Page 62 of Toxic Temptation
Those paintings are sacred to Luka. He’s never shown them to anyone outside the family. Not even Yana gets to see them anymore.
“He must trust you,” I say quietly.
“He’s starving for a mother figure,” she says. “It breaks my heart.”
There’s something in her voice, something soft and wistful that I can’t quite read. But it does something to me, too, hearing her talk about Luka like that. Like she actually cares about him.
“Thank you for coming this morning. I know you’re busy.”
She waves me off. “It was part of our deal.”
That reminder hits me wrong, like a slap when I was expecting something softer. I shove the feeling down and lead her toward the SUV.
The car sits high off the ground, so I help her climb in. Her dress rides up as she settles into the seat, revealing a stretch of pale thigh that makes my mouth go dry.
Without thinking, I let the back of my hand brush against her skin. She shivers, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
I rip my knuckles away immediately. Then, without making eye contact, I slam her door and charge around to the driver’s side.
I’m cursing myself with every step. I can’t afford to want this woman. Can’t afford to touch her like that, to think about what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around my waist or what those lips would taste like, going soft and pliant beneath mine.
But maybe that’s exactly why I need to get her out of my system. Because the way I’ve been thinking about her, the way she’s been distracting me from everything else…
I can’t afford not to.
22
KOVAN
Vesper’s eyes are bulging, mouth wide open, and each cheek is pinking with dumbfounded shock. You’d think I’d just shoved her out of a plane with no parachute.
“We’re going to what office? Whose office?Youroffice?!” Vesper’s voice pitches higher with each word, like she’s about to hyperventilate.
“My office,” I confirm. I keep my tone casual, but I can see her spiraling. “It’s time you met my staff. They need to know who you are.”
“You didn’t prepare me for this!” She looks down at her dress as if it personally betrayed her. Stabbed in the back once again by Saks Fifth’s finest. “I look completely inappropriate.”
“It’s a simple introduction. There’s nothing to prepare for.”
“I would have worn something different. Something professional. This dress is…” She tugs at the fabric. “God, I look like I’m trying too hard. I’m a trollop.”
I bark out a laugh as the light turns green and I ease forward through the intersection. “Are you a Victorian virgin? ‘Trollop’? Which circle of hell comes after that: ‘plague-ridden wenches’?”
Her cheeks flush even pinker. “It’s not funny. I don’t know what I was thinking with this dress. I never wear dresses. Ever.”
“So why today?”
She struggles with the hem, trying to pull it down over her knees. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to look nice for—” She stops abruptly. “For Luka. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
She hides behind her hair. It irks me, how small she’s trying to make herself. “I’ve had this thing hanging in my closet for two years. Dead weight. I figured it was time to actually wear it, but clearly, I was wrong. I’m made for scrubs, not…” She gestures helplessly at herself once again.
“You’re wrong about that,” I growl quietly. “You in that dress? Fucking perfect.”
She blinks at me, and the pink in her cheeks deepens to red. “You don’t think your people will wonder what you’re doing with some blonde bimbo who doesn’t belong in your world?”
“You know,” I remark, “most women put on a pretty dress to feel confident. You’re doing the opposite.”
