Page 26 of Bound Vows
Maya
Disguises work best when they transform everything people expect to recognize, which explains why I’m letting Andrei’s stylist fit me with a platinum blonde wig that makes me look like a Scandinavian mistress.
“Hold still,bella,” Sophia complains as she adjusts the hairpiece. “Between this hair and the magic I can work with makeup, you’ll be unrecognizable to anyone who knows Maya Mastroni.”
The decision to go undercover came to me once I realized that walking into a room full of Italian patriarchs as myself would result in suspicious questions I couldn’t convincingly answer.How did you escape? Where has Andrei been keeping you? What are his security weaknesses?The interrogation would expose me before I could gather anything useful.
Better to become someone else.
“The blonde suits your bone structure,” Andrei observes from where he’s positioned in the corner of his penthouse salon, watching my transformation. “Though I confess I’ll miss those dark curls wrapped around my fingers.”
Heat gathers in my core at the memory of when those curls were wrapped around his fingers—a moment of weakness that makes me question my sanity—and I catch his knowing smile in the mirror. The bastard knows what he’s doing to me, just like he knows how to exploit my traitorous response to his touch.
“Focus on the mission,” I snap. “Sentiment gets people killed.”
“On the contrary, Piccola. The best operatives use every emotion available to them.” Andrei approaches my chair and runs his fingers along my shoulder, sending electricity through the silk of my robe. “Your anger about this situation will make your performance more convincing.”
Sophia secures the wig with pins that feel like tiny daggers against my scalp, then begins applying makeup that will complete the transformation from Mediterranean goddess to Nordic queen.
“Contact lenses next.” Andrei opens a small case containing blue glass discs. “Your green eyes are too distinctive for this kind of work.”
I tip back my head and slide the colored contacts into place. When I blink and focus on the mirror, a stranger stares back at me—platinum hair, ice-blue eyes, and features that could belong to any number of Eastern European models.
“Perfect,” Andrei breathes against my ear, and his reflection joins mine in the mirror as he positions himself behind my chair. “Though you’re beautiful regardless of what disguise you wear.”
“Flattery won’t make me forget that you’re sending me to spy on my father’s allies.”
“Flattery serves multiple purposes.” His hands settle on my shoulders. “Relaxation improves performance in high-stress situations.”
Sophia begins styling the wig into an elegant updo that changes the shape of my face while Andrei massages with the skill of someone who understands how to affect my body. I should tell him to stop, but his touch dissolves my resistance like sugar in hot coffee.
“Wardrobe selection next,” he declares as Sophia puts finishing touches on hair that now belongs to someone else. “I’ve had several options prepared based on the guest list.”
He leads me to an adjoining room where three evening gowns hang, each designed to help me blend seamlessly into high society while concealing the weapons I’ll need for protection. The black Versace screams wealth and sophistication; the navy Armani whispers old money discretion; the burgundy Oscar de la Renta promises dangerous elegance.
“The navy,” I decide after examining each option. “It matches my new personality.”
“Excellent choice.” Andrei lifts the gown from its hanger and holds it against my body, and his knuckles brush my ribs through the silk robe. “This color will complement your temporary blue eyes while maintaining the sophistication necessary for tonight’s performance.”
Sophia vanishes, and I’m alone with Andrei and a dress that looks like a trap disguised as couture. When I reach for the gown, he pulls it away.
“Allow me.” His tone suggests this isn’t a request.
I drop my robe and stand before him in nothing but black lace underwear, watching his pupils dilate as his gaze travels over every inch of exposed skin. The hunger in his eyes makes my breath catch despite every rational thought telling me to cover myself.
“Arms up,” he commands, and I comply without thinking, which pisses me off.
Andrei slides the dress over my head with reverent care, and his fingers trail along my arms as he guides them through the sleeves. The navy fabric settles against my skin like liquid sin, and when he fastens the tiny buttons that run from my lower back to my neck, each touch sends shivers through my nervous system.
“You realize you’re trying to seduce your operative,” I point out as his knuckles graze my spine.
“I’m ensuring my operative feels confident and desirable, which will enhance her performance.” His voice has dropped to a husky register that makes my knees weak. “Confidence is the most attractive quality a woman can possess.”
“Is that what you told your wife?”
The second it’s out, I want to take it back.
And Andrei’s hands pause. When he resumes buttoning the dress, his movements have become more methodical, though no less gentle.
