Page 33 of Unrequited
And still—I watch her.
My avenging, beautiful angel saunters in with grace that makes my throat tighten. She's wearing this low-cut white dress, the kind that clings to her like it was sewn directly on her. I honestly don't know how the hell she gets out of the house wearing that. She’s got to have a decoy or something.
I stifle a growl, eager to smack her perfect arse again for walking around on display like this.
A halter top, V-neck, the cut dips low, deep enough to make my brain short-circuit. Perfect, soft cleavage peeking out,daring me to look and daring anyone else to try. I always feel her before I even see her. Zoya fucking Kopolova.
My enemy. My obsession.
She glides over to the table like she owns the room, her eyes locking on mine with that mischievous sparkle. She nods.
“Didn’t know if you’d make it tonight,” I say, shaking my head slightly, trying to maintain my cool.
“Why not?” she replies with a wicked little smile. “Youare my Mr. Thursday.”
Her Mr. Thursday. Jesus. If her brothers ever heard her say that, they’d lose their fucking minds. She’s completely oblivious to the way men turn and look at her as she walks by—how their gazes linger.
But the moment they see she’s heading to my table, their eyes dart away. Fast. Nobody wants to cross me.
Good. I like it that way.
I’m sitting in the same corner booth I always do. Just like back when she didn’t even know my name. Back when this was still a game. I waited for her then, and I wait for her now.
She smiles at me, like she always does. And I don’t smile back.
“What’s the matter?” she asks, giving me that little pout of hers that should be illegal. It’s too cute. Too perfect.
I lean forward, my voice low and dangerous. “Do you have any idea what wearing something like that costs me? I ought to spank your little arse red for that.”
She swallows hard, her cheeks flushed.
“Would you really?” she asks, leaning toward me. “Tell me.”
Are we really playing this game?
“I’d take you over my knee,” I say, watching as her pupils dilate and her breathing hitches. “Lift that skirt up. Tug down your panties?—”
“I’m not wearing any.”
Jesus feckin’ Christ on a cracker.
She giggles at my growl.
I’ll remember that.
Sobering, that adorable little divot forms between her brows. “I’m sorry about the other night. I’ll repay you. Somehow.”
My mind goes straight to the gutter, my dick twitching in my pants. My little lass knows exactly what she's doing. Every button, she presses with precision. She always does.
“You shouldn’t have been there the other night, Zoya. You should’ve known better. Your brothers would've skinned you alive if they knew.”
She sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“If that was my sister, and she pulled what you did… I’d lose my goddamn mind,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“You have a sister?” she asks, surprised.
“A couple,” I snap. “Don’t change the subject.”
