Page 73 of Scarlet Thorns
Ilona
As we leave the kitchen, my head is still reeling.
I could practically feel his lips, before he pulled away with iron-willed control that left me breathless and aching.
“This way,” he says, his voice rougher than before, and I follow him through hallways that seem to stretch forever.
The man who rescued me from Tibor’s groping hands is devastatingly beautiful. I can’t stop stealing glances at him as we walk— the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls perfectly even when he runs his fingers through it, the broad shoulders that fill his expensive suit like it was tailored to worship his body.
Which it probably was.
Everything about him screams wealth and power, but there’s something else underneath. Something dangerous and magnetic that makes my pulse skip every time his gray eyes find mine.
I’m attracted to him. Wildly, inappropriately, dangerously attracted to the man who just saved me from Tibor’s wandering hands. He’s foreign, mysterious and completely wrong for someone like me. But the way he looked at Tibor, the controlled violence in his voice when he fired him… God help me, it was so sexy that my panties are still wet.
Which makes me either incredibly shallow or completely insane. Probably both.
God, Ilona, what the hell is wrong with you?
I shouldn’t be feeling this way. It’s ridiculous and wrong on every possible level. He’s my boss now— my savior— and Ijust met him three hours ago. But Lord help me, I’m drawn to him with an intensity that defies logic.
But there’s something else. It’s like I’ve known him before. Like we’ve met somewhere, shared secrets that nobody else would understand. But that’s impossible. This is definitely the first time I’m seeing him— I would remember a man like this. Yet the feeling persists, nagging at the edges of my consciousness.
“Here.” He opens a door and steps aside to let me enter first.
Holy shit!
The room takes my breath away. It’s larger than most apartments, with a king-sized bed draped in silk, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Buda Hills, and an ensuite bathroom that belongs in a luxury hotel. Everything is cream and gold and impossibly elegant.
“This is… incredible,” I manage, turning to find him watching me with an expression I can’t read.
“It’s yours for as long as you need it,” he says simply. “No rent, no strings attached.”
The offer stuns me into silence. After months of cramped hostels and Tibor’s disgusting attic, this feels like stepping into a fairy tale. But fairy tales always have a price.
“I can’t accept this,” I say automatically, even as my body betrays me by already imagining sinking into that massive bed.
“You can.” His voice carries quiet authority that makes arguing feel pointless. “The Scarlet Fox is closing for renovations. Complete overhaul— we’re turning it into an exclusive private club. The work will take months.”
I blink, processing this information. “So I’m unemployed again.”
“Not necessarily.” He moves closer, and the air between us charges with the same electricity from the kitchen. “I have a proposition.”
The word “proposition” on his lips sends heat spiraling through my core. My body is still humming from our almost-kiss, every nerve ending hypersensitive to his proximity. I glance down and catch sight of my nipples poking against the worn cotton of my shirt. I fold my arms across my chest.
“What kind of proposition?” I try to sound professional, but my voice comes out breathless.
“Stay here. Work as my house manager while the renovations happen.” His gray eyes never leave mine. “Full salary, private quarters, complete autonomy. The house is large enough that we’d barely cross paths.”
The last part stings more than it should. After the magnetic pull in the kitchen, the suggestion that we’ll avoid each other feels like rejection.
But it’s also smart. Safe. Because the attraction between us is dangerous— the kind that makes people do stupid things that they’ll probably end up regretting.
But maybe it would be worth it?
Cut it out, Ilona!
“What would my responsibilities include?” I try for professionalism again, and still don’t nail it.
