Page 150 of Wicked Proposal
“Oh!” Tikhon beams. “What have we here? A young fan, perhaps?”
Eli unsticks himself from the case. “Hi,” he mumbles shyly, half-hiding behind me.
“Eli,” Yulian says, “this is Tikhon, my chief engineer. He’s the one who makes all the spy gadgets.”
“Spy—?” A glare from Yulian shuts Tikhon right up. “O-of course! Thespygadgets!”
Eli’s face instantly brightens. “Really?!”
“Really.” Tikhon crouches down, quick to play along. “Wanna see more of them?”
“Can I, Mommy?!”
“Knock yourself out,” I grin. “But behave, you hear me? Don’t give Tikhon any trouble, or I’ll know.”
“With the Mommy-Sense?”
“Precisely.”
He scurries off excitedly with Tikhon, who also looks like he’s having the time of his life. Where else is he going to find someone who’ll actuallylistenfor five minutes in a row?
Knowing Eli, he’ll “ooh” and “aah” in all the right places, too. If anyone can match Tikhon’s crazy about nanotech, that’s the kid I’ve raised on pizza and James Bond.
“‘Mommy-Sense’?” Yulian asks as soon as they’re gone.
“It tingles when he’s naughty.”
He shakes his head, but I catch the hint of a smile there. Dimples don’t lie.
Yulian catches me staring. His smirk turns wolfish, hungry and knowing.
“So,” I say, eager to redirect this buzz in the air literally anywhere else, “is tech all you do here?”
“That’s a bold question to ask.”
He draws closer. His cologne fills my lungs, making it really hard to steer my thoughts away from where they’re headed. Every time that scent hits my nostrils, the memories come flooding back, reminding me of howcloseI’ve been to the source of it.
His skin, his body.
No clothes in between.
Get it together, Mia. You can’t jump him in a room full of nanotech. That’s got to be a health code violation.
“Well, you’re not any other CEO,” I say, staring with interest at the black-tiled floor. “I’m guessing there’s a rotating bookcase somewhere that leads to the bowels of the Earth?”
“Where I keep my torture dungeons?” That dimple deepens, amusement lighting up every corner of his face. It’s so subtle, most would miss it. But then again, “most” haven’t been on this man’s arm for enough dates to make it feel so damnreal. “Flay my enemies alive for their secrets?”
“Something like that.”
He seems to consider something. Pauses just long enough to make me wonder if I’ve overstepped.
Then, as if winning a mental argument with himself, he gives a single nod and beckons me to follow.
We walk up to the far edge of the room. The glass cases with the prototypes grow bigger here, turning into floor-to-ceiling tubes.
“Maybe I was wrong about the dungeons,” I quip, more to calm down my nerves than anything else. “Maybe you’ve got a secret lab.”
“Sounds interesting. What would I make there?”
