A soft sound of need escaped her, and her sex pulsed in response to his words.

“I’m not a thief,” she stammered out.

“I believe you believe that,” he said after a pause.

Sofie wobbled on her heels, and with an aggravated noise stepped out of them. The cold cement floor was shocking against her soles and toes and she yelped.

Andrei reached down and yanked her skirt up to her knees, peering at her discarded shoes and bare feet. Slowly, he straightened, cocking a brow at her.

“I don’t normally wear shoes,” she explained.

His expression seemed to indicate that didn’t actually explain much as far as he was concerned.

Sofie wasn’t sure what else she could, or should, say. Yes, the floor was cold, but the heels were making her feet hurt, and she was so turned on, she was almost swaying?—

Andrei bent and scooped her into his arms. Rather than throwing her over his shoulder, he held her in a bridal carry. Sofie went still, awkward for a moment, but then wrapped her arms around his neck, hooking one elbow over his shoulder.

A soft, romantic feeling slid over her, and now, her pretty white dress felt just right. She closed her eyes and saw the painting in her mind. Stroke by stroke, it came together in her imagination.

Painted in the Romanticism style—heavy details, especially in the central figures, and deep shadows. Artfully draped fabric for the female figure’s white dress, maybe with a hint of Grecian style.

The in-progress image froze, like a sped-up video suddenly paused, as Andrei turned sideways pushing the door to the smaller playroom open with his shoulder.

Sofie stared at his profile in a delicious mix of anticipation and fear. This close, she could see the stubble along his jawline, the shallow lines at the corners of his eyes that would deepen as he aged.

And his full lower lip. It looked eminently kissable. Suckable.

Sofie drew in a surprised breath as he released her legs but kept a hold of her upper body. She ended up flush against him, clinging to his shoulders, her temple pressed to his jaw, her toes just skimming the cold floor.

She felt him swallow hard, and for a moment, he hugged her tighter against him. Sofie softened in his embrace, body molding to his, her face pressing against his neck. He smelled good.

Andrei’s hand grabbed her ass, startling a yelp out of her as he used his hold on her butt to lift her. Her feet touched down on the top of the hexagonal stage, which was cool but not nearly as cold as the concrete floor. He gave her ass a pat that was almost, almost a spank.

Sofie looked over her shoulder at the glossy black pole, then back at Andrei. “I don’t know how to pole dance.”

“Pity.” His gaze raked her up and down, lazy and self-assured. He reached into his back pocket. “But that’s not actually why you’re up on this stage. At least not right now.” He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Sofie watched him fasten one cuff around her wrist, then pull her arm back as he circled around the stage.

“Back up, Angel,” he said softly.

She did as he said, backing up and pressing her spine along the pole. He clicked the cuff into place around her other wrist, her hands behind her, the cuffs looped around the pole that stretched from floor to ceiling, ensuring that she couldn’t go anywhere.

Sofie waited, needy and starting to feel impatient, for Andrei to do something more. To touch her.

Wait. First, they had to negotiate the scene. He’d mentioned it just moments ago.

But when Andrei faced her once more, it wasn’t to discuss hard limits the way she anticipated—hoped.

“I’m going to find Landon.”

“What?” She blinked in surprise.

“That was his rental car in the parking lot, so he and Colette are here. Probably in one of the private rooms upstairs. Once I find out what he wants to do with you, I’ll be back.”

“What do you mean ‘do with me’?” Sofie demanded. “He can’t arrest me.”

“No, he can’t.” Andrei leaned in, gaze hard. “But I can. I haven’t, because I can’t arrest you without arresting Colette.”