Hidden Motives

That Demyan was Head of Operations meant he swam with some really exalted fish in his tank.

“You are looking at me oddly,” Demyan accused.

“I didn’t realize.”

He brushed back a bouncy curl that had fallen into her eye, his own expression intent. “Does my job title matter so much?”

“I know your favorite writer, the way you like your steak and how many children your ideal family would have, but I don’t know anything about your job.”

“On the contrary, you know a great deal. You have sat beside me while I took conference calls with our operations in Africa and Asia.”

“I tuned you out.” Corporate speak wasn’t nearly as interesting as science…or her erotic readings.

Now that she had practical experience, they were even more fascinating.

He smiled with a warm sincerity she loved, the expression almost common now. At least when directed at her. “You did not miss anything that would interest you.”

“I figured.” She sighed. “I just feel like I should understand this side of your life better. You work really long hours.”

So did she, but it occurred to her that maybe his long hours weren’t going to go away like hers now that she’d caught up on work for her extended honeymoon.

“It is a demanding job.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Very much.”

“Will you continue working twelveto sixteen-hour days after we get back from Volyarus?”

“I will do my best to cut my hours back, but twelve-hour days are not uncommon.”

“I see. Okay, then.”

“Okay, what? You have that look you get.”

“What look?”

“The stubborn one.” His brows drew together. “The same one you got when you insisted on buying your wedding dress without your mother’s or my aunt’s input.”

Demyan’s aunt, Oxana, had offered a Givenchy gown. Chanel had turned her down. Demyan hadn’t been happy, wanting to save Chanel the stress and expense of searching for the perfect dress. He knew clothes were not usually her thing, but Chanel refused to compromise on this issue.

While she couldn’t really care less about the colors for the linens, what food would be served or even the order of events at the reception, there were two things Chanel did care about.

What she wore and who officiated.

On the officiate, she’d agreed to have Demyan’s family Orthodox priest perform the service so long as the pastor from the church she’d attended since childhood, a man who had known and respected both her father and grandfather, led them in their personally written vows and spoke the final prayer.

Her dress she wasn’t compromising on at all. Chanel and Laura had spent three weeks haunting eBay, vintage and resale shops, but they’d finally found the perfect one.

An original Chanel gown designed by Coco herself.

Because while her mother had named Chanel after her favorite designer, she’d also named her after the designer she’d been wearing when Chanel’s dad proposed. Chanel had wanted a link to her dad on her wedding day and wearing the vintage dress was it.

The rayon lace overlay of magnolia blossoms draped to a demure fichu collar. However, the signature Coco Chanel angel sleeves with daring cutouts gave the dress an understated air of sexiness she liked.

The dress was designed to enhance a figure like Chanel’s. Clinging to her breasts, waist and hips only to flare slightly from below the knee, the gown made her look and feel feminine without being flouncy and constrictively uncomfortable.

Buying it had nearly drained Chanel’s savings account and she really didn’t care. Her job paid well and Demyan wasn’t exactly hurting for cash.

Demyan’s mouth covered Chanel’s and she was kissing him before she was even conscious he’d played his usual get-Chanel’s-attention-when-her-mind-is-wandering card. She had to admit she liked it a lot more than the sharp rebukes she got from others because of her habit of getting lost in thought.

After several pleasurable seconds, he lifted his head.

Dazed, she smiled up at him even as she was aware of her brother making fake gagging gestures in his seat across the aisle.

Perry shushed him, but Chanel paid neither male any heed.

She was too focused on the look in Demyan’s eyes. It was so warm.

“That’s better,” he said.

“Than?”

“You thinking about something else. You’re only thinking about me, now.”

She laughed softly. “Yes, I am.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.