The mansion was a maze designed by a psychopath.
I was running through the hallway and my heels were slipping on the polished floor. I was supposed to be at dinner five minutes ago but I couldn't find the damn room. Anya wasn't there to guide me and every door looked exactly the same...tall, heavy, and expensive.
Where is the food in this house? I turned a corner and almost slammed into a suit of armor. I cursed under my breath.
"Stupid rich house and its stupid layout," I hissed. I was sweating in the black silk dress and the journal in my waistband was digging into my skin. I finally saw a set of double doors that were slightly open. I pushed through them and I stopped.
The room was huge. The table in the center was so long it looked like a literal runway for a private jet...Darian was already at the far end. He looked like a king waiting for a peasant to come beg for mercy...
I didn't want to sit near him. I didn't even want to be in the same zip code as him. I marched to the very opposite end of the table and pulled out the chair. It made a loud, ugly screech on the marble.
Darian didn't even look up from his wine. "You're late," he said. His voice carried across the table like a cold breeze.
"I got lost," I snapped, sitting down. "Maybe if you had a house that made sense instead of a museum for your ego, I'd be on time."
He finally looked at me. His eyes moved from my face down to the dress. The black silk was tight and the neckline was low. I saw his jaw tighten. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something, but he just gripped his wine glass harder.
He's acting like a tough guy again, I thought. Mr. Cold and Ruthless CEO. What a load of shit. I looked at the distance between us. It was ridiculous. I could barely see the color of his eyes.
"Is this how you eat every night?" I called out. I had to raise my voice just so he could hear me. "Sitting thirty feet away from everyone so you can feel important?"
Darian set his glass down with a sharp clink. "It's called privacy, Liora. Something you wouldn't understand coming from a basement apartment."
"Oh, go to hell," I muttered.
A servant came out and placed a plate of something fancy in front of me. I didn't even look at it. I was busy watching Darian. I remembered how his breath felt on my neck in the bedroom...I remembered the way his hand shook for a split second when he zipped my dress.
I'm going to mess with him. I'm going to make him break.
I reached for my wine and took a slow sip, keeping my eyes locked on his. I saw him track the movement of my throat as I swallowed. I leaned forward, putting my elbows right on the table.
"You know," I said, my voice dropping into a lower, huskier tone. "This table is really long. It's such a waste of space. Don't you think?"
Darian's eyes narrowed. "Eat your dinner, Liora."
"I'm not hungry for food," I said. I let my hand slide slowly down the stem of the glass. I moved my leg under the table, shifting the silk so it rustled. "I'm hungry for something else. I'm wondering why you're sitting all the way over there. Are you scared of me, Mr. Volkov? Are you scared that if you sit too close, you won't be able to stop yourself from touching me again?"
Darian let out a harsh, dry laugh. "You have a very high opinion of yourself. You are a contract, Liora. Nothing more."
"Then why are you staring at my chest?"
He froze. His eyes flicked up to mine, and for the first time, I saw a flash of genuine anger. Not the cold kind...the hot kind.
"I am not staring," he lied.
"You are," I said, smiling. I stood up slowly. The chair scraped again. I didn't stay at my end. I started to walk. I walked along the side of that thirty-foot table, my heels clicking a rhythm that felt like a countdown.
Click. Click. Click.
Darian watched me. He didn't move a muscle, but I could see his chest rising and falling faster. I got closer. Ten feet. Five feet. I stopped right next to his chair. The smell of him...expensive wood and something dark,hit me like a wave.
"Sit down, Liora," he warned. His voice was a low growl.
"No," I whispered. I leaned over him. I let my hair fall over my shoulder, brushing against his suit jacket. I reached out and I didn't touch his hand. I touched his tie. I ran my finger down the silk, stopping right at the center of his chest.
I could feel his heart. It was thumping like a drum.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
"You're a liar, Darian," I murmured. I leaned closer until my lips were an inch from his ear. "You don't want an heir. You want me. And it's eating you alive that you had to pay for it."
Darian's hand shot out. He didn't grab my waist this time. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tight and burning. He pulled me toward him until I was leaning over his lap.
"You think you're winning?" he hissed. His eyes were dark, almost black. "You think you can play with me like some boy in a bar? You have no idea who I am, Liora. You have no idea what I'm capable of."
"Then show me," I challenged. I didn't pull away. I leaned even closer, my breath hitting his lips. "Stop talking about contracts and show me what's behind the ice."
I saw his gaze drop to my mouth. He was shaking. His mask was gone. He was a man on the edge of a cliff, and I was the one pushing him.
I reached my free hand up and I let my fingers graze the back of his neck, right at the hairline. I felt him shiver. A real, violent shiver that went through his whole body.
"Is the wine to your liking, Mr. Volkov?" I whispered, using his own words against him. "Or do you want to taste something better?"
Darian made a sound deep in his throat...a jagged, broken groan. He didn't answer. He just stared at me, his fingers digging into my wrist, caught between wanting to throw me out of the room and wanting to tear the dress off my back.
I had done it.
Payback is a bitch, Darian.
