So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(71)

“Well, I see Mac Farnum trying to catch my eye,” Isobel said, and smiled her excuses as she went to meet the foundation head. Five minutes later, she had extracted herself from Mac’s orbit—he’d been trying to persuade her to give his grandson personal coaching lessons—and was skirting the edge of the stage when she felt a tug on her arm. Foxy-fast, she was shanghaied and dragged behind a curtain.

Six feet five inches of built-for-pleasure Russian held her immobile.

“Vadim!”

He pressed two fingers to her lips. “Shush, Bella. Do you want to alert the world?”

She rolled her eyes. “You could have just walked up and said hello out in the open.”

“Then I wouldn’t have been able to do this.” His mouth sought hers, all sweet hunger and sensual rawness. Her lips parted to give him access. The sweep of his tongue, a luxury she couldn’t afford, was divine. She took it anyway because she’d missed him.

Lust. Not a good foundation. But it certainly filled the horny cracks.

“You look like an angel, Bella. A beautiful green angel.”

She clamped her lips shut. Vadim’s usually excellent command of the English language sometimes clashed with his absolute sincerity.

“What’s so funny?”

“A beautiful green angel sounds like an environmental activist.”

He winked. Winked! “We have done good things for the environment, you and I. Sharing showers.”

She gave a solemn nod. “I accept this important role.”

Smiling, he coasted his hands over her hips and molded them to her ass. “I wish you to do something for me. As I will be unable to spend any time with you this evening because when I’m next to you, my cock has a mind of its own, you will have to give me your panties.”

She swallowed. “My panties?”

“Yes, your panties.”

“You can’t be close to me because of your raging erection, so I’m to give you my panties. Not seeing the logic here, Vad.”

“This is why the USA is a failing superpower. You do not make the necessary connections.”

Never get involved with a Russian. “Enlighten me.”

“If your panties are in my pocket, I will know that you are suffering as much as I. Without that slip of fabric between your thighs, your senses will be heightened.” Each word was a seductive thrust of temptation. “That sensitive little pussy of yours will feel naked. It will get wet. It will think about why and will know that I carry your panties around in my pocket.”

Her head fell against his shoulder, her breathing quick and shallow. Oh, God, what was he thinking, saying all these wicked, delicious things?

He wasn’t finished. “Perhaps I will finger them. Perhaps I will slip away to a quiet corner so I can bury my nose in them and smell you.”

Jesus. “Okay, I get the connections.”

His tongue traced the shell of her ear. “I’m not sure you do. Perhaps I will take myself in hand and wrap your panties around my cock while I jerk off. I will have to put my fist in my mouth to muffle the sound of your name on my lips.”

Stop don’t stop. “You’d better dry-clean those puppies before you give ’em back.”

He laughed, a rasp of appreciation against her ear, then he gave the sensitive lobe a gentle nip. “Panties. Now, Bella.”

Feeling heavy with sensation, she looked over her shoulder. All clear. “I need to hold your arm.”

“Better you hold my shoulders.” He fell to his knees, his hands on the backs of her calves. “I like to see you in dresses, Bella. You have beautiful legs.” His hands trailed to the backs of her thighs, and she ransacked her mind, trying to remember what she was wearing.

Something old and gray?

Something new and sexy?

All would be revealed! He hooked a finger in the elastic and pulled. As the panties cleared her thighs, she glanced down. Thank the lingerie gods. A black silk bikini from Addison’s collection.

They pooled at her ankles. She lifted a kitten-heeled foot, but he held it down. “Wait.”

With his palms roving inside her thighs, he moved back up, up, up, until—oh, God—both thumbs stroked her.

She swooned.

“You are wet, Bella.” He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and everything she adored about him reflected back at her in those crystalline blues.

With eyes never leaving hers, he lifted her skirt. One inch. Two. Total, wicked exposure. His tongue gave one solitary swipe of pleasure over her dripping center. He knelt back on his haunches, his face in ecstasy.

Then he picked up the panties, stood, and put them in his pocket. One lascivious lick along his lower lip completed the torture.

“Are you okay?” he asked, as if what had happened had not just happened.

“No,” she managed to croak out.

“Good.”

He drew back the curtain and sent her out into the crowd.



For five thousand dollars a table, one would expect the food to be better. But then that was probably the point—spend as little on the food as possible so that all the funds could go to charity.

Before the meal, Vadim had mingled with the crowd, signing autographs and fending off women who said he would be their first choice during the bachelor auction later. He didn’t care about the auction, but he would do it for Isobel. During this time, whenever their eyes met, he patted his coat pocket and watched her blush.