Page 23 of Under His Control
A thrill of victory rises within me. She hasn’t flat-out refused. She’s thinking. Considering. That’s all I need to make her mine.
I lift my glass and she does the same. The crystal rims kiss with a softclink.
“To contracts,” I murmur.
She lifts a brow. “To impossible bargains.”
I grin. “To solutions.”
We drink, the sexual tension between us now a living thing—hot, hungry, inevitable. But I keep my distance, for now. She needs to sign first. Then she’s mine to protect, mine to touch, mine to ruin in the most beautiful way.
“Expect an email from my attorney later today,” I say. “Read it carefully. If you have concerns, voice them. I want you confident in this arrangement. I’ll call Charles, tell him that you’ll be taking the day off. I want you to give it plenty of time and thought.”
She nods. “And Chris?”
“I’ll place a call to Ivan Smirnov the moment you leave this office, ordering him to pause whatever he has in mind for your brother. No harm will come to him, at least for now. Assuming he doesn’t do anything else idiotic.”
A faint, pained laugh escapes her. “That’s a dangerous assumption.”
“I have ways of encouraging good behavior. You’ll learn that about me soon enough.”
Her cheeks flush again. “I’m already starting to.”
I reach for her hand—small, warm, trembling—and lift it to my lips. I press a kiss to her knuckles, lingering just long enough to feel her shiver. Her pupils dilate, her breath hitches. I hope this small gesture will cause her to imagine my mouth on softer skin.
“Thank you for hearing me out,” she whispers.
“Thank you,” I counter, “for trusting me.” I release her hand and step back. “Now go.”
She blinks, then offers a shaky smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Anatoly,” I correct softly.
“Anatoly.” Hearing my name on her tongue is like a sweet caress.
“Oh, one more thing.” I step to my desk and pull a card from the side drawer, placing it into her hand. “The moment you make your decision, I expect to know. Text or call, no matter the hour.”
She glances down at the card before returning her eyes to mine. Then she nods and turns toward the door. I watch every sway of her hips as she walks away, the urge to follow, to press her against the wall and taste her, nearly overwhelming. But discipline is a chain I forged long ago. So I let her walk away—for now.
The door closes behind her. I exhale sharply, adjusting my suit trousers to hide the evidence of my arousal. Business first. I reach for the phone and dial my attorney, my hand still tingling from her touch.
Once this contract is signed, everything will change. For her. For me. For theHospitium.
But first, a brother’s salvation. Then I’ll turn my attention to showing my future wife exactly how mutually beneficial this marriage can be.
CHAPTER 9
TAYLOR
Ipace my living room floor like a woman possessed. The contract from Anatoly’s lawyer is clutched in one hand, a glass of Cabernet in the other.
The ink is still fresh; the courier dropped it within a few hours of leaving Anatoly’s office.
He promised efficiency,though he also said I would be receiving an email from his attorney. I did, thirty minutes after our meeting, stating I could expect the contract later this afternoon. He wasn’t kidding. I’ve spent hours reading the thing over.
There’s a business card for Anatoly’s lawyer attached to the contract, but I’m determined to sort through all of it on my own.I sit cross-legged on my couch, laptop balanced on my knees, legal documents open on one side of the screen, and more Google tabs than I can count on the other.
The terms are brutally simple—brutal being the operative word. I squint at the screen.
