Page 32 of The Wrong Monster

“I’ll hear the case.”

Vasily studies me carefully, searching for the catch.

There is one.

Several, actually.

I’m simply not sharing them.

I drift a little closer, pretending to inspect the open collar of his shirt. My fingertips brush his collarbone, and I pull them back quickly, surprised at how warm and inviting his skin is. When I glance up, his lips are tipped into a sinful smile.

Ignoring it, I continue, “For someone running an organization this...extensive, you seem to do quite a lot yourself.”

“I prefer not to outsource important decisions.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Another brush of my fingertips, this time at the back of his neck. Just enough.

His eyes don’t leave mine.

“You know,” I muse, circling past him again, “every successful man reaches a point where he realizes he needs a woman’s touch.”

A quiet laugh escapes him.

“And what kind of touch would that be?”

“The kind that fixes the problems brute force can’t.”

I stop beside him, our hips brushing, his biceps flexing minutely. My mouth waters at the way the muscle jumps under his tan skin, and I need to blink myself back to reality.

This is a game, nothing more.

“If I’m going to help you, Vasily...” I glance up through my lashes. “...you’re going to have to start trusting me.”

From the way his chin tips down, shoulders angling toward me, I think he might just be considering it. His gaze travels the length of me, taking in the jeans I’ve changed into; lazy, boyfriend cut, loose on my hips. My t-shirt makes my breasts look free despite the bra I’m wearing beneath it.

“The cameras,” I murmur.

He doesn’t look away from the V-neck, my throat. Like a predator poised to strike.

“What about them?”

I glance deliberately toward the blinking red light, trying to avoid the way the rumble in his voice pulls an answering thrum from somewhere deep inside.

“Your men are watching.”

“They’re ensuring you’re safe, and that I’m safe from you.”

“And if what I’m about to do isn’t exactly professional?”

The ghost of a smile touches his mouth. “I’m not terribly concerned.”

With a scoff, I cross my arms and take one step back. “I’m a little more private than that.” I can’t push this too far. I doubt a man like Vasily Borisov would believe a woman like me would suddenly fall down at his feet, eager. Oh no, he’s not one to let just anyone watch what I let him do to me.

You’re not letting him do anything, that sharp, logical voice in my head warns.

But it sounds a little further away now; a little foggier with Vasily reaching out, his fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. Without warning, he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me against him. It’s a favorite move of his, but I’m ready for it and don’t flinch.