Chapter 7 Just You

• Anna
• I might lose my job.
• I might lose my career.
• I might lose everything that's holding my little, miserable life together.
• And it'll be all because of him.
• But I don't care.
• Instead, I'm laughing and giggling like an excited school girl, running through the hall hand-in-hand with him. Him. This beautiful, insane man I only just met. He's got a bottle of absinthe in his other hand, though hell only knows when he found time to recover that, and we keep passing it between us to take long gulps.
• He gives it to me and nods at a door. "What's this?"
• I shrug. "Some storage closet. We only use it to keep set instruments we have no use for anymore."
• He tries the doorknob. It opens. He gives me a wicked grin and winks. "We'll manage."
• Then he pulls me inside.
• I follow him in and the door swings closed behind us. I don't know why, but being alone with this man suddenly has me feeling all warm and self-conscious. I wrap my arms around myself and toe the cement floor.
• The laughter fades. The craziest man I've ever crossed paths with turns his back on me and starts thumbing through spoilt cameras, wooden chairs, and monochrome tables turned against the wall.
• He sneezes, then grins. "Dusty. Just how I like it."
• I lean against his arm. "Bless you, but you know we can't stay in here for a long time. You seem to have an allergy."
• He winks. "An allergy to dust. Not to you. I don't give a fuck about it."
• I giggle. "You know, you don't strike me as the carefree type. Judging by your appearance, you give off careful, organized, always interested in the details. But after what played out tonight..."
• I stop myself from saying more when he flashes me that disarming smile and slowly swaggers toward me until I'm backed into a folding table set up as a makeshift desk.
• "So, moya plamya..." He takes a swig from the bottle of absinthe, but never once looks away from me. "How does it feel to be the cause of someone's much deserved trip to the hospital this evening? I can bet you, he'd feel the pain from the beating I gave him for years to come."
• My mind instantly brings up Collins's battered face, and I laugh, grab the bottle from his grasp and tip it back to take my own deep sip. But right when I'm about to swallow, he holds my chin, pulls me to him, and kisses me.
• This is much better than the movies.
• I moan as his tongue sweeps between my lips; he's drinking the liquor from my mouth. And even when there's nothing left, he does it again, and again... stroking my tongue with his, drawing soft moans from my throat.
• When he pulls away, I'm left completely breathless.
• "Fuck," I pant. "You're such a good kisser."
• He smirks. Sets the bottle down.
• And then, next thing I know, I'm sitting on the edge of the table and he's wedged between my legs. His hands rub my thighs, teasing my dress up to my waist.
• "Wait!" I gasp. "Is Salvatore Cirkut your real name?"
• He chuckles against my throat and sucks a warm kiss onto my skin. "How did you find out I was lying?"
• I beam. "I did a quick Google search before Collins came in to confront me. Salvatore Cirkut doesn't exist." When he keeps silent, I ask him calmly. "Why did you come here tonight? I know you're Russian."
• "What gave it away?"
• "Probably the part where you started speaking Russian. It sounds so authentic..." It's lame, I know. But the way he's touching me, leaving trails of fire along my skin and sending shivers of pleasure straight to my core... I'm scrambling to maintain some grasp on my sanity.
• He reaches up to cradle my face in his hands. I've never been so held by a man before. Revered. Worshiped, really — that's the only word for it. It makes my heart race in ways it has no business doing.
• "You are so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?"
• On a logical level, I know I'm not the ugliest duckling. I've got most of my features in the right places, more or less. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, all that good stuff.
• Did Collins ever take the time to tell me that?
• ... Not so much.
• At the reminder of everything else that's happened today, my cheeks burn with shame. I try to look away, but Salvatore keeps holding me in place. I try to lower my gaze, but he kisses my eyelids and my heart instantly hurts.
• I want him.
• I want him to want me.
• But...
• "I can't. Do this, I mean." I brace my hands against his chest. His very solid, very warm, very carved chest. "I can't fraternize with a client. One I know nothing about."
• He regards me for a moment. "You may not remember this, but you just burnt the only bridge between me being a client and not. I don't give a fuck about anything, or anything. I want you. Just you."