice. "There’s no reason why you can’t design suits," he says simply. "It’s simple, really. You make my outfit for a star-studded event next week, and you attend it with me."

I blink rapidly, trying to process this new development. Attend an event with Denis Zolotov? The very idea makes my stomach twist with nerves.

"Absolutely not," I snap, planting my hands on my hips. "I refuse to be part of whatever Bratva scheme you're cooking up. Find yourself another designer for your illegal activities."

Denis's eyebrows rise slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his composed facade. "Bratva scheme? Natalia, you misunderstand. This is for a charity event."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Right. And I'm the Queen of England. I wasn't born yesterday, Denis."

He takes a step closer, and I instinctively back up, my lower back hitting my worktable. Denis stops, his gray eyes softening. "I give you my word. This is a legitimate fundraiser for children's hospitals. No Bratva involvement whatsoever."

I search his face for any sign of deception but find only sincerity. Still, I can't shake my suspicion. "Why you, then? Surely there are actual models available."

Denis's lips quirk into a small smile. "Perhaps I wanted to give you a chance to explore your capabilities. To design out of your comfort level."

My chest now pounds with heady nervousness, and I silently curse my body's reaction to him. "That's… that's not a good enough reason," I stammer, hating how flustered I sound.

"No?" Denis asks, his voice low and intimate. "Then consider this: by modeling for you, I ensure your designs get the attention they deserve. My presence at the event guarantees media coverage."

I bite my lip, considering his words. The practical part of me can't deny the potential benefits, but my stubbornness isn't ready to give in just yet.

"I…" I start, then falter, torn between opportunity and my desire to keep Denis at arm's length.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. "Fine," I finally concede, my voice barely above a whisper. "But this doesn't change anything between us, Denis. It's strictly professional."

He nods, a glimmer of what seems to be disappointment flashing in his eyes. "Of course, Natalia. Shall we begin?"

Gritting my teeth, I grab my measuring tape and gesture for him to stand in the center of the room. As I approach, the air seems to thicken, making it harder to breathe. Denis towers over me.

"Arms out," I instruct, my tone sharper than necessary. He complies without a word, and I begin taking his measurements, my movements quick and efficient.

As I work, I can't help but notice the solid warmth of his body, and the subtle scent of his cologne. My fingers brush against his chest as I measure across his shoulders, and I feel him tense slightly as sparks shoot down my spine.

"Hold still," I mutter, moving to measure his inseam. As I kneel before him, I'm acutely aware of our positions, and my cheeks flush with heat.

I try to focus on my work, but as I slide the tape measure up his inner thigh, my hand accidentally cups against a large, noticeable bulge between his legs and I freeze, my eyes widening in shock.

"Oh," I breathe, the word escaping before I can stop it.

Denis remains perfectly still, but I can hear his sharp intake of breath. The tension in the room skyrockets, and I'm hyper-aware of every point of contact between us.

My mind races, a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions. This is Denis Zolotov, the man who's turned my life upside down. And yet… the heat radiating from his body, the undeniable evidence of his arousal, sends an unexpected thrill through me.

"Natalia," he says, his voice low, hoarse and strained. "Are we done here yet?”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "No, I… almost," I manage to say, my own voice sounding strange to my ears. "Just… just a few more measurements."

I force myself to look up, meeting Denis's intense gaze, which is focused on me. There's a tightness around his mouth that betrays his struggle for control, a pool of desire in his eyes.

His body is tight, rigid.

My hands tremble slightly as I continue on, hyper-aware of every brush against his muscled form. The air between us feels charged, crackling with unspoken tension.

"You're very skilled at this," Denis murmurs in a hoarse voice, breaking the silence. "How long have you been designing again?"

I appreciate his attempt at normalcy, even as my body hums with awareness. "Since I was a teenager," I reply, my voice huskier than usual. "It's always been my passion."

As I move around him, I catch another whiff of his cologne. It makes my head spin, and I have to steady myself against his arm.

"Careful," he says softly, his hand coming up to support me. The touch sends sparks through my body, and I can't help the small gasp that escapes me.

I'm acutely aware of my own response now—the quickening of my pulse, the warmth pooling low in my belly. It's undeniable, this attraction, as much as I want to fight it.

"I think…" I start, my voice wavering. "I think we're done for today."

Denis nods, his eyes never leaving mine. "Thank you, Natalia. Your work is… appreciated."

The double meaning in his words isn't lost on me, and I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. As he turns to leave, I'm left with a whirlwind of confusing emotions and the lingering scent of his cologne.