Page 63 of Mercenary Princess

When Sophia saw the gate ahead, a wave of relief filled her.

Once through, they drove into the open garage. Ivan stood inside. He had a slight scowl on his face, but this time, his suit was intact.

“You need a day off, Jen.” Sophia sighed. “This hasn’t been fair to you.” On the previous night, Jen had grudgingly admitted to being attracted to the Russian guard, but they both knew indulging herself while on the clock wasn’t Jen’s style.

“Guards don’t get days off during travel itineraries.” Jen’s matter-of-fact tone said she didn’t mind, that it came with the job. But Sophia wanted her friend to have some time to herself before or after shifts, even though that rarely happened.

They couldn’t argue about any of it after Jen had pulled into what Sophia had come to consider “their parking spot.”

Sophia felt the tension between the guards as they moved through the usual motions. She vowed to make it up to Jen for her demanding schedule.

When they stepped into the house and started in the direction of Viktor’s room, she stopped paying attention to what Ivan and Jen were doing.

After the room had been cleared and the blocking device set on the coffee table, Sophia stepped inside and felt the hum of anticipation licking at her soul.

Viktor met her at the door, eyes filled with the same heat they always held, but something else lingered there as well. Things felt different. The fireplace in the spacious, high-ceilinged sitting room was crackling, and the lights were dimmed, leaving a warm glow he usually saved for his bedroom.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, but she lost the ability to answer when he twined his fingers with hers and led her toward the couch. His thumb stroked her much smaller one, and the gentle intimacy made her melt.

She couldn’t take her eyes off their hands.

“Sophia?”

Was he seducing her? That thought made her hesitate, a part of her wanting to know how that felt, the other part of her seeing it leading to disaster for her heart. The first part won as she decided to allow the intimacy for a while longer.

Her eyes moved to his, and she forced the words from her lips. “A drink sounds nice.”

He kissed her knuckles before relinquishing her hand. The soft touch of his lips left behind an echo of sensation.

“Champagne?”

Her mouth opened then closed before she finally spoke. “Yes.” It was her go-to drink, even when she wasn’t at a party or gala where it was offered up like water. Did he know that?

She saw the brand she preferred chilling in a silver ice bucket on the wet bar, and held back her pleasure. “Are we celebrating?”

He turned back to her with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Something like that.”

Something about his expression snapped the last thread of indecision. It was worth the risk to enjoy this moment, no matter if it hurt her later. At least she would have the memory of what it was like to be seduced by the man of her dreams.

He popped the cork on a champagne bottle, and Sophia kicked off her shoes before tucking her bare feet beneath her on the couch.

A soft warmth bloomed in her chest at the seemingly romantic gestures in the room. He could have just as easily led her to his room. She would have eagerly gone in that direction, and still planned to end there.

“How often do you stay here?” she asked, because the space fit him well, and even though talking was off-limits, his home wasn’t a secret. This was safe.

Her gaze swept the room. Everything was of the highest quality, yet it was comfortable and elegant. She could easily curl up to sleep in the soft confines of the couch. She turned to rest her forearm on the arm, watching the man pouring them drinks.

He’d stilled at her question, but only for a split second, before glancing over and answering, “At least a week or two out of the month. Sometimes more. This is one of my favorite homes.”

“It is beautiful…” Then she admitted, “I’ve always loved this neighborhood.”

Viktor returned with her glass, seeming pleased at her relaxed position on his furniture. She took the flute while noticing he’d poured himself a vodka. He sat right next to her. One-handed, he shifted her, sliding her feet over his lap. Her thin black dress rode over her thighs, the material soft and loose enough that she could easily slip it off. But she kept it on, waiting.

His fingers stroked one ankle then the next but hadn’t moved higher. She felt mesmerized by his simple touches as he chose his words. “What do you like about the neighborhood?”

She shook off her thrall by taking a sip of her drink, contemplating her answer. “The quiet, tree-lined streets. Maybe the history here.”

“Is there nothing like it in Porenza?”

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