Chapter 5
1365 Words
Chapter Five
Many things happen at once.
My neck and ears catch fire, and my face feels redder than the Soviet flag. On autopilot, I turn off my vibrating panties and drop everything I was holding in my left hand. At the same time, I jerk my right hand out of my pants and wipe my fingers on my shirt. Because I’m classy like that.
The chocolate in The Russian’s eyes isn’t melted like it usually is. It’s solidified in shock as he stares at me. “Who are you, and what the f**k are you doing?”
His deep voice with its Eastern European accent is so sexy I almost reach my interrupted climax. But I don’t. Because even through my shock, I realize how horrifying this situation is.
My heart dances an intricate ballet in my chest as I blurt out, “This isn’t what it looks like.”
He narrows his eyes. “So your hand was not in your pants?” He casts a glance at the thong on the floor. “And you weren’t sniffing my dance belt?”
I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow—a mistake because I smell my s*x on my fingers. “I mean… I’m not some crazy stalker.”
Is that dark amusement in his gaze? “So you didn’t break into my changing room? Or masturbate to my dance belt?”
I feel lightheaded—which should make it easier for the floor to engulf me on the spot.
Nope.
Still here.
Swallowing a jawbreaker-sized lump in my throat, I try again. “I did break in, but I had a good reason.”
A smirk twists his lips. “I’d love to hear it.”
Skunk. He’s called my bluff. Now what do I do? My thoughts are too muddled to come up with a good lie, or any lie, really. If only I had Gia in my ear right now. She’d know what to say. Magicians lie for a living, so she’s very good at it, or maybe she became a magician because—
Wait a sec. Thinking of Gia has given me an idea, and just in time. The Russian looks on the verge of calling security.
“It was a dare,” I blurt.
His smirk evaporates. “A dare?”
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “My sisters made me do it.”
And hey, they could have—at least when we were younger. Gia in particular was evil when it came to things like that. One night, she put my fingers in warm water to test the urban myth about wetting the bed… which turned out to be true. Also, owing Gia a favor often resulted in heaps of humiliation on par with what I’m feeling now.
“Your sisters?” He looks from me to his thong. “Sorority or biological?”
The best lies are the ones rooted in the truth, so as much as I want him to think I’m young and hip enough to be in a sorority, I tell him it was the latter, then add, “I have an aversion to most smells, so they thought it would be funny to make me play with myself as I sniffed your thong.”
There. Now that I’ve said it out loud, it actually sounds slightly more believable than the actual truth.
He frowns. “It’s a dance belt, not a thong.”
“Sure, a dance belt,” I say. There isn’t a big difference, but I’m in no position to split hairs right now.
He c***s his head. “So you claim that you were forced into doing this?”
I nod.
“Because you were supposed to hate it?”
I nod again, less confidently.
The smirk is back, and is too sexy for my sanity. “You didn’t look or sound like someone who hated what she was doing.”
Sound?
So he heard?
I stand up on wobbly legs. “I’d better get going.”
“Not so fast.” He advances on me.
Oh, f**k. Is he about to strangle me? Or kiss me? I feel a twinge of that never-reached orgasm as I picture the second scenario.
In one breath, he’s in my personal space. I can’t help but smell him—and his scent is just as yummy as that of his thong, just subtly different in that it’s diluted. I also detect notes of fresh pears and patchouli that tell me he must’ve used cologne at some point. It had to have been long ago, though, since the smell is so faint I actually like it.
He reaches his hand out, as if to touch me.
Okay. I’m ready for what comes next.
Maybe looking forward to it—even the strangling.
To my huge disappointment, he reaches past me.
I turn my head and see him open a small drawer from which he pulls out a phone.
Oh. This must be why he returned. For his phone.
Does this mean I’m not getting manhandled?
Hold on. Maybe there’s still a chance. He pockets the device but remains close to me.
Staring at his strong, masculine throat, I moisten my lips.
He extends his hand toward me.
Yes! I mean, how dare he.
Oh, wait. Again, he doesn’t touch me.
What the hell?
He dives into my purse, and before I can yelp something properly indignant, he’s already holding my wallet.
My chest tightens. “Hey. What are you—”
Then I comprehend his intent. He pulls out my driver’s license and takes a picture of it with his phone.
Gulp. Now there’s definitely dark amusement in his smile.
He slides the ID back into my wallet. “If you plan to kill me and cannibalize my remains, you should know there’s a picture of you in the cloud.” He narrows his eyes at the image on his phone. “Is Lemon Hyman really your name?”
My heart pounds in my ears. “Are you making fun of my name?”
He drops my wallet back into my purse. “And if I were?”
I straighten my spine. “I’d tell you to go f**k yourself.”
He snorts and looks at the fingers that were inside me just a minute ago. “Is f*****g oneself really something you want to bring up?”
Heat rushes through my body—and not just from his proximity or my embarrassment. It’s also an angry heat. The kind that would make me hatefuck him if I could.
“Can I go now?” I say through gritted teeth.
“No,” he says imperiously.
No?
Fuck. Is calling security still on the table?
“Why not?”
He extends his phone to me. “Give me your number.”
I take a step back and bump into the chair. “My number?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Do you know mine?”
“N-no,” I say with a stutter. Truth be told, I do know it. Blue gave it to me. I’d never use it, though, and telling him I have it would confirm his crazy stalker theory.
With a graceful gesture, he thrusts the phone into my unsteady hands. “In that case, I’ll need yours. Now.”
“Why?” I manage to ask as I shakily type my phone number into his contacts, my thoughts swirling throughout.
Is this blackmail? Will he make me do something now? Something dirty? When it comes to me, he now possesses kompromat, as they call it in his homeland.
Is it wrong that I’m hoping he cashes it in for s****l favors?
He grabs the phone from me. “We’re going to meet for dinner tomorrow night.”
I gape at him. “What?”
He looks me over, his expression implying that maybe I’m going to be the meal. Or dessert. “We’ll sit across from each other at a table. In a restaurant. Eat. Talk.” He smirks. “Any of this ring a bell?”
I blink dazedly. My brain is clearly not functioning. “Um, okay. Dinner. Whatever. I need to go now.”
He moves out of my way and makes a gesture that reminds me of one of his dance moves. “Have a good night.”
I take a step, fully prepared for him to grab me and call security.
He doesn’t.
I take another step. I’m a foot away from the door now.
Yes. Maybe I’m safe. The whole dinner bit is tomorrow and—
“Wait,” he orders.
Fuck. Spoke too soon. I reluctantly turn to face him. “What?”
“A souvenir.” He bends down to get his dance belt.
I watch him, speechless.
As he picks up the thong-like garment, the remote that controls my vibrating panties clacks to the floor.
He mutters something in Russian and picks it up also. Straightening, he regards me with a frown. “Is this yours?”
I fight the urge to rush him and snatch the remote from his strong fingers. “No. I don’t know what that is.”
“Odd.” He presses the “on” button. “This seems like some sort of gizmo.”
Oh, f**k.
My panties begin vibrating.
- Writer
