The Russian's Acquistion(21)
His saving grace had been that she had been panting too; it was affecting him. The women he usually went for enjoyed sex, but with Clair the chemistry was notched to maximum. She might have an agenda, but her desire was interfering with it. It was an unbelievable turn-on; it enthralled him.
Surely once he’d had her the mystique would dissolve though. It had to. This obsessiveness was intolerable.
He stepped into black jeans and tugged on a light gray pullover, returning to the lounge, where he made a few calls while pacing off his restlessness, mercilessly tying off his need as he waited for staff from a nearby restaurant.
As he waited for Clair.
* * *
Clair forced one foot in front of the other and stepped into the lounge, tensed for the impact of Aleksy’s inspection. He was on the phone, his face and body in quarter profile.
She had expected one of his disturbingly penetrating looks, but found herself doing the appraisal, going weak as she took in the length of his back and the way his jeans hugged the shape of his backside and outlined his muscled thighs. He stood with his long legs braced and shrugged a shoulder, drawing her attention to the powerful layers of muscles bulging beneath the wool. She imagined exploring light fingers over the textures of cashmere, swarthy neck and short, damp hair and had to strangle a moan of longing.
He finished his call and turned to strip her deep purple slip dress with hungry eyes. It was the same look he’d given her this morning, just as carnal and without the safety net of an office full of people to prevent him acting on his desires.
The assessment acted exactly as powerfully on her, pinning her feet to the floor and making her realize that for all her rationalizations about helping orphaned children, the real reason she was here was this: she wanted to be with him. It was a frightening admission after a lifetime of convincing herself she didn’t want or need anyone.
“Lovely,” he said, languidly climbing his appreciative gaze from her exposed knees to her carefully composed expression.
Her stomach contracted under the impact of his undisguised sexual intention.
“Victor liked it.” She didn’t know why she said it. Perhaps to keep him from guessing how utterly he held her in thrall, but it had a glacial effect on him.
He narrowed his eyes and said chillingly, “Be very careful about throwing his name at me, Clair.”
Uneasiness wafted over her along with confusion. She had pushed that “spoils of war” unpleasantness to the back of her mind, but it came flooding forward now.
A knock on the door kept her silent.
He opened it to uniformed staff. They turned one end of the dining table into an intimate candlelit cove, setting out covered plates and pouring wine. Soft music came on and fragrant flowers complemented scents of orange sauce and rich braised duck.
Unsteady in her heels, Clair moved forward to the chair Aleksy held for her, trying to frame her suspicion in a way that didn’t demean her any further than she already was.
When they were alone, she cleared her throat. “You said earlier—” Was it only a few hours ago they’d stood in her flat setting out terms for this arrangement? What was she doing! “You said that you’d been targeting the firm for some time. Victor was under considerable stress leading up to his heart attack. Was that from the takeover?”
The implication behind her simple question crashed and reverberated in Aleksy’s head, as swift and unexpected as the knife that had cut the line into his face. A dark maelstrom of emotion threatened, the kind he hadn’t allowed himself in years. He fought it back, master of everything he felt or didn’t feel, but it shocked him that she’d almost pulled something out of him that he no longer allowed. Chagrin. Loss. Rage.