Page 30 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
“You truly feel this way about a few items of clothing?” Vadim wonders. He’s seated on the bed, watching me, his gaze unreadable.
“Clothing?” I sound so horrified by such a dismissive term. “This isart.” But even as my heart soars with affection for every beautiful piece, my inner bitch has to dampen my mood. “But I can’t keep it.” It nearly kills me to even suggest as much out loud.Kills.
“Is that so?” His eyes flicker dangerously as he blinks without an ounce of mercy. “I could return it…”
“You should.” I last all of five seconds before I break down shamelessly. “No, please! I have nothing to wear, thanks to you—” My suitcase is somewhere in an abandoned hotel room back in Cali. Considering that most of that clothing consists of conservative holdovers from my life with Jim, I’m more than ready for an upgrade. Biting my lip, I twirl and sigh in admiration of how amazing this dress alone makes me look. Even he has to appreciate the effect. And after all, I deserve a reward for putting up with him. He’s been so darn mean.
“What will you give me for it?” His low, husky tone makes me swallow hard.
Too terrified to look at him, I observe my reflection more intently than ever.
“I would offer you my body, but we both know that you aren’t particularly interested in that.” I should leave it there and salvage what little I have of my pride by throwing every last item in the trash. Reflexively, my fingers grasp the strap of the purse, but I can’t seem to budge. “What would you want?” I finally demand.
“I want you to accompany me to dinner,” he says.
“Is that it?” I frown at his tone. The audible hesitation doesn’t match the ominous way he uttered that word.Dinner.Curious, I crane my head back to peek at him.
He’s staring into space, his mouth more tense than the smirk I’m used to.
“Dinner,” he repeats. “With Milton…and my brother.”
“Oh.” I look away and finger the skirt of my dress. Even an idiot could catch the reluctance lurking beneath his level tone. “Well, I… Wait, that dinner isn’t until next week!”
“Monday, in fact,” he clarifies. “A timeframe that I’m sure gives you more than enough opportunities to utilize my bank account in your quest for revenge.”
I whirl on him, hands on my hips. “Pray tell, Vadim, you aren’t trying to keep me here yet another week?” I sound playfully alarmed, but inside I’m panicking. Could I survive another week in this man’s orbit? One look at his quick, devious smile, and I have my answer.
Hell no.
“You can keep the Chanel,” I say a bit more seriously this time. I carefully shimmy out of my dress, fold it, and return it to one of the boxes. “Now get out of my bed. I need to get up early tomorrow.”
I stroll toward him, vaguely aware of the fact that I’m butt naked—underwear, ironically, hasn’t been a priority during any of my few shopping sprees, and my only pairs are in said lost luggage. Circling around to the side of the bed opposite him, I make a show of yawning and lie on my side with my back to him.
“Goodnight—”
“And here I was assuming that the entire Chanel spring collection was the way to your heart.”
I scoff. “I would have to be an idiot to let you anywhere near my heart.” I’m startled by just how genuinely I mean that. Already something in my chest feels…off. I don’t care what it takes—tomorrow, I leave.
“Nothing might change your mind?” he wonders, still so deceptively neutral. A different woman might make the mistake of assuming he’s bored, even. Just prolonging this conversation to kill time. But I’m beginning to realize that time is the one commodity Mr. Vadim Gorgoshev doesn’t spend frivolously.
And that icky feeling in my chest grows tenfold.
“No,” I say smoothly. Then my brain catches up and has the nerve to contradict me. “Fine. What might change my mind? I want a straight answer from you for once. I want to know your secrets. And—” I wince as my stomach growls loudly enough for him to hear. “I’m hungry.”
When he doesn’t reply, I roll over and rise onto my knees, only to find him seated close to the phone, a glossy black brochure in hand. “Room service?” he inquires, switching to his deeper, more professional baritone. “Parlez-vous Français?Très bien.”
He presumably proceeds to order from the menu, only he’s speaking entirely in French. Given that up until now, everyone in this damn hotel has spoken nothing but unaccented English, I recognize the act for the power play it truly is. A display purely meant to disarm me.
Finished, he sets the phone down and then inclines his head as if I’m the one intruding upon his stolen room. “You were saying?”
I want to be angry. Deviously, spitefully angry. Something about him makes me more reckless instead. So it’s mind games he wants to play?
I shuffle toward him, still on my knees, and then I shamelessly drape myself over him from behind, bringing my mouth near his ear. He stiffens predictably—score one for me—but an answering shiver ripples down my spine, and the score evens out. I love how solid he feels against me. So strong. I can lean all my weight against him, and I have no doubt that he can handle it.
Snap out of it, Tiffy.
“Baby,” I murmur, adopting my ditzy wifey drawl from earlier. “I might consider staying if you tell me all of your deepest, darkest secrets.”
