CHAPTER 14
Okay, I might sleep with the Russian.
When I opened the door for him, lyrics from the incomparable Madonna sprang into my thoughts:
I’m in trouble deep.
He was just so . . . so unimaginably beautiful. His tailored dark gray suit emphasized his height, the wide set of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips. His understated tie had a thread of amber through it, highlighting his eyes. My fingers itched to touch his clean-shaven jaw and chin.
He stared at me as if he’d forgotten how to blink. I guessed he liked the man-eater.
Pete had already called to tell me when Dmitri left the casino and what my date was wearing (my cuz had warned me Dmitri looked “excruciatingly hot”). Thanks to intel from Giovanni, the concierge, I also knew our destination: Murano’s, a romantic—and extravagant—Italian restaurant.
“Am I dressed appropriately?” I asked as I turned in a circle. “You didn’t say where you were taking me.”
Dmitri’s gaze drifted down, then slowly ascended, as if he were committing every inch of me to memory. His answer was a curt nod.
Not a word about my appearance? I’d painstakingly braided my hair into three plaits, then pinned them into a crown atop my head. My makeup was expertly applied—kohled eyes, curled lashes, glossy lips, vamp nails. My only jewelry was a pair of onyx earrings. I carried a matching clutch for my keys, phone, and gloss.
When I’d donned the man-eater and the clinging material had glided over me, my nipples had stiffened; the dress had done nothing to disguise them. Now his inspection was making them peak again. By the time his gaze reached my face, my cheeks were on fire. I waved in his direction. “Uh, you look great.”
Another nod.
Wow, cocky much?
“Come.” He placed his big palm on the bared small of my back. His nostrils flared and his fingertips dug in a little as he led me toward his limo.
I got a hit of Dmitri’s aftershave and caught my customary buzz, my lids growing heavy.
When we passed my new car, I said, “Thank you for the gift.” Al already had a buyer interested.
Dmitri scarcely acknowledged it. “I have another one for you.”
Oh, do you?
One of his bodyguards, the brown-haired one, opened the door for us. A blond was behind the wheel. I dubbed them Starsky and Hutch (not quite eighties, but close enough). Starsky shut the door behind us and got in with Hutch up front. With a low hum, the privacy divider closed.
Dmitri didn’t sit close to me. Weird. As we started off, he didn’t reach for me and drag me into his lap.
I’d thought my bared thigh would merit a glance, but he seemed determined not to look down. Puzzled, I fidgeted with my clutch and stared out the window. . . .
I frowned when we passed a white Yukon like the one Brett drove. I only got a glimpse of the driver but suspected it was my ex. No matter how many times I’d told him our relationship was over, he continued to cruise my neighborhood. How could I get him to stop with the e-mails and drive-bys and move on?
I didn’t need to be thinking about Brett; I needed to be working. I sank back in the seat, watching Sevastyan out of the corner of my eye.
His shoulders were rigid. When he subtly blew out a breath, as if trying to get a handle on himself, I relaxed a fraction. Had I thrown him for a loop?
With more confidence, I asked, “So what do your bodyguards do when you’re on dates?”
“Dates? I have no idea what they do when I’m not around.”
“Any particular reason you travel with a pair of them?”
He shrugged. “They buffer me from irritations.”
“With their holstered weapons?” I’d spied a flash of one.
No denial. “Better safe than sorry.”
“An enigmatic answer from an enigmatic guy.” I turned to face him more fully. “Before we get to the restaurant, I want to talk about last night. I had a chat with my sister, and it helped me realize some things.”
“Like what?”
Two tears in a bucket . . . “Apparently, I have a . . . fetish. This is going to be hard to believe, but I didn’t know I’m not, um, vanilla. I got spooked by the intensity and the situation, and I overreacted, blaming everything on you.”
“I do believe you. You were shocked afterward. I should have taken things more slowly.” He rubbed his palm along his pant leg. “I am learning my way. With you. I see now I should not have pushed when you’d been drinking.”
“Well, yeah, maybe. I wasn’t just shocked, I was also nervous. A woman could get hurt doing things like that.”
He tensed even more. “I would never let anyone hurt you. You think I couldn’t have defended you against a mere two men?”
“How do I know that, Dmitri? I don’t even know you. This is our first real date.”
He exhaled. “Point taken. Thank you for explaining these things to me. Please continue to do so in the future.”
“I feel better with that off my chest.”
“After speaking to your sister, did you investigate your newfound fetish?”
“I did a little digging online.” I’d discovered a porn subgenre called CMNF—clothed male, nude female—and watched a video of a naked girl on her knees sucking off a fully dressed guy.
My greedy gaze roamed over Dmitri’s impeccable suit. “It was . . . enlightening.”
Two nights ago, Dmitri had stripped me while remaining dressed, had even remarked I might like that. Already sensing my leanings?
Okay, I might sleep with the Russian.
When I opened the door for him, lyrics from the incomparable Madonna sprang into my thoughts:
I’m in trouble deep.
He was just so . . . so unimaginably beautiful. His tailored dark gray suit emphasized his height, the wide set of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips. His understated tie had a thread of amber through it, highlighting his eyes. My fingers itched to touch his clean-shaven jaw and chin.
He stared at me as if he’d forgotten how to blink. I guessed he liked the man-eater.
Pete had already called to tell me when Dmitri left the casino and what my date was wearing (my cuz had warned me Dmitri looked “excruciatingly hot”). Thanks to intel from Giovanni, the concierge, I also knew our destination: Murano’s, a romantic—and extravagant—Italian restaurant.
“Am I dressed appropriately?” I asked as I turned in a circle. “You didn’t say where you were taking me.”
Dmitri’s gaze drifted down, then slowly ascended, as if he were committing every inch of me to memory. His answer was a curt nod.
Not a word about my appearance? I’d painstakingly braided my hair into three plaits, then pinned them into a crown atop my head. My makeup was expertly applied—kohled eyes, curled lashes, glossy lips, vamp nails. My only jewelry was a pair of onyx earrings. I carried a matching clutch for my keys, phone, and gloss.
When I’d donned the man-eater and the clinging material had glided over me, my nipples had stiffened; the dress had done nothing to disguise them. Now his inspection was making them peak again. By the time his gaze reached my face, my cheeks were on fire. I waved in his direction. “Uh, you look great.”
Another nod.
Wow, cocky much?
“Come.” He placed his big palm on the bared small of my back. His nostrils flared and his fingertips dug in a little as he led me toward his limo.
I got a hit of Dmitri’s aftershave and caught my customary buzz, my lids growing heavy.
When we passed my new car, I said, “Thank you for the gift.” Al already had a buyer interested.
Dmitri scarcely acknowledged it. “I have another one for you.”
Oh, do you?
One of his bodyguards, the brown-haired one, opened the door for us. A blond was behind the wheel. I dubbed them Starsky and Hutch (not quite eighties, but close enough). Starsky shut the door behind us and got in with Hutch up front. With a low hum, the privacy divider closed.
Dmitri didn’t sit close to me. Weird. As we started off, he didn’t reach for me and drag me into his lap.
I’d thought my bared thigh would merit a glance, but he seemed determined not to look down. Puzzled, I fidgeted with my clutch and stared out the window. . . .
I frowned when we passed a white Yukon like the one Brett drove. I only got a glimpse of the driver but suspected it was my ex. No matter how many times I’d told him our relationship was over, he continued to cruise my neighborhood. How could I get him to stop with the e-mails and drive-bys and move on?
I didn’t need to be thinking about Brett; I needed to be working. I sank back in the seat, watching Sevastyan out of the corner of my eye.
His shoulders were rigid. When he subtly blew out a breath, as if trying to get a handle on himself, I relaxed a fraction. Had I thrown him for a loop?
With more confidence, I asked, “So what do your bodyguards do when you’re on dates?”
“Dates? I have no idea what they do when I’m not around.”
“Any particular reason you travel with a pair of them?”
He shrugged. “They buffer me from irritations.”
“With their holstered weapons?” I’d spied a flash of one.
No denial. “Better safe than sorry.”
“An enigmatic answer from an enigmatic guy.” I turned to face him more fully. “Before we get to the restaurant, I want to talk about last night. I had a chat with my sister, and it helped me realize some things.”
“Like what?”
Two tears in a bucket . . . “Apparently, I have a . . . fetish. This is going to be hard to believe, but I didn’t know I’m not, um, vanilla. I got spooked by the intensity and the situation, and I overreacted, blaming everything on you.”
“I do believe you. You were shocked afterward. I should have taken things more slowly.” He rubbed his palm along his pant leg. “I am learning my way. With you. I see now I should not have pushed when you’d been drinking.”
“Well, yeah, maybe. I wasn’t just shocked, I was also nervous. A woman could get hurt doing things like that.”
He tensed even more. “I would never let anyone hurt you. You think I couldn’t have defended you against a mere two men?”
“How do I know that, Dmitri? I don’t even know you. This is our first real date.”
He exhaled. “Point taken. Thank you for explaining these things to me. Please continue to do so in the future.”
“I feel better with that off my chest.”
“After speaking to your sister, did you investigate your newfound fetish?”
“I did a little digging online.” I’d discovered a porn subgenre called CMNF—clothed male, nude female—and watched a video of a naked girl on her knees sucking off a fully dressed guy.
My greedy gaze roamed over Dmitri’s impeccable suit. “It was . . . enlightening.”
Two nights ago, Dmitri had stripped me while remaining dressed, had even remarked I might like that. Already sensing my leanings?
