The mahogany doors had barely clicked shut before the atmosphere in the study shifted from political tension to something far more primitive. The documents Andrea had worked so hard to ignore during the meeting—maps of the Siberian borders, tactical reports, and bank statements—were now nothing more than debris as Viktor swept them to the floor.
The sound of the heavy oak desk clearing was a violent, chaotic herald for what was coming.
"Viktor, stop," Andrea breathed, though her hands weren't pushing him away. Instead, they were anchored in the fabric of his white shirt, her knuckles white as she felt the radiating heat of his chest. "This is... this is a workplace. Don't you have a shred of professional decorum?"
