Closer (15 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Undressed
.

There she was again, staring at her naked reflection in Sven’s guest bathroom, trying hard not to think about the fact that he was downstairs doing exactly the same thing.  She gazed into the mirror, thickening her long lashes with mascara.

Was he thinking about her the way she was thinking about him?

She dropped her mascara wand against the countertop. 
God, she hoped not or else she was freaking doomed
. 
Doomed
.

During her shower, she had let the scorching stream of hot water flow over her hair and body, reflecting on how he had held her under the fountain’s cascading waterfall, and how afterwards, he had embraced her when she was completely at his mercy. 

Strong.  Possessive.  Dominant.  He always knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. 
That stunt at Crown Fountain?
  Had anyone else attempted that, she would have kicked him in the balls.  But with Sven, she caved like a helpless little kitten—a helpless little kitten willing to lick milk from the palm of his hand.

Why was she so willing to submit to him?  Was it simply because he was paying her?

Yes
, she resolutely answered, looking at her own reflection in the mirror while applying bright “Fuck Me Now” red lipstick. 
Of course it was
.  It was five freaking thousand dollars and she was in desperate need of every cent.  There was only one snag in that certainty, one complication that she had firmly dismissed from her mind until now—the kiss. 
The kiss
, she exhaled, shaking off the nagging admission that her submission to him was no longer just about the money

The kiss
.  He had apologized for it, but she secretly wished he hadn’t.  It had stunned her—the way his wet tongue had invaded her mouth and lapped her own with a domineering urgency that wasn’t easily refused.  In an instant, his kiss tamed her rage and overwhelmed her defenses with an unexpected flood of sensuality and passion. 
The expensive hand-woven fabric of his dress shirt
.  She remembered the sensation of it beneath her fingertips as she clung to his strong biceps, willingly accepting his mouth over hers.  The memory of his impassioned kiss still haunted her private fantasies, taunting her with a
tingling yearning for more. 

Clearly, it had all been for show—a juvenile competition of machismo between two egomaniacs.  She was just the consolation prize.  Except Sven’s kiss made her feel like more than just a consolation prize.  In those confusing, unexpected seconds of intimacy between them, a rush of heat and fire burned within her, ignited by the white hot strokes of his lusty tongue, arousing her with a fury that claimed her entire body and reminded her of how much she missed losing herself in the safety and security of a man’s possessive embrace.

Ugh
.

Yes, his kiss was undeniably hot. 
Oh
.
So. Very. Hot.
And yes, she was on the rebound after breaking up with Enzo.  But five thousand Gs was worth more to her than giving in to her fleeting sensations of attraction.  They barely knew each other, and technically, neither one of them could afford one night of indiscretion.  He was her boss who needed a trusted chaperone, not the hassles and commitment of a real girlfriend.  And she was only there for the money because she had her daughter and grandmother to support.  If she gave in to his advances, she would end up being just another conquest under his belt.

Scrunching a tissue between her fingers, she blotted her “Fuck Me Now” red lipstick into a more sensual “tease, but don’t touch” hue.  She had just dumped a cheating Ciao Bastard; she didn’t need to trade that in for a surly, overpowering Dutch Master & Commander. 

Sweeping up her hair into a sophisticated French twist, she reminded herself why she was there. 
Five thousand dollars
.  Five thousand dollars was the reason she had endured Sven’s smarmy condescension during their interview.  Five thousand dollars was the reason she didn’t bail after being mocked and fitted like a toy doll at Ebony’s studio.  Five thousand dollars was the reason she was willing to dress up again like a high-class call girl and prepare for another night of charades
. 

She suddenly picked up her lipstick and reapplied.

Five thousand dollars was more money than she could possibly afford to turn down and she knew exactly why he was paying her and what he needed from her.  She wasn’t there to have sex with him. She was there to support his attempts to appear as strong and invincible as he asserted himself to be—at least until the opening of The Spire at the end of the week.

And then, after that?
  After that, he would likely travel to Shanghai to deal with the Li Long melodrama and she would go back to her own life.  Except this time, everything would be different because she’d have enough money to stop worrying constantly about how she was going to take care of Luna and Nana.  She had been afforded enough money to keep it all going for least six more months. 
Six long months
. Sven’s assignment to pretend to be his girlfriend had granted her at least six more months of financial security.  And for that, she would be eternally grateful to him, even if he was a fucking asshole who made her wear high heels and nearly drowned her under the waterfall of Crown Tower.

A fucking asshole,
she thought, zipping up her makeup bag. 
A fucking asshole
who was also an insanely amazing kisser.

She sighed.  Consumed by a fleeting moment of weakness, she indulged in the thought of what it would be like to be his real girlfriend. 
Dreadful
, she muttered.  Endless galas and banquets, uptight business dinners with annoyingly snotty guests, and ridiculous underwear ensembles like this one.  She held up the new lingerie that Ebony had sent over for tonight’s gown.  Beneath the vanity’s overhead lights, the strapless bra’s ruby sequins and puffy ruffles glowed siren red. 
Was it a freaking bra or a Moulin Rouge costume?
 

She had twenty minutes to pump each breast—just enough time to drain the sting, but not enough time to reduce her cup size.  Inhaling deeply, she wrapped the bra around her torso and cinched it, its bra cups barely supporting her heavy breasts.  She slipped on the matching scarlet panties, its shimmering satin backside trimmed with ruffles. 
Moulin Rouge costume, definitely. 
She eyed the silvery slinky gown hanging from the door hook.  When she first saw it, she knew she was in trouble.  Too many holes, not enough fabric.  Now, she understood why.  Tonight’s gown was more about what could be seen, and less about what couldn’t. 

Five thousand dollars
.  It was just enough to make it all worth it. 
But barely
.

She removed the dress from the hook and slipped it over her head.  It poured over her shoulders like a flowing drink of mercury. 
Lethal
.  Its classic sleeveless bodice and floor-length hemline inspired a sigh of relief
,
but its halter-top neckline revealed the ruffled trim of her bra cups and the contour of her cleavage like a flirtatious tease.  Then, she paused and frowned, slowly processing why she felt a drafty breeze washing cool air across her spine. 

Twisting her head past her shoulder, she viewed her back in the mirror, spotting exactly what she had dreaded: an open back design, deliberately exposing the ruffles of her panties before closing together like a peep show curtain, just below her tailbone.  And what was worse, it exposed her tattoo—a Japanese cherry blossom. 
Ruffle panties and a conspicuous tatt
?
  What the hell was Sven going to say
?
 
She had no idea.  But one thing suddenly felt certain: the universe was out to punish her—and cruelly.

She glanced at the clock and gathered up the heels—iridescent silver sandals, encrusted in rhinestones with an angle zipper and five-inch stiletto—most certainly meant to keep her hemline from dragging across the floor.  Assuming she could even walk in them.
 

Rushing down the spiral staircase, she headed for Sven’s bedroom.  She had procrastinated in the shower longer than she expected and had taken extra time to pump and apply her makeup.  Now she was certain he was impatiently waiting for her.  She wound through the maze of obstacles in his penthouse—high-back chairs, pedestal tables, polished granite sculptures, even a free-standing cylindrical aquarium—all positioned in strategic points to help Sven navigate through the expansive loft.  Without calling out to him, she hurried down the corridor leading into the master suite. 

She abruptly stopped in her tracks the moment she saw him standing there—completely naked, fresh from his shower.  She froze and held her breath, clutching her high heels against her chest, realizing her bare feet hadn’t made a sound along the black marble floor.  He didn’t look up at her or even seem to notice her at all. 
He’s partially blind
, she reminded herself, like a bull in the corrida, unable to see the matador from a long distance, but spurred to charge by even the slightest wave of the flag. 

She
had
thought about calling out for him.  A simple,
Sven?
—would have been more than enough to announce her entrance and give him fair warning.  But she hadn’t.  Motionless, she stared at him with a vexing mixture of embarrassment and admiration. It wasn’t like she was a curious virgin who hadn’t seen plenty of naked men—and their cocks.  But she certainly hadn’t seen many men as perfectly sculpted as
that
…not even Enzo was built like a Roman warrior, someone who would and could kill with his bare hands if he wanted to. 

It had all been a façade,
she realized.  All of Sven’s fancy European suits and metrosexual designer dress shirts hid the fierce lines of his aggressive build—muscular biceps, hard chiseled pecs, tapered waist—all culminating in a combative stance that silenced her sassiness into submission. 

Protector
.  It was the first word that flashed through her mind before she dared to lower her gaze and take in the full contour of his masculinity.  It was a voyeuristic indulgence that
should
have filled her with shame. 
Shame
.  But she wasn’t ashamed; she was distracted by the slow pricking ache between her legs and the tingle in her breasts.  Not only was she taking in the full view of his erection, firm and virile like an invitation, but she suddenly understood why he was primed and steady, and that reason was because of the portrait of her.

He had placed Enzo’s portrait of Inez atop his La Brea black vertical dresser, and now he stood directly in front of it, studying the details of her expression with his unpatched eye. 
Her expression of her arousal
.  His bare skin glistened with water droplets, his hair was slick and dark, and everything else about him signaled that he was lost in his own private spiral of voyeuristic thoughts. 

Thoughts about her?
 

She quickly turned away and crept back down the corridor.  Out of sight, she pressed herself against the mosaic tiled wall and cradled her shoes, listening for a sign that he had sensed her exit.  When there was only silence, she deliberately exhaled to calm her racing heart before calling out into the air.

“Sven?”  She touched her throat.  The sound of her own voice, hoarse and meager, surprised her.  It was supposed to be a warning shot, announcing her arrival, but it quivered with uncertainty.  She paused to slip on her heels while counting to ten before rounding the corner into his bedroom.  This time, a plush white bath towel was draped around his waist as he stared at her with his usual punishing glare. 

Her cheeks flushed and she perspired beneath her panties.  She knew she was reading too much into his stern, callous gaze. 
Clearly, he was struggling to see her from the distance
.  She drew closer to him and watched his expression soften as he settled his unpatched eye upon her. 

Their eyes locked and she stopped a short distance from him.  Beads of water dripped down his chest and his towel barely clung to his waist.

“There’s good news and bad news…” She trailed off into uncomfortable silence, trying to ignore the fact that she had seen exactly what was under that towel. 

His gaze snaked down her chin and dropped down her neckline, tracing the glinting sequined trim of her bra cups peeking out beneath the gown’s plunging halter neck.

“The good news is that you look stunning.”  He said it like an uncontrollable confession.  He pushed closer to her.

Her mind went blank as his firm sleek pectoral muscles twitched involuntarily while his unwavering green gaze seized upon her lips. 

She was suddenly self-conscious. 
Too much
“
Fuck Me Now” red
. 
Too damn much
.

“Yes, it’s definitely an amazing gown,” she stuttered, feeling her heart racing out of her chest.  “So yes, that’s the good news.” She paused and held her ground, attempting to regain her confidence under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze.  “But the bad news is that Ebony forgot to send over its back.”