Page 63 of Lethal Legacy

After all, the contract only states that I have to be availablein casehe wants me. Nowhere does it say hewillwant me, or specify how often.

I set an alarm and pummel the pillow, trying to ignore the dull pulse between my legs. I need to get my head in the game, and the rules of it very straight.

I’m Roman Stevanovsky’s fuck toy, nothing more. And if I hope to stay sane for the duration of this insane contract, I need to remember that.

18

ROMAN

Somewhat uncharacteristically, I work through siesta. Given the late hours I keep, I usually embrace the Spanish rhythm of a long lunch and some downtime, followed by a workout and the second part of my business day.

But the thought of spending siesta in my penthouse, all the while knowing that Lucia is probably sprawled out naked on a bed one floor below me, isn’t a temptation I need right now.

Fuck.I rub my temples and try to focus on the figures in front of me. Part of me is desperate to fuck her again. And after all, I’ve decided that seducing her is the best strategy to get the answers I need from her. But another part of me is already questioning the entire arrangement.

I get hard the second I think of her writhing underneath me. During strategy meetings all I can think of is her naked body, and the way the rose silk slipped to the floor. I keep envisaging the lingerie options I chose and wondering which set I should tell her to wear next—and then, the myriad of ways I might remove said underwear from her body.

I need to get myself under control.And seduction or not, I need to make sure there’s no confusion about boundaries. Which means I need to go home early today and spend time with the children while she is there. Make sure everyone knows their place.

Even if the only place I want Lucia to be right now is on my bed with her legs spread wide and my cock deep inside her.

I reach for my phone, smiling darkly. I might be all about boundaries, but nothing in the contract says I can’t torment her a little. Unfortunately, my phone rings before I’ve even started typing. The number on it kills my hard-on more effectively than any ice bath ever could.

“Inger.” I attempt to maintain a courteous tone.

“Why is Nicky telling me about a new nanny I haven’t heard of?” Her tone is so shrill I hold the phone away from my ear, wincing.

How did I ever find her attractive?

“I sent you the same email Nicky got, Inger.”

Maybe you should take enough interest in your own children to read it.

“I’m on a modeling job, Roman. I don’t have time to check emails.”

I roll my eyes.But you have no problem making time to be seen at every nightclub in Miami and be photographed daily for the tabloids.“Would you prefer me to call you next time?”

I know perfectly well she won’t prefer that at all.

Inger’s idea of parenting involves complete detachment, followed by a brief flurry of temper, like now, when she feigns concern and indignation, followed by an even briefer stage of wounded victimhood, during which the children are bombarded with sickeningly sweet declarations of love.

Then comes the detachment again.

And with it, inevitably, Ofelia’s expulsion from another boarding house and Mickey’s withdrawal into his computer den.

“No,” she says, after a long pause in which she’s clearly weighed up the burden of having to take calls from the children against her desire to pursue an active night life. “But at the very least, tell me about this girl, Roman. I don’t have time to read the background brief.”

Which, for once, is a good thing.

“Not much to tell,” I lie. “Miss Lopez is Argentinian. Came with excellent recommendations.” I’d cross my fingers, if I believed in that shit. “She speaks several languages fluently, including English and French. She picked the children up from the airport today, and as far as I can tell, it’s gone smoothly so far.”

“Ha.” Inger gives a smug laugh. “I give her a week.”

I swallow a very sharp response. Despite ignoring her children almost entirely, Inger is insecure enough to be extremely threatened by anyone she suspects of gaining their affection. As a result, she has actively encouraged the worst of Ofelia’s behavior toward theau pairs I’ve hired. “You’re probably right,” I say dismissively. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. The Lopez girl is just a temporary solution until I find another agency.”

Inger is also pathologically jealous. And despite the fact that our brief affair took place back when I was sixteen, just before I took a bullet for Mikhail, she still considers me her property.

“Well that’s a relief,” she sniffs now. “We can’t have you sleeping with the help, Romie. It sets a bad example for the children. And besides.” Her voice drops to a husky note I’m sure she thinks is seductive but which for me grates like nails on a chalkboard. “I might be in Malaga for a short visit soon. The Russian Cultural Society want me to attend their annual benefit. Which means we can get together, Romie.”

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