Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,6
my friends were crushing on football players and movie stars, I dated boys whose personalities I liked, whose minds attracted me more than their bodies. For me, sexual chemistry has always been something that develops over time rather than being there from the start.
Then again, I’ve never met a man who exudes such raw animal magnetism.
I didn’t know men like this existed.
Focus, Chloe. He’s most likely married.
The thought is like a splash of cold water in my face, jerking me back to the reality of my situation. What the fuck am I doing, drooling over some kid’s father? I need this job to survive. The forty-mile drive here ate more than a quarter tank of gas, and if I don’t earn some money soon, I’ll be stranded, a sitting duck for the killers coming after me.
The heat inside me cools at the thought, and when Nikolai says, “Follow me,” and walks back into the house, my nerves jangle with anxiety instead of whatever it was that came over me at the sight of him.
Inside, the house is as ultra modern as it is on the outside. All around me are floor-to-ceiling windows with stunning views, modern-art-museum-worthy decorations, and sleek furniture that looks like it came straight out of some interior designer’s showroom. Everything is done in shades of gray and white, softened in a few places by natural wood and stone accents. It’s beautiful and more than a little intimidating, just like the man in front of me, and as he leads me through an open-layout living room to a spiral wood-and-glass staircase in the back, I can’t help feeling like a mangy pigeon that’s accidentally flown into a gilded concert hall.
Tamping down on the unsettling sensation, I say, “You have a beautiful house. Have you been living here long?”
“A few months,” he replies as we go up the stairs. He glances at me. “What about you? You said in your cover letter you’re on a road trip?”
“That’s right.” Feeling on firmer ground, I explain that I graduated from Middlebury College in June and decided to see the country before diving into the working world. “But then of course, I saw your listing,” I conclude, “and it sounded too perfect to pass up, so here I am.”
“Yes, indeed,” he says softly as we stop in front of a closed door. “Here you are.”
My breath hitches again, my pulse speeding up uncontrollably. There’s something unnerving in the darkly sensual curve of his mouth, something almost… dangerous in the intensity of his stare. Maybe it’s the unusual color of his eyes, but I feel distinctly uneasy when he presses his palm to an unobtrusive panel on the wall and the door swings open in front of us, spy-movie style.
“Please,” he murmurs, motioning for me to enter, and I do so, doing my best to ignore the unsettling sensation that I’m entering a predator’s lair.
The “lair” turns out to be a large, sunlit office. Two of the walls are made entirely of glass, revealing breathtaking mountain vistas, while a sleek L-shaped desk in the middle holds several computer monitors. To the side is a small round table with two chairs, and that’s where Nikolai leads me.
Hiding a relieved exhale, I take a seat and lay my resume on the table in front of him. Clearly, I’m on edge, my nerves so frayed after the past month that I’m seeing danger everywhere. This is an interview for a tutor position, nothing more, and I need to get a hold of myself before I blow it.
Despite the admonition, my pulse spikes again as Nikolai leans back in his chair and regards me with those unsettlingly beautiful eyes. I can feel the growing dampness of my palms, and it’s all I can do not to wipe them again on my jeans. As ridiculous as it is, I feel stripped bare by that gaze, all my secrets and fears exposed.
Stop it, Chloe. He knows nothing. You’re interviewing to be a tutor, nothing more.
“So,” I say brightly to hide my anxiety, “may I ask about the child I’d be tutoring? Is it your son or daughter?”
His face takes on an indecipherable expression. “My son. Miroslav. We call him Slava.”
“That’s a great name. Is he—”
“Tell me about yourself, Chloe.” Leaning forward, he picks up my resume but doesn’t look at it. Instead, his eyes are trained on my face, making me feel like a butterfly pinned under a microscope. “What is it about this position that intrigues you?”