Page 39 of Diamond Don

“We had sex. Once. It was a one-night stand. Two ships passing in the night. Nothing more. Our relationship is strictly professional now.”

“So you do admit we have a relationship. Let me ask you this: do you consider what happened between us earlier today professional? Damn, I should’ve hired you a long time ago.”

“That was a momentary lapse of judgment. Nothing else.”

His smile grows wider. “Tell me, Kat. Did you touch yourself after I left you?”

The urge to throw the fine wine I’ve been drinking in his face is almost too strong to resist. But something gives me pause. As I look at Nik, I see the same smug, self-satisfied expression from earlier. He’s toying with me again.

Of course, I can still splash him with my drink. But that would give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s getting to me. It would also ruin his cashmere sweater, and I’d hate to destroy something so fine and beautiful.

More importantly, I’d like to get at least a little of my power and control back from him if I can. And I think I do. Two can play this game of his.

With a dramatic sigh, I set my wine glass down. “You know what, Nik? I didn’t touch myself after you left me. I thought I’d save it for later tonight. You probably don’t know this, but I’m really into delayed gratification.”

He stares at me in silence with a playful but calculating look in his eyes. “You don’t seem the type, Kat.”

“I know, right? But I am. There’s just something about bringing myself to the edge over and over again, feeling the climax build up as I tease my body repeatedly until I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t help myself.” I say with a sigh. “So, I thought it would be best to wait until later tonight. Hey, if I’m lucky, you might even join me.”

I bite my bottom lip before smiling at him. His eyes immediately fly to my mouth.

Still looking at his face, I raise my right foot, stretching my right leg as far as I can under the kitchen island until I reach his leg. Inch by inch, I run my foot up his calf before placing it on his stool seat, right between his thighs.

His eyes connect with mine, a dangerous glint in them. “I know what you’re doing, Kat.”

“I know.” Raising my foot higher, I run it inside his thigh as slowly as possible. He firmly grabs it and stills it just as I’m about to touch his crotch with my toes.

“Kat…” he says in a warning tone. “You don’t want to start down this path with me again.”

“Oh, but I do.”

He has no idea how much. Flirting with the Russian is never a hardship—the man is pure sex on a stick. But as it happens, seducing him just might be my salvation. If Nik is fond of me or of my body, maybe he will think twice before hurting me or A.J. Perhaps he will even come to see me as nothing but one of his lovers. It would be a vast improvement to his current opinions of me—a shameless thief and a possible co-conspirator in his friend’s murder.

Besides, it occurs to me that Nikolai Stefanovich could end up being just what I needed all along—a powerful ally against the stronzo. A bit of sugar from me might be just the thing to get the big, bad bratva boss to claim the role of my protector.

Nik won’t let go of my foot, so I reach for my blouse and run my index finger over the first button. I pause and look at him.

Shaking his head, he says, “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late,” I say as I free the first button, revealing the top of my breasts.

“Kat—”

I ignore him. An intoxicating, heady feeling of power inundates me—it’s almost inebriating. I got him. He might be able to force me into working for him, bending me to his will in a hundred different ways, but it doesn’t matter. I hold the cards.

Nik wants me—badly. I recognize the feeling in him because I feel the same way. It drives me crazy that I can’t resist my attraction to him, but I can still use his desire for me.

“It’s okay, Nik,” I say, shushing him as I work down my blouse, one button at a time. Soon, my bra is revealed. He mutters a foreign word I don’t recognize, and I stop.

“What does that mean?”

He stares at me, confused.

“What you just said. Is that Russian?”

“Yes,” he says, transfixed by my breasts displayed by my lacy balconette bra.

“Won’t you tell me what it means? It sounded like a curse word,” I ask again. My fingers play with a button around my navel, teasing him.

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