Page 35 of Masked Seduction
I pull into the underground lot beneath the Vasiliev Tower, thirty-two stories of glass and steel rising just off the Strip. It’s one of the tallest buildings in Vegas, sleek and modern.
The valet greets me with a nod. “Morning, Mr. Vasiliev.”
I toss him the keys to my black Mercedes-Maybach. “No scratches.”
He chuckles nervously. “Never, sir.”
The private elevator awaits, already summoned. I step in and scan my thumbprint, the doors closing behind me with a whisper. The ride is silent, save for the faint hum of the rising elevator. I try to use the silent moment to reorient, shake off the heat still prickling in my blood from the half-formed memory.
She doesn’t even know it was you, I remind myself.
The elevator chimes at the top floor. I step into the office expecting silence. I told her to arrive at 6:45. It’s 6:20. I was ready to make my own coffee, get started on the quarterly prep alone. But she’s here.
My steps falter, just for a second.
She stands near the long meeting table, a fresh cup of black coffee in one hand and her iPad in the other. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail—tight, professional, elegant. I’ve never seen her wear it that way before. It shows off her cheekbones, the graceful lines of her neck, the stubborn set of her jaw.
She’s wearing a tight black skirt that does nothing to hide the curve of her hips, and a silky blouse that clings to her chest in a way that’s going to haunt me through every meeting today.
She’s never looked sexier.
She glances up at me; calm, professional, ready. “Morning,” she says, tone cool and crisp. “I’ve synced your calendar, printed the files for the first meeting, and arranged for Dalia to call at ten instead of eight.”
I don’t answer. I take the coffee from her hand a bit too fast and it sloshes, hot liquid splashing onto my fingers.
Fuck.
She lifts a brow, not quite smirking but definitely close. “I can tell you haven’t had any caffeine yet.”
She leans to grab a tissue from the side table. The view of her ass in that skirt is distracting. Unfair. Dangerous.
I grit my teeth.
“Thanks,” I mutter, dabbing at my hand.
“Anything else you need before your first meltdown of the morning?” Another half smirk.
“Yes,” I say, voice clipped. “Come into my office and shut the door behind you.”
She pauses. “You do know no one else is here yet, right?”
I meet her eyes. Say nothing. She stares back before turning without a word.
We enter my office. I note a flicker of amused defiance as she pulls the door shut. I also notice the subtle eye roll she thinks I missed.
When she turns back, her face is blank. Poised. Pure assistant mode.
I almost laugh. Instead, I walk past her, still flexing my hand as I sit behind my desk. The coffee’s already cooling on the surface, steam thinning.
Jenna doesn’t speak. She just stands there, iPad ready, waiting.
My mind isn’t on the quarterly projections. It’s on how she looked beneath me. The sounds she made. The little gasp when I bit her collarbone. The moment she came apart around my cock.
I shift in my seat. She notices. Of course she does. The corners of her mouth twitch, just barely, and suddenly I can’t decide what the hell I’m more annoyed about—how much I want her or how much she knows it.
I lean back and cross my arms. “Well?”
She blinks, confused. “Well what?”
