Page 15 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
I punch in the code on the keypad and hear the lock disengage with a soft click. The key turns smoothly in my hand, and I push the door open, standing slightly to the side in case she tries to attack me. After yesterday, I'm not taking any chances.
What I find instead shocks me and has my body reacting instantly.
She's lying on the bed in only her underwear, a pair of black lace panties and a matching bra that leaves very little to the imagination. Who knew she'd be dressed so provocatively beneath that librarian's clothing? The conservative sweaters and jeans she wore at the library had hidden curves that are now on full display. Her legs are long and toned, her stomach flat, and the swell of her breasts above the lace makes my mouth go dry.
She's grabbed a book from the bookshelf against the wall and is leaning against the pillows, reading. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, and she looks completely relaxed. Comfortable. Like she's lounging in her own bedroom instead of being held prisoner in mine.
She looks up when I come in, her green eyes meeting mine without a trace of fear. Her expression remains neutral, almost bored, as if having a man walk into her room while she's half-naked is the most normal thing in the world. She doesn't try to cover herself, either, doesn't reach for a blanket or cross her arms over her chest. She just watches me, waiting to see what I'll do.
My brain struggles to process what I'm seeing. This is a totally different woman from the one who stabbed me yesterday.
"Enjoying the book?" I ask, keeping my voice casual even though my heart is pounding.
She glances down at the cover, then back up at me. "It's interesting. You have good taste in literature."
"I'm glad you approve." I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms carefully to avoid putting pressure on my stitches. "I see you've made yourself comfortable."
"The room is very nice." She sets the book aside, stretching like a cat. The movement makes her back arch, drawing my attention to the curve of her waist, the way the lace of her bra stretches across her skin. "Much better than I expected, considering the circumstances."
Is she flirting with me? The tone of her voice, the way she's looking at me through her lashes, it's subtle but unmistakable. Nothing bold or obvious, but it's there, a hint of invitation in the curve of her lips and the way she shifts on the bed to give me a better view.
And then it hits me.
She's trying to seduce me. She thinks she can seduce me into letting her go free.
I almost laugh out loud. Does she really think I'm that stupid? That I'll fall for such an obvious ploy? I've been in this businessfor twenty-five years. I've seen every trick, every manipulation, every attempt to gain the upper hand. And this? This is amateur hour.
But instead of calling her out, I decide to play her game. This could be entertaining. And who knows? Maybe if I let her think it's working, she'll let something slip, give me a piece of information she's been holding back.
"You're not cold?" I ask, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step into the room. "I can have someone bring you more clothes if you need them."
"I'm fine." She tilts her head, studying me with those green eyes. "Unless you'd prefer I put something on?"
"I didn't say that." I move closer to the bed, watching her carefully. She doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. If anything, she seems to relax even more, her body language open and inviting. "I'm just surprised. Yesterday, you were fighting me every chance you got. Today, you're lying here like we're old friends."
"Maybe I've had time to think." She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The movement brings her closer to me, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "Maybe I've realized that fighting you isn't going to get me anywhere."
"And what do you think will get you somewhere?"
She stands, and suddenly, we're face to face. Well, face to chest. She's tall for a woman, but I still have several inches on her. She has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes, and when she does, I see something there that makes my pulse quicken. Heat and desire. Or at least, a very convincing imitation of it.
"Cooperation," she says softly. "You want information. I want my freedom. Maybe we can help each other."
"Help each other." I reach out, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She doesn't pull away. If anything, she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for just a second. "And what, exactly, are you offering?"
"What do you want?" She places her hand on my chest, right over my heart. I can feel the warmth of her palm through my shirt, the slight tremor in her fingers that betrays her nervousness. She's good, but not perfect. "I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement."
I cover her hand with mine, holding it against my chest. "You think you can seduce me into letting you go?"
For just a second, I see panic flash in her eyes. But she recovers quickly, her expression smoothing back into that sultry mask. "I think we're both adults. I think we both know what we want."
"Do we?" I lean down, bringing my face closer to hers. Close enough that our lips are almost touching. Close enough that I can feel her breath on my skin. "Tell me, Mariya. What do you think I want?"
"Me," she whispers.
She's not wrong. I do want her, have wanted her since I saw her in that library. I close the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine. She responds immediately, her mouth opening under mine, her free hand coming up to grip my shoulder. The kiss is hot. Her body presses against mine, soft curves molding to hard muscle. I can feel every inch of her through the thin lace, and my body responds with an urgency that surprises me. My handsmove to her waist, pulling her closer, and she makes a small sound in the back of her throat that goes straight to my groin.
This is dangerous. I know it's dangerous. But I can't seem to stop myself.
