4

“How would you know?”

“How would you know if you don’t try?”

“I just know, okay?” I follow Rufus into a kitchen that belongs in Architectural Digest. “Samuil and I exist in different universes. We’re barely the same species.”

“You can’t be serious.” Hope rounds the two-acre marble island while I fill Rufus’s porcelain water bowl. “You’re not really going to let your delusional lack of self-worth determine whether or not you call him back, right?”

I pretend to think about it for a moment. “I think I am, yes.”

Setting down the bowl, I watch Rufus attack it like he’s dying of thirst. Water splashes my feet as I stroke his warm back. “Humping hot strangers is thirsty work, huh, boy?”

“Call Samuil and you could find out for yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “Once again for those in the back: He’s way out of my league. I’m not going to set myself up for heartbreak.”

“Forget about your heart. Let the man break other parts of you.” Hope’s eyes focus in on my crotch, because subtlety has never been Hope’s calling card. I feel the need to cover myself.

Having drained his water bowl, Rufus paws at the French doors that open to the rooftop garden. I unlatch the lock to let him out, grateful for the distraction. “I’m not into casual sex.”

That’s the truth, despite what I told him back at the park. Now that I think about that, the public sex comment was probably why he gave me his card. I basically had a flashing sign above my head that said, Please mount and do me in strange and exotic ways.

Hope and I follow Rufus onto the rooftop, a private oasis sprawling across half the floor, bursting with flowers and offering a view of Chicago that makes my chest ache.

Because this? This is Samuil’s world. Glass and steel and skyline.

Hope settles into a wrought-iron table nestled under a huge umbrella and kicks her feet up. I stand nervously off to the side. “Should we be making ourselves comfortable? Our instructions were to feed Rufus, let him play in the garden, and then leave.”

“Right. And what are we supposed to do while he roams the garden? Stand at military attention?” She gestures impatiently to the empty chair next to her. “Go on. Officer Daddy won’t arrest you for taking a load off.”

The fact that “Officer Daddy” is exactly where my rule-following ways were born makes me want to sit down even more. “This client just seems really fussy.”

Rufus is busy sniffing rose bushes in the far corner of the garden.

Hope snorts. “I got news for you, babe. Hope’s Helpers is all about offering personal assistance to people with more money than manners. They’re all fussy.”

I reluctantly sit down. “Remind me again why you want me to date someone with more money than manners?”

“Who said anything about dating?” Hope’s eyes glitter dangerously. “I’m suggesting you live a little. Have some fun. You can’t let Rufus have all the adventures.”

“I’ll admit, it’s not untempting.”

“Is it now?” Hope sits up straighter, scenting blood in the water.

“He’s hot. You know it; I know it. Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“But it is a big deal!” she argues. “This is the first man you’ve shown any real interest in. And you’ve been in a dry spell.”

“It hasn’t been that bad…”

“Honey, there was snow on the ground the last time you went out on a date. Last winter’s snow.”

“God.” I bury my face in my palms. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

I slide deeper into the uncomfortable chair. “Honestly, the not dating part has been pretty nice, but… I miss sex.”

“Of course you do. What normal twenty-six-year-old wouldn’t?” Her smile turns wicked. “And if you won’t make use of the card Samuil gave you, at least you can make use of him in other ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean—” She makes a lot of crude gestures with her hand that I don’t understand. “—use the man. If not in real life, then at least in fantasy. You do own a vibrator, don’t you?”

“Ew! Hope!”

Hope waves me off. “That imagination of yours is a waste if you’re only using it for sensible stuff like business plans and career goals. You need to get freaky with it.”

“That’s more your ballpark than mine.”

“Well, then it’s time to try something new.” She folds her hands in her lap and stares at me with mock seriousness. “Think of me as your sensei, your personal fantasy guide for the evening.”

“I hate everything about this.”

“It’s a cool summer evening.” Her voice dips low, sultry, soft. “You’re in a gorgeous penthouse apartment—elegant and spacious, like this one—” She looks around the gaudy garden and all of its fat cherub statues with a grimace. “—but you know, with actual taste.”

I snort but Hope keeps going, undeterred. “You’re alone. Or are you? No! You turn around and find yourself face to face with none other than Samuil Litvinov.”

“I’m riveted.”

“Close your eyes,” Hope snaps. “I’m not doing all the heavy lifting here.”

I close my eyes, if only so this can be over sooner. But when the breeze kisses against my face, I actually find myself leaning into it. Imagining it’s someone else’s touch.

“It’s just you and Samuil. All six-foot-four of him. Pure sin. Those broad shoulders and his eyes burning into you like you’re his next meal. It’s up to you now, Nova. What do you want to do?”

My heart pounds a war drum between my thighs. “I throw myself off this rooftop.”

“Liar!” Hope smacks my arm. “You nearly got us sued and didn’t even bother passing our card to one of Chicago’s wealthiest men. The least you can do is play along.”

“Fine! Fine. What do I do? I give him the Rufus treatment and hump the life out of him.”

Hope chuckles. “Okay, here we go, but you’re skipping over the good part. Let’s rewind a bit.”

The fantasy builds easier than I’d like to admit. I can almost see his silhouette filling the doorway, commanding every inch of space.

Even in my dreams, it’s hard to look him in the eyes.

“I’m the one in control,” I whisper. “He follows my lead.”

I’d want to touch him. The same way I wanted to grip his arm in the park just to feel how sturdy he was.

But not yet…

“And then?” Hope prompts.

“And then…” I chew my lip. “When he’s standing right in front of me, I strip. I stay out of arm’s reach, disrobing slowly so he can appreciate my body. He tries to grab me, but I don’t let him. In fact, I order him to get naked. Only when his suit and shirt and boxers are on the floor… Only then can he touch me. Once he’s naked, I place a hand on his chest and walk him back towards the sofa.”

He’d dwarf the little couch in my living room. My entire apartment would feel like a dollhouse with him inside. I’d seem so fragile in his hands.

“I push him down and climb on top of him, straddling him. I run my hands up and down his body. He might as well be carved out of marble.”

“I bet he’s ripped,” Hope interjects.