His Best Acquisition: The Russian's Acquisition / A Deal Before the Altar / A Deal with Demakis

His eyebrows elevated a fraction at her pert challenge. His golden eyes looked deeply set into hollows darkened by a sleepless night. She was so startled by the thought that this powerful man might have lost sleep over her, she let it go as if it were hot.

The impression dissipated as he said with casual arrogance, “I pay the housekeeper to cook—or in this case deliver pastries.”

“Oh. I would have liked to walk to the patisserie.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his expression, followed by a purse of his mouth that made her bite her lip. He didn’t want to stroll hand in hand down the Champs-Elysées and she hadn’t meant to sound as if she was longing for romance either.

“I’ve never been to Paris. I’d like to visit a patisserie for fresh croissants at least once in my life,” she defended, embarrassment stinging her cheeks. “But that’s fine. I’ll be out in a moment.” She shifted her feet to the edge of the bed, signaling she needed privacy to rise and dress.

He didn’t move.

Because there were no secrets from him behind this sheet. Perhaps he had sent his housekeeper out and come to wake her for a different reason. Her heart tripped and her fragile poise slipped. She swallowed, mind casting with indecision. She knew she shouldn’t want to sleep with him again, but she did. Weak longing stole over her even as she searched his expression for his intention.

He gave nothing away as the silence grew loaded. Finally he entered the room, coming around the bed. She tensed, but he passed her by, stepping into the bathroom long enough to reach for something off the back of the door. When he returned, he draped a pewter-colored robe over the foot of the bed. “Take your time.”

He left and she let her breath out in a whoosh, staring at the closed door, wondering why she felt so forlorn. In the space of twenty-four hours the man had completely taken over her world, which was intolerable. She didn’t need to be completed. She was already whole. Aleksy might have tapped through her inner walls last night, but she had an infinite capacity for shoring herself up against the world. He’d simply caught her in a moment of weakness. Showered and dressed, she’d be completely unaffected.

She had to be.

* * *

Aleksy was not used to sexual denial. If he wanted a woman, he found one. When he had one, he had one. Waiting for Clair in the lounge, knowing she was running a soapy cloth over her nectarine-scented skin, was excruciating.

The proximity of her lissome body had burned in him all night as he paced the dark lounge. Taking her should have iced his vindictive cake, allowing him to discard her and move on, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how exquisite she’d been. He’d thought he only wanted to mark his victory over his enemy, but she wasn’t Van Eych’s. She belonged to him, only him.

It was one more twist that caught him unexpectedly. He’d planned to be in London indefinitely as he drew the noose ever tighter around Van Eych’s neck, putting him in a cell while stripping him of his stolen riches, but going to London had turned into nothing more than a formality because Victor had died. Aleksy’s appetite for steering the takeover was gone. He could leave it to his team and go back to Russia where his own interests had been neglected far too long.

Given Clair’s inexperience, he should sever their association. The deepest part of him knew that, but the rest of him rejected the idea. What would be the point in acting gallant now? Her virginity was gone. She’d given it up as a survival tactic in the face of losing her job and home. If she was going to sell herself, it might as well be to him.

It was a rationalization he grasped with surprising desperation, which disturbed him. For two decades his entire life had revolved around one thing: retribution. Taking Clair was supposed to be a facet of that, but instead she’d been an escape from it.

The stark realization unsettled him, agitating him further when he realized he wanted that escape again and again. He told himself it was timing and circumstance, that he would have found extra significance in any woman he’d bedded right now, but he didn’t want any woman. He wanted Clair.

So he would keep her as long as it took to satiate this inexplicable want, he decided.

His resolve took a hit, however, when she appeared in a filmy white sundress a few minutes later. Her disturbing sense of purity made his heart lurch. It was not unlike the modesty she’d shown in not being able to reveal herself by leaving the bed this morning. She withheld her thoughts behind a mask, but her blond hair was a golden veil and her minimal makeup revealed her natural beauty, fresh-faced and ingenuous.

If this was going to work, she had to fit the mold.

“I’ll book you into a salon today,” he pronounced with the swift call to action that had made his meteoric success possible. It would also fill her day so her nearness wouldn’t tempt him beyond bearing. Women always expected a new wardrobe anyway.

Clair touched her hair, her composed expression denting with confusion. “I had a trim a few weeks ago.”

Aleksy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “A fashion salon,” he clarified, then added with irony, “So you can wear what I like.” He held a chair at the table for her.

“Why? Taking possession of Victor’s trophy wasn’t enough? You need to stamp your own engraved plate on it?” A betraying unsteadiness undermined her cool challenge.

He didn’t let her remark ignite his temper. “I intend to remove any traces of him from you, yes.”

“For whose benefit?”

She seemed genuinely baffled, which was yet another reminder of her unfamiliarity with the way these arrangements worked.

His housekeeper brought their meals at that moment and he watched Clair withdraw even further behind her frustrating shields as she was offered tea and asked if she’d found everything she’d needed.

After Yvette left, Clair muttered, “As if this isn’t harrowing enough.” Her hand tremored as she helped herself to a croissant, the only betrayal of tension behind an otherwise cool demeanor.

“Harrowing.” Aleksy repeated the unfamiliar word so he’d remember to look it up.

“I’m sure mornings after one-night stands are old hat to you, but this is my first. I’m not exactly comfortable with a stranger witnessing it.”

He tensed. Was that what she thought? “I don’t do one-night stands,” he informed her quietly.

“Or virgins, if I recall. Must have been a two-for-one special.”

“But you’re not a virgin anymore, are you?”

She stilled. Smoldering memories darkened the blue of her eyes, igniting a lovely blush under her skin. She swallowed and looked away.

He didn’t like that she would try to withhold any part of herself from him, especially that intriguing response. Forget experience. She had to know that once wasn’t enough for either of them. He reached out and drew her chin around to face him.

The look in her eyes was shockingly defenseless, full of anxiety and fear coupled with deep longing. Things that stirred a deep, protective desire to comfort her with tenderness…

She jerked back, blinking away the peek into her soul, turning serious. “I need to return to London.”

Her words jolted him with a startlingly strong kick of possessiveness. “Why?”

Clair’s heart jammed under his intense regard. She wanted to be as dispassionate as he was, but it was impossible. Her normal ability to hold people at a distance wasn’t bearing up against Aleksy’s penetrating looks. She didn’t even know why she was having a problem with this. She had known she was a conquest, nothing more, but she still felt vulnerable, out of her element and unaccountably lonely. Everything in her wanted to escape before it got worse.

“To find a job and a place to live,” she reminded him.

It was amazing how his eyes could harden into inscrutable bronze disks that still managed to pierce like lasers. A muted hum sounded and he glanced at the mobile next to his plate. “Perfect.” Turning it, he showed her the message. “Your time is mine now. Along with everything else,” he added with silky danger, his gaze sliding over her like loose, velvet bonds.

Clair read the confirmation of deposit, fifty thousand into her account. Her emotions seesawed as all of yesterday’s repugnance at the arrangement flooded back.

“We agreed on one hundred,” she said, then inwardly shrank from her mercenary retort. But it was for the foundation, she reminded herself. She wasn’t putting herself through this emotional wringer for one pound less than what they’d agreed. With a defiant lift of her chin, she used a show of mutiny to mask her shame.

“You don’t get where I am without performance guarantees. What if you’d changed your mind?” Aleksy was a study of couched power, ready as a tiger to leap.

“But I didn’t. I held up my side of the bargain. I expect you to do the same.” She felt like one of those balls on a tilting table, rolling out of control, destined to fall through a black hole any second.

“You’ll receive the rest when our affair is over.”

She gripped the table. “But— I thought—” Once had been enough for him, hadn’t it? Last night he’d certainly left her with that impression. “It is over, isn’t it?” The hesitant question came out involuntarily. She held her breath, not sure what answer she wanted to hear. Her ears pounded with anticipation as she watched something stark and fervent flash in his eyes.

“Nyet.”

No? Or not yet? She was so lost in trying to read his expression, so off balance by the uneven trip of her pulse that she couldn’t make sense of what he’d said. And she had prepared herself to walk away today, blasé and sophisticated and only slightly scathed. Her incredulous laugh scraped her throat.

“How much longer do you expect it to last?”

He shrugged laconically. “Until I’m bored.”

No. Unpredictability made her anxious. “You can’t expect me to put my life on hold indefinitely.”

“Consider it a lesson against agreeing to open-ended contracts.”

“But—” A panicky lump lodged in her chest. All she could think was how easily he had peeled away her layers of reserve last night. She didn’t know if she could withstand further baring of her inner self.

“What’s the problem? You said yourself you have no rent to pay or employer to report to. Do you want me to say I’ll ensure that those details are looked after before we dissolve our association? Very well. I can agree to that.”

“That’s not—” She searched the hard angles of his face, cringing from the vague distaste curling his lip, wondering how his twisted brain worked that he could only see her as avaricious and self-serving, not scared out of her wits because she was drifting so far over her head. “What did Victor do to you that you’re like this?” she breathed.

The billowing silence told her she’d stepped over a line. “My history with Van Eych is not up for discussion. It has nothing to do with us. You and I have a strong sexual connection that needs to run its course. When it has, I’ll release you and the rest of the funds.”

His words sent a zing of surprise all the way to the soles of her feet. A strong sexual connection? “I thought I was paying for the sins of a man I barely knew,” she charged, hands knotting under the table.

His cheeks hollowed. “Nyet.” He looked away, fiercely controlled emotion tightening his mouth. “There is no way for anyone to compensate for that. His sins were too great.”

He gave off vibes of such deep devastation, such intense pain, an unfamiliar desire to reach out caught at her. He’d only brush her away, she reasoned, startled that the impulse touched her at all. She wasn’t the affectionate sort.

And yet she found herself turning over that strong sexual connection remark. Was she more than a tool of reprisal after all? Fluttery sensations like a million moths flooding toward a sliver of light filled her.

“Are you saying you want…me?” It took all her courage to step into the bottomless chasm of asking him.

He grew guarded and his eyes cut to her with a flinty look. “I want your body.”

The inner door that had cracked open slammed shut. “Of course.” She removed her napkin from her lap, no longer hungry. But what did she have to be offended about? She wanted him for his body, didn’t she? Her long-term avoidance of relationships had been an avoidance of the unbearable sea of emotions that came with them. Wanting to be wanted was agonizing. She’d learned early not to let those longings take root. Skimming her gaze over his unabashedly masculine form, she recognized that he was offering her a gift: all the joys of physical engagement without a toll on her heart.

He cocked his head, amusement tilting his mouth. “How is it that a woman as naturally sensual as you are has never taken a lover before?”

Her pulse raced at how easily he’d read her yearning in one brief, unguarded glance. If she continued seeing him, she’d have to learn to keep her thoughts to herself.

“No one ever tempted me.” She tried to keep her voice level so he wouldn’t guess how unnerved she was at the way his powerful sex appeal kept smashing through her self-protective reserve. “And normal relationships don’t interest me,” she added.

“Normal?” His eyebrows climbed.

“Dating to find love. Searching for a soul mate.” Profound disappointment seemed the inevitable follow-up to those quests. “You were right when you accused me of being more pragmatic than that. I don’t want to live in a cave, but most people my age live the other extreme: partying and hooking up. Being Victor’s platonic mistress seemed like the happy medium.” She sipped her coffee, but it had gone cold and bitter, much like how she felt about her arrangement with Victor, especially now that she’d glimpsed how much pain he’d caused Aleksy. It was yet another harsh reminder that relationships—even ones with seemingly impervious boundaries—could reach inside to wound.

She should take that as a warning sign, but last night had been extraordinary. All her reasons for agreeing to sleep with Aleksy were still there along with memories that made tongues of flame lick down into her pelvis.

“Now you see the advantages in being a real mistress,” he murmured in that deadly accent. He reached for her free hand, lightly combing his fingertips between her fingers before tracing a path across her palm. Her entire body jolted and a moist layer rose under his teasing caress.

She tugged her hand into her lap and tried to erase the tingling sensation by rubbing it on her thigh. She couldn’t hide that he had a profound effect on her.

As if he read her response as acceptance, he nodded with satisfaction and rose. “I’ll call for the car. You’ll need a full wardrobe before we leave for Moscow.”

“Moscow?” Her composure dropped along with the coffee cup she still held, the clatter in the saucer jarring. “I can’t get into Russia without a visa.”

“I have your passport. Lazlo will arrange it,” he dismissed with a shrug.

“What happened to ladies’ choice? I run my own life, Aleksy.” She rose to grip the back of her chair.

“I’ve been occupied with this takeover at the expense of my interests at home,” he said stiffly. “I need to return and I want you with me. Is that asking too much?”

I want you with me. Don’t, Clair. Don’t let that mean something.

“You’re not asking,” she pointed out, determined to assert herself.

“No, I’m paying for it.”

Ouch. Piqued, she threw back, “Yes, you are, because I’m not footing the bill on whatever you expect me to wear.”

His scarred face twisted with a smile of patronizing satisfaction that made her want to bite back her words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE SHOULD HAVE known a man like Aleksy could only come from a city like Moscow. It dominated the way he did. Its weighty buildings with their tall, imposing towers and sharp-eyed windows spoke matter-of-factly of strength and the ability to endure. The facades, scarred by history, told a story she would never fully hear.

Yet there was an unexpected idealism she hadn’t expected in the archways and balconies and loving attention to detail. Even Aleksy revealed a streak of sentiment in the way he’d refurbished his living quarters with an eye to art and a respect for the past. The block he lived in had been built for high-ranking Soviet leaders, he told her when they arrived, which accounted for the amazing location on the Moskva River and enormous top-floor mansion, but the original wiring and wooden interiors had made the building a fire hazard. He’d had the entire structure torn apart internally over two years and was rebuilding to original floor plans with upgraded specifications.

That surprised her. He seemed unaccountably merciless in everything he did, utterly focused on his own interests. After their night flight from Paris, he’d spent most of today in his office down the hall, phone buzzing constantly, conversing in half a dozen languages. Yet if he’d only wanted to turn a coin with this building, he could have made simpler choices, punching out cookie-cutter flats for foreign investors. Instead, from the brief glimpse she’d caught through the replicated elevator cage, he was blending modern conveniences with charming vintage elements, offering stylish homes to his countrymen.

Most startling of all was the photograph above the fireplace in the lounge. The bride wore a modest dress, the groom a simple suit and tie. The corner of the small snapshot was burned, the colors faded, but it was set off by a wide mat and an elegant frame, so it took up significant space, speaking of its importance to the flat’s owner.

She guessed from his resemblance to the groom that they were his parents. Aleksy confirmed it with a simple da, not encouraging more questions, but she’d found herself oddly encouraged by this evidence of a softer side in him.

Such a complex man, just like his city.

And now he’d brought her into it. Indefinitely.

She still felt apprehensive about letting him pressure her into going along with his demands. His strong-arm tactics didn’t bother her so much as the way she’d folded to them did. She knew how to stand up for herself when it mattered. This mattered. She wasn’t a ward of the state anymore and wasn’t about to let him erode what autonomy she’d managed to build for herself. It was too hard won.

Nevertheless, she was here. As his mistress.

Until he grew bored and paid her out.

Flinching from that brutal inevitability, she moved away from the window and took up the two gowns again, hands shaking. She was trying to decide which was better suited for seeing the ballet at the Bolshoi Theatre—as if she had the first clue what the well-dressed mistresses in Moscow were wearing.

How infantile it had been to try striking him in his wallet when it was so well padded. She couldn’t imagine what he’d spent on her. Victor had given her a small clothing allowance and she’d bought conservative outfits that helped her blend in with those around her. She liked being unobtrusive.

Aleksy was having none of that. These gowns were daring and sophisticated, the colors bold, the designs requiring confidence to wear them well. She wasn’t sure she could pull off a dress like this any more than she could cope with being Aleksy’s woman.

Stop it, she ordered herself, refusing to backslide into wanting to belong to someone. He didn’t want her soul and she wouldn’t give it up. This was a reciprocal exchange of pleasure, unencumbered by demands for true intimacy.

“What are you doing in here?” Aleksy’s stern voice made her jump.

“You startled me.” Despite her previous affirmations, her knees weakened at the sight of him. Her reaction was a complex tumble of nervous excitement and an inexplicable desire to earn his admiration.

She clamped down hard on those self-destructive emotions but couldn’t wholly suppress her physical response. He was still in the casual pants and button shirt he’d worn all day in his office, and his expression was downright forbidding, but her heart raced with appreciation of his fiercely handsome looks. When would he touch her again? The question had been burning in her blood all day.

“You said to be ready for eight,” she reminded him, using the gowns as a shield for the lightweight silk robe she wore, glancing down at the drapes of color to keep him seeing her involuntary and immediate desire.

“I meant why are you in this room?” He moved forward and took in the open closet, the myriad empty boxes and zippered dress bags. “I instructed the housekeeper to put everything away in my room tomorrow.”

Her heart dropped like a boulder from a rock face. Share his room? After living alone she was finding the idea of sharing a flat—even one as big as this—to be a hard adjustment. She couldn’t breathe with him four steps in the door. No, if she was going to get through this in one piece, she needed her own space to retreat to.

“The boxes were in here, so I assumed this was my room and unpacked them.” She conquered old twinges of wanting to apologize for occupying any space at all. This wasn’t a foster home. He’d brought her here. She’d stay, but on her terms. “I’d like to use it,” she said firmly.

He assessed the volume of clothes. “As a dressing room? Very well, but I’m not about to creep up and down the hall looking for you. You’ll sleep in my bed.”

Conquering a suffocating panic, she asserted, “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” He turned the full power of his intense personality on her.

She swallowed, not intimidated by his power and height, but instantly vulnerable to the effects his alpha male nature had on her. At some point they’d have sex again and the recently awakened woman in her craved that so deeply she was a little frightened by the power of it, but sleeping together would have its own way of increasing her reliance on him. That wouldn’t do.

“I—” The word was cut off as he drew her into a strong, careful embrace. She automatically tensed and pressed the heels of her hands to his chest, fingers still curled around the padded hooks of the hangers.

He looked down at the way she held him off, not forcing her body into his, but she sensed the firm planes of his stomach and the long, hard muscles of his thighs teasing like a warm breath beyond the fall of her kimono.

He tugged the towel from her head, releasing her damp hair, and tipped her head back so her gaze tangled with his. He stroked her cheek, then let his caress trail into the sensitive hollow beneath her ear and under her jaw.

“I’m looking forward to tonight. I don’t know how I’ve managed to work when all I could think about was touching you again. Feeling you under me.”

Her arms pressed harder as she tried to keep his seductive words from affecting her, but everything else in her melted. This was the sensual heat low in her abdomen she’d looked forward to. She consciously closed herself off to reading any significance in his admission that she’d been on his mind, though. As he lowered his head, a helpless moan escaped her. Her hands released the weight in them and slid up to curl around his neck and into his hair. The first touch of his lips shot a jolt through her. They melded together as the kiss deepened without any insistence from him. She welcomed him with a passionate response, transported to the exciting world he’d initiated her into while trying to hang on to herself, not give him everything—

He lifted his head. They were both breathless. His cheekbones were flushed, but his eyes glittered with aggravation. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she murmured, aware of an internal tension that grew as he delved into her gaze. Keeping herself disconnected from the way he made her feel was hard. She looked at the sobering line of his scar to cool her blood, wondering about it.

His expression grew stony as he slid his hands over the silk gown, his palms hot through the slinky fabric, molding her back and fondling her bottom, making her tremble.