I resist the anger that surges-toward both Alex and her-and review the scene in my mind. I hate to admit what I think. “Honestly… I think when I came for you at the same time Nikolai came at him, he panicked. Maybe he thought I was a danger to you. Or he just couldn’t process both events happening at once. It definitely seemed like panic rather than his training or premeditation.”
“Yeah, he seems young. He’s probably straight out of training, don’t you think?”
I nod my agreement. “I don’t like the fact that the Feds targeted you. You’re in a precarious position now. You’ve admitted to the FBI that you know you live in a bratva-controlled building. They’re going to continue to try to use you as leverage.”
Finished with the sandwich, she sets her plate on the desk. “What’s going to happen to me?”
I shrug. “Depends, amerikanka.”
“On what?”
“On what I find. On your behavior. On many things.” My dick thickens again, thinking of her punishment this morning. It’s so wrong, but I find myself hoping she’ll misbehave. That I’ll get to pin her wrists and smack her ass and listen to her sweet, choked cries.
“Is it up to you? Is that why Ravil said he’d let you sort of the rest of it out with me in private?”
I can’t help myself. My lips curve into a tiny smirk. “That’s right. I decide how and to what extent you are punished. So if you were wise, you’d keep a safe distance from me.”
Her lips part in a pretty “O” but she doesn’t look scared or upset. No, her pupils are dilated. She’s turned on.
Blyad’. I need to rediscover my anger toward her because right now, I’m thinking of a hundred possible punishments, and they all involve her naked and at my mercy.
Natasha
Much of the heaviness lifts from my chest after talking to Story and getting Dima to at least converse with me. I saw glimpses of the real Dima today. The one who’s not so on edge and pissed off at me.
Did he actually call me sweet Natasha? And give my childhood frenemy five parking tickets? I don’t know anything about hacking, but it was obvious he has mad talent. It was impossible not to be turned on watching him change people’s lives with a few strokes of his keys.
I shouldn’t have let him do it, but there was no way I was going to refuse the small consideration he was giving me. Not when I’ve been so starved for any kindness from him.
There’s chemistry between us, for sure. And he’s resisting it. I just need to figure out why.
Or… I just need to get him to forget about his resistance.
I give him space for the rest of the afternoon, and he stays in the office and works. I stay attentive to Nikolai, getting him to swallow a little tomato soup, keeping his pain meds, electrolytes, and antibiotics going.
He blows me off when I make dinner-just some heated soup-telling me he’ll eat later, so I eat with Nikolai, then go upstairs and take a long bath.
When I get out, I’m pretty much ready to burn the cocktail dress. I wash my little G-string panties in the sink and hang them up on the shower rod to dry.
I pull on the ugly fishing shirt, which is a boy’s size large. It doesn’t even cover my ass. It’s lame, even for a nightshirt. At least I won’t have to sleep in the dress again tonight although I might be more comfortable naked.
That thought makes me all fluttery-like sleeping naked in the same cabin as Dima means something might happen. And after our brief truce this afternoon, I desperately want something to happen. He’s been a dick, but now that the seed’s been planted that it may not be about my big fuck-up-that he may be acting from a frustrated desire for me-the need to verify that hunch is huge.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror and take in my appearance. My hair is up in a messy bun. The shirt is tight across my breasts, showing the stiffened peaks of my nipples. It falls below my waist, about to the crease of my hips, so my bare and freshly shaved lady parts just peek out beneath.
Walking downstairs like this would be daring.
I’m not demure, but I’m definitely no sex kitten either. But unraveling the mystery of Dima’s behavior makes it worth a try.
I head downstairs and walk past Dima where he sits with his laptop on his lap and some kind of action movie on the television. He doesn’t look at me as I pass.
Dammit.
I head into the kitchen in search of something sweet to eat–preferably chocolate. I search through the pantry, open and close every cabinet door, cataloging all the ingredients. And, if I’m honest, stalling. Because I don’t want to head back upstairs without getting what I came down here for-and it wasn’t just dessert. It’s a reaction from Dima.
“What are you looking for?”
I pause without turning when I hear his voice behind me. He’s in the kitchen with me. I make a show of opening an upper cabinet and standing on my tiptoes, reaching up to the highest shelves, which causes the already too-short shirt to ride up.
I hear Dima’s sharp intake of breath. “What are you doing?” He sounds choked.
I still don’t turn. This time I drop to my hands and knees to open a lower cabinet and stick my head inside. “I’m looking for chocolate.” I continue with my hunt, sitting back and shifting to ransack the next cabinet, even though I’ve already searched them all.
“What-what are you wearing?”
I stand and slowly turn, arranging my expression into innocence. “The shirt you bought me.” I slide my palms down over my breasts.
Dima’s eyes flare. His fingers clench into fists at his sides.
“It’s way too small.” I had no idea playing the coquette could be so fun.
“Gospodi, Natasha. What-where are your panties?” He spits out the question like getting the answer is a national emergency.