Page 35 of Lethal Legacy

Roman parks at the rear of a restaurant I’ve never heard of, and we’re met by a maître d’ who is clearly expecting us. He shows us to a private terrace overlooking a small cove just beyond the main beaches. Night has fallen, and we’re far enough from the city lights for the stars to glisten on the sea below.

Champagne arrives in tulip glasses, along with morsels of tapas I have absolutely no appetite for.

“Lucia.”

Oh, the way he says my name.

“Mr. Stevanovsky.” I sip the champagne, which is, predictably, divine.

“Outside the office, please use Roman.” His mouth quirks at my visible surprise. “It’s less confusing for the children if you address me as they do.”

“Roman, then.” The name feels like sin on my lips.

Sin and danger.

“I invited you here tonight because there are some matters that are better said in a less formal setting than the office.”

“Oh.” I swallow more champagne to hide my nerves. I’m not certain if this is my signal to leap into seductress mode, nor do I have any idea of how I would go about that anyway.

“In the children’s presence, I will be your employer, nothing more. Our private arrangement will, under no circumstances, be disclosed to them in any way.”

“I’m pretty sure I got that message loud and clear in your office.” I don’t know what it is about him that triggers my snark setting. I just can’t seem to help it, just like I can’t help holding his eyes as I take another sip.

His eyes darken. “I don’t generally tolerate sass in my employees, Miss Lopez.”

“And I think it will beless confusingfor the children if you call me Lucia.”

“Touché.” His lips almost tug at the corners. “And agreed.”

“Look at us,” I say, sitting back in my chair. “Agreeing already.” I’m pushing it, and I know why. What I really want to do is to reach across the table for his strong hands and put them on me. I want to close the door on the restaurant and beg him to take me on this terrace, or anywhere else he chooses.

Now that I’ve signed his damned contract, I want what I signed up for. Only I can’t ask for it. I’m more than aware that no matter the intimacy of this setting, Roman Stevanovsky will explore the details of our contract entirely on his own terms, and not a moment earlier.

Which does nothing to alleviate the strung-out tension in my body.

“Our agreement is a financial one, Miss Lopez. Nothing more.” His curt use of the formal address is enough to confirm my suspicions. “I will provide you with enough money to take care of whatever personal and financial commitments may make demands on your time.”

My hand stops halfway to bringing the glass to my lips, hovering uncertainly in midair. What, exactly, does he know? I’m thrust back into the same anxiety I felt in his office. I force the glass to continue to my lips, trying not to let it shake.

“In exchange,” he goes on, “you will make yourself entirely available to meet whatever demandsImake on your time.” He turns the tulip glass slowly on the table, never taking his eyes from my face. “But I don’t date, Miss Lopez, and I don’t have either the time or interest to meet anyone’s emotional needs. Do not mistake our agreement for anything other than a business one.”

His meaning is cold, loud, and crystal clear. But contrary to the grim warning he surely intends, his words almost make me laugh aloud with relief.

As far as I’m concerned, the less interest he takes in my life, the better.

“You mean you’re going to try not to fall in love with me? I’m shocked, Mr. Stevanovsky.” I raise my glass in his direction. “And good luck with that, by the way. I make a hell of a good cup of coffee.”

This time I get the sardonic smirk that always makes my flesh quiver. “I’ve been drinking your particular brew for several months now, Lucia. Trust me when I say there’s no chance of any unexpected side effects.”

“No chance, huh?” I shake my head in mock disappointment and give him my best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation. “You, Mr. Stevanovsky, are no gentleman.”

“And you, Miss Lopez, are no lady.” He throws Rhett Butler’s line right back at me. “Or you wouldn’t have signed that contract.”

Ouch.

“I think we can both agree we’ve crossed a moral line, Lucia.” He leans across the table and fixes me with the stare that always leaves me breathless. “But I’ve always liked the danger zone. It’s where the most exquisite pleasures are found. And the delivery of exquisite pleasure is a skill I enjoy practicing. At every available opportunity.” His eyes linger just long enough to set my nerves afire. Then he lounges back in his chair with a return of the sardonic smirk, toying idly with his glass. “Our private contract will be played out only in my penthouse. I will ensure you always return to your own apartment before the children wake.”

“No pajama parties, then?”

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