Page 21 of Vasily the Hammer

“Yes, Ana, your world.” I grip the edge of my desk to keep my ass in place, but I’m seething internally. “I saved you, got it? Your family would have sold you to a man with four young dead wives or a man three times your age or a man who used his fists to make sure he never came home to the mess I came home to yesterday, and I saved you from that. So I don’t know why you suddenly think I’m the villain here, but—”

“Because you have at least seven guns!” she cries out, taking steps toward me, clearly with the intention of getting in my face, probably waving one of those guns around recklessly. “And they’re all super weird—”

“Stop!” I bellow, putting my weight back on my feet. That alone is enough to stop her in her tracks. “March your ass back to the window.”

She pouts like a brat but does it.

“Now take your clothes off.”

She gasps in all the outrage her five-foot frame can muster. If she shot the middle finger at me and stomped to the elevator to return home, I’d be fine with unlocking the door for her, but she screams, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

Even as she grips the bottom of my hoodie in her tiny fists.

“If you don’t strip right now, Analiese Baranov, I will lay you over my thighs and spank you until you can’t sit right for a week.”

That gets her pupils blowing out again. She doesn’t move at first, but she glares at me and takes gusty breaths like an overworked mare.

She very quietly says, “I think I hate you, Vasily Baranov.”

But she lifts the hoodie off as she says it.

She’s wearing a loose tank top and a tight sports bra, both in cool, neutral tones, like every woman I see coming out of the café in the morning, iced cappuccino in one hand and stroller in the other. I keep thinking she’s going back to Phoenix. Either her memories will come back or Tony will come rooting around for her, that I’ll use her as a bargaining chip. But I’m also toying with the idea of watching out the window for her to leave that café and make her way back across the street, then flipping to a security camera to make sure she gets in the elevator that will take her directly to my office so I can fuck her against the window while the drones in the office across the street watch.

Or, she doesn’t come directly to my office because she does have a stroller she’s pushing in front of her, with a baby in it that needs to be returned to his crib before she can come back down for us to work on making a little sister for him.

Fuck me, that’s not the fantasy. I’m dead. I’m not seeing any of that. But the thoughts have me rock fucking hard.

“You’ve always hated me. But you love my cock more. Now finish undressing.”

Chapter 9

Ana

I don’t thinkI’m into having an audience. That’s something weird people do. I’m not a weird person. And I can safely say from those few peaceful moments I have gotten with Vasily, curled up next to him on the plane and then again on the sofa last night, that I prefer my intimacy to be private. The blanket that was thrown over me on the plane gave me the assurance that I wasn’t a spectacle for Kostya. The very idea of Kostya seeing Vasily and me together runs a chill up my spine.

And yet, I can’t hold back the warmth running through my body, as visceral as the sun casting down on me through the window while Vasily remains in the shadows.

I have a singular misgiving here. Vasily is incredibly handsome. I don’t think we would be a mismatched couple if we went out ona date night, but I know what my body looks like under these clothes. My shape is nice, but I’m far from flawless. My clothes are doing some heavy lifting.

I remind myself that Vasily is my husband. He knows my boobs are pancakey and my stomach jiggles. He’s watching me from the darker area of his office, shadowed but clearly interested.

And smoky? Good grief, this guy is unshakable if he’s just come from a fire at one of his own properties and is now bullying me into stripping in front of the office across the street.

He’s crossed his arms over his chest in expectation, and his slacks are tented enough that I have to assume he has no similar qualms about stripping in front of the window.

With a huff, I kick my shoes off.

He raises an eyebrow in challenge when I pause again there.

He wouldn’t really spank me if I didn’t do what he told me to do, would he?

I wouldn’t enjoy it if he did, right?

I shimmy out of my leggings. Today’s pair is more snug than what I wore yesterday, but I guess this is what I deserve for rolling over my wardrobe the moment anything in it looks worn. I’ve probably thrown out the most comfortable clothes ever and ended up with these tight, itchy things that managed to create a roll instead of covering the squish up.

“Quit stalling and put on your show for the good staff of Lexing and Dunn.”

Myshow. Notourshow. Does that mean he’s not going to undress? That he’s not into this too?

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