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state of her panties the last time Dima had seen them, she might not even be wearing any.
    The hot rush of his blood in his ears almost drowned out her raspy, panting breaths. He spread his hand wide over her stomach. When his pinkie grazed the hard thrust of her ribs, his thumb slid into a delectable dip. Her pussy was only a few inches lower. So close.
    Christ, how could he be so close? This couldn’t be happening.
    Beneath his gaze, however, his little one was waiting for him. She watched him with the sort of anticipation that burned in her eyes when they slayed the competition. Fierce. Greedy. Eager.
    Keeping a steadying hand on her stomach, he leaned forward to set his empty vodka glass on the coffee table. He didn’t drink often. Experience with his parents—too much alcohol and too few goals—had left him wary of the poison.
    The evening’s events had demanded a little release.
    Now… Now he held Lizzie. Nothing would ever be more intoxicating.
    He bent his body to hers, pressing his hard-as-hell cock against her side. She didn’t move. Just waited. He’d never known her to be a font of patience, but in this, for this moment, she’d found plenty. He couldn’t help but hope that held weight. Import.
    She’d come to rest with her arms over her head, as if posed. In the dim light, her lips were little more than gleams. He traced the shine of her mouth with his thumb. So small and delicate. So easily hurt, no matter her toughness and determination. The power she burned through, whipping through life, always belied her size. She came off seeming bigger. Taller. More powerful. In reality, she was fragile. Beneath the rough push of his thumb, the flesh of her lower lip was tender.
    And her knee.
    That sickly twist when his grip had slipped.
    Lizzie always pulled herself up from bad bumps and missed lifts, but not from that one. She was, in truth, surprisingly breakable—especially under his hands. Yet he didn’t have it in him to pass up the chance to have her. He’d been waiting too long, riding on nothing but tenuous hope.
    Her tongue snuck a quick lick at the pad of his thumb. The wet heat seared his skin and snapped him back to their dim living room. His thoughts flew away like a murder of crows, dark and cawing.
    “You live to tease me, little one.” His voice was rougher beneath the tense weight in his chest.
    “Hmm,” she purred in her throat. Her smile deepened. “Never noticed that before.”
    “What is it?”
    “Your accent. It’s thicker. Like before a competition.”
    “This is surprising to you?”
    “Surprising, no. But I like it.” She stretched her arms overhead. “Staid, stoic Dima. Nothing ever affects you.”
    Plenty affected him. All his tidy strategies, his silent ambitions. Too much to explain. Every fraction of his future included her. Moving on without her was like contemplating chopping off his feet. If she couldn’t agree with his plans for Devant, he’d just come up with another. And another. Until recently, however, she hadn’t offered any hint of sharing those crazy hopes. She hadn’t even come to see him dance. Until that night. When she’d pushed him to the edge of sanity and his cold, deep control by riding some Texan stranger.
    No, better to keep the impossible locked away until Dima could get it right. Make sure everything worked out.
    She was motionless, watching him, as if waiting for him to make his decision. That decision was easy—so easy, when touching her was possible.
    He hardly knew where to start. So much beauty and temptation. Every inch of her deserved his full attention. He’d even crawl inside her brain and start over again, from the inside out. The day he actually figured out what was in that head of hers, he’d retire from dancing and become a guru on women. None could be more complicated than his Lizzie. None could be more perfect.
    “You believe nothing affects me? Let me correct you.” He tucked his fingertip behind her ear, into the