Page 9 of Dancing With Distraction

“The more you behave badly, the harder your punishment will be,” I remind her, stalking off towards the VIP area.

It’s Monday morning, and my weekend was filled with thoughts of her. Victoria.

Marshall watches me through the rear-view mirror. He wants to question my intentions, but he knows better than to bother. Stopping the car outside of Harrods like I’d instructed, he gets out and opens my door. I step out onto the pavement and straighten my jacket. “You can wait here,” I tell him, and he nods once, getting back in the car.

I make my way up to the clothes department and I’m immediately greeted by an older-looking woman. “Good morning, Mr. Volkov. I recognise you from the charity events I often attend. I’m Karen. How can I help you today?” Her over-familiarity and her rush to remind me we’ve met, even though she knows I don’t recognise her, irritates me. It suggests she can smell money like a bloodhound and she’s attempting to butter me up into parting with my cash.

“I’m looking for a personal shopper,” I say.

“Of course, we have Martyn,” she says, turning her back to find him.

“Actually, I was looking for someone specific by the name of Victoria Harding.”

Her smile fades and she looks confused. “Tori? Are you sure?”

“She came highly recommended,” I say, arching a brow at her unprofessionalism.

“Right, well, if you insist, although I think Martyn is much better suited to?—”

“If you could just get her for me,” I snap impatiently. She nods and rushes off, returning minutes later with Victoria.

She takes my breath away. She’s dressed in a knee-length black dress and her hair is tied back neatly. She wears a minimal amount of makeup, just enough to give her a soft glow. She’s almost virginal in appearance.

When she spots me, her face flushes red. She’s not so brave without alcohol running through her veins.

“I’ll leave you to it,” says Karen, walking away.

“I don’t have your money,” she begins, and I press a finger to her lips. She frowns but stops talking.

“I need a suit.”

“Another?” she quips, smirking. “Okay, follow me.”

We go into a room with wall-to-wall suits hanging neatly. She turns to me, taking a step back and looking me up and down. “Grey,” she says. “I think grey would look good.” I nod, and she grabs something from the rail. “With a black shirt,” she adds absentmindedly. “Size?”

I have no idea. My suits are made to fit by a very good tailor who would drop dead if he saw me in Harrods buying off the rack. She smiles, grabbing a tape measure and a stool. She puts it on the floor in front of me and climbs on so she’s taller than me, and then she lifts the tape measure over my head. I briefly close my eyes as her delicate fingers brush the skin of my neck, and when I open them again, she’s staring at my lips, her fingers holding the tape, unmoving.

I clear my throat, and she jumps to life again, dragging her eyes away and stepping off the stool. “Perfect,” she mutters, rushing off to one of the racks. “If you step into the changing room, I can bring this through.”

I inwardly groan. I hadn’t thought about trying it on and I’m short on time, but I step behind the curtain she pointed to and begin to strip off.

“Will you be needing a tie?” she asks, whipping back the curtain as I remove my shirt. She freezes, her eyes wide as she takes in my toned chest.

I arch a brow and smirk. “Shouldn’t you wait to be invited in?”

“I’m so sorry,” she mutters, placing the garments on the chair and turning her back. “I wouldn’t usually . . .” She trails off before adding, “I don’t know where my mind is at.”

“You can turn around, Victoria.” I like the way her name feels rolling off my tongue. “We’re both adults.”

I slip off my trousers as she slowly turns to face me. There’s a blush on her cheeks that adds to the innocent look she’s got going on today, and the urge to see her backside match that shade of red is overwhelming.

She fusses with the new trousers before handing them over. “You’re not going to help me?” I ask, smirking.

Her mouth opens, no doubt to throw a smart comment my way, but then she thinks better of it and squares her shoulders, something she seems to do a lot when she’s trying to push through whatever voice is in her head telling her to back down. There’s a steely glint in her eye as she hunches down in front of me and holds the trousers for me to step into. I grin, satisfied she’s doing as she’s told despite not wanting to.

She glides the trousers up my legs, moving quickly to pass the bulge in my boxers, then fastens them at my waist. She looks me in the eye and smirks. “Perfect,” she says. “Would you like to try those with the shirt?” I give a nod, and she takes the shirt from the chair.

I slide each arm through as she holds it open for me, and then she stands before me and begins to fasten the buttons. Having her so close is torture, and I make a mental note to surprise Vivian later with her punishment. It’s been a couple days since I made that promise, and it’s time I made good on it. I need the release before I lose my control.

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