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

She had thought Victor obscenely wealthy. She shook her head, reminding herself that the real test of a person’s class came from his character, not his possessions. Problem was, Aleksy guarded himself even more closely than she did. She wondered what kind of man lurked beneath that polished granite exterior. One who would laugh her to the curb when he realized what a novice she was?

Stop it. Steadying her knees and pulling her shoulders back, she resolved not to be intimidated. He could laugh all he wanted, but she had her own principles: loyalty, a debt of gratitude and a personal honor that demanded she live up to her word.

She was terrified, but she’d sleep with him because she’d said she would.

* * *

Her luggage was gone from his room when he emerged from his shower.

It was an unexpected slap in the face for Aleksy. Women never rejected him. Given the math Clair had scratched into a notebook on the plane, he had considered their deal more than sealed; was she now trying to get out of it?

Snatching up his mobile, wearing only a towel, he strode from the bedroom to the empty lounge. Down at the far end of the flat, as far as she could get from his master bedroom, the door was shut. He pushed through it, noted her open suitcase on the bed and heard the hair dryer click on in the bathroom.

The release of tension in him was profound—and aggravating.

Get a grip, he ordered himself as he returned to his room. She was only a woman, the same as all the others he’d taken into his bed. Yes, there was a certain satisfaction in claiming what Victor had wanted, but Aleksy had been patient enough to hunt that man down over two decades. He ought to be capable of waiting a few more hours for this final conquest.

The short flight to Paris had been unbearable, though, the drive from the airport eternal. She’d been quiet, almost as if trying to hold herself behind an invisible shell, while his senses had been homed onto her presence, for once hungry to learn about his partner, but he hadn’t wanted to reveal his curiosity.

He didn’t want to feel it. She shouldn’t be drawing him in this strongly.

When she’d turned that look of longing on him after they arrived in the flat, it had taken everything in him to keep from leaping on her. Whether it had been a tease or real, he had ached to accept her invitation like nothing he’d ever wanted, even his lifetime of revenge. He’d controlled himself because any weakness for women had always been a distraction he couldn’t afford. He wouldn’t let a habit of a lifetime click off like a switch, but he’d been near panting in London when she’d thrown down her condition that the money had to clear.

His saving grace had been that she had been panting too; it was affecting him. The women he usually went for enjoyed sex, but with Clair the chemistry was notched to maximum. She might have an agenda, but her desire was interfering with it. It was an unbelievable turn-on; it enthralled him.

Surely once he’d had her the mystique would dissolve though. It had to. This obsessiveness was intolerable.

He stepped into black jeans and tugged on a light gray pullover, returning to the lounge, where he made a few calls while pacing off his restlessness, mercilessly tying off his need as he waited for staff from a nearby restaurant.

As he waited for Clair.

* * *

Clair forced one foot in front of the other and stepped into the lounge, tensed for the impact of Aleksy’s inspection. He was on the phone, his face and body in quarter profile.

She had expected one of his disturbingly penetrating looks, but found herself doing the appraisal, going weak as she took in the length of his back and the way his jeans hugged the shape of his backside and outlined his muscled thighs. He stood with his long legs braced and shrugged a shoulder, drawing her attention to the powerful layers of muscles bulging beneath the wool. She imagined exploring light fingers over the textures of cashmere, swarthy neck and short, damp hair and had to strangle a moan of longing.

He finished his call and turned to strip her deep purple slip dress with hungry eyes. It was the same look he’d given her this morning, just as carnal and without the safety net of an office full of people to prevent him acting on his desires.

The assessment acted exactly as powerfully on her, pinning her feet to the floor and making her realize that for all her rationalizations about helping orphaned children, the real reason she was here was this: she wanted to be with him. It was a frightening admission after a lifetime of convincing herself she didn’t want or need anyone.

“Lovely,” he said, languidly climbing his appreciative gaze from her exposed knees to her carefully composed expression.

Her stomach contracted under the impact of his undisguised sexual intention.

“Victor liked it.” She didn’t know why she said it. Perhaps to keep him from guessing how utterly he held her in thrall, but it had a glacial effect on him.

He narrowed his eyes and said chillingly, “Be very careful about throwing his name at me, Clair.”

Uneasiness wafted over her along with confusion. She had pushed that “spoils of war” unpleasantness to the back of her mind, but it came flooding forward now.

A knock on the door kept her silent.

He opened it to uniformed staff. They turned one end of the dining table into an intimate candlelit cove, setting out covered plates and pouring wine. Soft music came on and fragrant flowers complemented scents of orange sauce and rich braised duck.

Unsteady in her heels, Clair moved forward to the chair Aleksy held for her, trying to frame her suspicion in a way that didn’t demean her any further than she already was.

When they were alone, she cleared her throat. “You said earlier—” Was it only a few hours ago they’d stood in her flat setting out terms for this arrangement? What was she doing! “You said that you’d been targeting the firm for some time. Victor was under considerable stress leading up to his heart attack. Was that from the takeover?”

The implication behind her simple question crashed and reverberated in Aleksy’s head, as swift and unexpected as the knife that had cut the line into his face. A dark maelstrom of emotion threatened, the kind he hadn’t allowed himself in years. He fought it back, master of everything he felt or didn’t feel, but it shocked him that she’d almost pulled something out of him that he no longer allowed. Chagrin. Loss. Rage.

“Are you accusing me of murdering him? Intentionally?” He was able to keep his tone impersonal, but she didn’t mistake the threat beneath. She paled.

“N-no.” Her voice was weak.

“Because I’ve been targeted for takeovers many times. It never raises my blood pressure. Van Eych knew what was coming and may have grown hypertensive, but that’s because he didn’t take care of himself. He lived as if an overweight, sedentary lifestyle would never catch up to him.” His entire body ached with tension.

“I know. I told him—”

“I don’t want to hear what you told him,” he snapped with a slip of control that made her jump. “I know more about the man than I ever wanted to. Now I want to forget him. I want his entire existence obliterated.”

He was revealing more than he intended to, but it would put an end to any more infuriating remarks regarding Victor. He glared at the elegantly simple dress that showed her delicate curves to perfection, offended that Victor had paid for it, that anything about the man had ever come in contact with her.

She sat primly, cowed by his temper into holding her hands in her lap, her spine straight, her eyes downcast. He didn’t apologize; he wanted the message driven home that this topic would never be revisited again.

“Well,” she said with quiet impertinence. “That certainly answers the question I was really asking, which was whether you had a grudge against Victor.”

“A grudge?” Aleksy choked on the inadequacy of the word, but what did you call it when you knew a man was responsible for your father’s death? For your mother’s slow, painful decline? For your own self-destruction? He swept his clogged throat clean with a swallow of wine, suppressing anguished thoughts. “Yes, Clair, I had a grudge.”

Aleksy’s posture was casual, but his stillness spoke of extreme tension. There was nothing to be read in his expression beyond the startling prominence of his scar.

Clair realized she needed to tread softly, but she had to ask, “Why?”

“He knew. That’s all that’s important.”

“Not to me,” she protested.

The corner of his lip quirked. She realized he knew what was really bothering her. “You struck the deal you wanted. Do you hear me asking why it was important to you?”

He’d already made it pretty clear he didn’t care about her motivation. This was commerce, not romance, but the worry drilling a hole in the pit of her stomach was that he didn’t really want her. Obviously he was attracted to her to some degree, but she didn’t want to be a thing. She wanted her first sexual experience to at least be sensual, not a twelve-point inspection and a stamp on the windshield. What happened when she turned out to be less than the high-performance ride he was used to?

“I just want to understand. You didn’t want anything to do with me when you thought I’d been sleeping with Victor, but when you learned I hadn’t, you coerced me into this arrangement. If you’re on a mission to collect all of Victor’s possessions, why count me among them? And why sell them off as quickly as you acquired them?”

His jaw hardened at the word coerced, but he only said bluntly, “To dismantle what he built. To expunge his mark on the world.”

“Well, I won’t let you dismantle me.” She grew hot. “I wasn’t his. You don’t get to erase me.”

“He thought you were his,” he shot back. “You let the world think you were.”

“It doesn’t mean you can treat me like—”

“Property?” Bracing his elbows, he leaned forward so she had to jerk back. “Why do you care? You got what you wanted. I’ll get what I want. There’s no conflict.”

There was, but apparently only to her.

Drawing a deep breath, she picked up her fork and said stiffly, “Just so I’m clear…You don’t care whether the things you’ve acquired are to your taste. You only want to hold them long enough to devalue and unload them?” Looking him in the eye was an act of supreme courage, especially since it made him bare his teeth in an uncivilized grin.

“You get to keep the money, Clair. You’ll walk away satisfied that your bottom line has benefited, I promise. Now let’s change the subject.”

“I think you just did,” she muttered, staring at food she had no appetite for as she tried to sift through the mixed emotions of being physically infatuated with a man who promised to give her pleasure while only taking a cold helping of revenge for himself.

His attitude hurt her and she didn’t want him to have that power. She wanted to be unaffected and remote, the way he was.

“Did I?” he responded with throwaway sarcasm.

“Yes, you did.” She set down her fork with a clatter. Trying to eat was pointless when she was so consumed with nerves. She could sit here waiting out the minutes until his stupid money came through, trying to reimagine this into something more meaningful than it would ever be, or she could have sex with him and be done with it. It didn’t matter if he didn’t feel anything, she told herself. She had always preferred superficial connections over something deeper. Right?

Right?

“Let’s do it now,” she decided shakily.

Her statement arrested him. “Why the sudden change of heart?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Her pulse raced, but she ignored it, determined to be as cool and impervious as the women he was no doubt used to. “Because unlike an island villa or a vintage car, which have no say in life, I am a human being capable of making a choice. I want to complete this transaction so I can move on.”

She rose and left the table, heading toward his room without looking back, unable to hear if he followed because her ears filled with a whooshing sound. Her whole body trembled. She halted when she saw the intimidating expanse of his bed.

What was she doing? A cold chill of doubt washed through her. She couldn’t be so casual about stripping naked and letting a man into her body.

Fingertips grazed her spine, making her flinch. He lowered the zip of her dress before she clutched at the drooping front, panic whirling her to face him.

He scooped her to his chest, trapping her arms between them as his mouth captured hers. One hand streaked from her waist to slide beneath her elbow, where he cupped and firmly massaged her breast.

The dual sensations of fierce kiss and possessive, intimate touch hammered her with a pulse of pleasure so strong it frightened her. The situation was not just flying but exploding out of her control. She jerked her head to the side, gasping for breath, and pressed with her forearms for distance.

“You’re going too fast!”

CHAPTER FIVE

HER WORDS RESULTED in a loaded silence.

She used it to gather her composure, shocked by how easily he’d stripped her of it with one soul-stealing kiss. Compartmentalize, she urged herself, but it was impossible when the heat of his body melted her bones and his hands flexed restlessly against her back. She had to slow him down or he’d own her completely.

Trying to hide how unnerved she was by her response, she forced herself to meet his gaze. His expression was flushed, his eyes glittering with suspicion.

“A minute ago, I wasn’t moving fast enough,” he growled.

Her chin automatically came forward, even though challenging him was probably the stupidest thing she could do. “A girl still wants to be seduced.” It was the only thing she could think to say.

“Does she?” he asked in a tone that made her belly tremor. He held her chin and stared at her. “Or does she want to see how far she can push a man?”

“I’m not—” She tried to swallow through a dry throat. “I’m not going to back out,” she whispered. “I just want a slower pace. Is that so unreasonable?” She wished she had enough experience to know exactly what kind of mistake she was making.

“Are you attempting to keep it interesting or afraid of losing control?”

His guess, so accurate, sent a startled pulse through her. Unable to control how the world treated her, she instead controlled how deeply she felt the ebbs and flows of life—but she definitely couldn’t control the way she reacted to him. That terrified her.

He touched her lips. The tickling graze of his fingertip made her mouth quiver. “Tell me when you want me to kiss you, then,” he taunted gruffly.

Now. She couldn’t deny that she wanted his mouth. And she wanted to make a go of the foundation. If she kept that in mind, maybe she could get through this without giving up too much of herself.

“N-now.” The quaver in her voice reflected her inner turmoil.

“Now?” He plucked at her bottom lip.

“Yes. But just a kiss,” she cautioned, then added, “Please.”

He chuckled in a way that sounded bitter and trailed his calloused fingers along her jaw, into her hair, gently threading his hand into her loose tresses as he tilted her head back.

“Since you said please…” He stepped closer and brushed a light kiss onto her neck.

She shivered as his lips moved under her jaw and up her cheek to her temple.

It was lovely, but she felt unsteady. She set her hands on his hard chest to ground herself, eyes involuntarily closing as she appreciated the patience he was showing, touching butterfly kisses all over her face, pressing the corner of her mouth and drifting away. Giving her the time to absorb each caress, the flutter of reaction it raised, and even anticipate the next.

Before she realized what she was doing, she unconsciously tried to follow him for a real kiss. His grip in her hair made turning her face impossible. The next time his heated breath flowed over her lips, she parted her own in invitation, but he left again. A whimper of dismay escaped her and she realized with a sting of uneasiness that she wasn’t setting the pace at all. He was in control.

She ran restless hands over his chest. It was unfamiliar but thrilling. Hard muscle rippled with power beneath soft cashmere as she tried unsuccessfully to convey what she wanted from him.

“Aleksy.” That throaty tone did not belong to her.

“Do you want my mouth on yours?” he asked in a husky growl.

She did. For all her misgivings and apprehensions, her lips were hot and sensitized, the waiting unbearable. “Yes.”

He rubbed her lips lightly with his own.

A needy ache gathered hotly between her thighs. “More,” she breathed.

“Show me what you want,” he commanded.

A frustrated sound escaped her. She didn’t know! Or did she? She wanted a proper, openmouthed, hot, swirling kiss. As crazy as it sounded, she craved the mindlessness he inflicted on her.

Lifting, she tried to show him, crushing her swollen, aching mouth against his, clinging with her lips and delicately invading with the tip of her tongue.

He stiffened.

She was doing it wrong. Failure and rejection instantly loomed, even more horrifying than the swamp of sexual excitement. She instinctively tried to pull away, but his arm tightened and she felt the answering lick of his tongue against hers. A bolt of sweet lightning flashed through her, a fierce relief followed by a warning of a storm.

She stilled, tried to pull herself together, but he boldly took possession of her the way she yearned for, sealing their damp lips in a tight fit and thrusting his tongue against hers, spiraling her into the exciting world he seemed determined to pull her into.

Of their own volition, her hands crept up his shoulders, linking behind his neck to draw him down, encouraging him by diving her fingers into his short hair.

His arm stayed locked across her back, but he wasn’t pressing her into him. She did that, not even realizing she was doing it until she felt herself plastered against him. Her dress was open, she realized, but she didn’t care. Her body badly needed the pressure of his chest against breasts that seemed to swell and reach toward him, aching. A moan of longing escaped her.

“What do you want? This?” He drew one of her arms down and slid her hand beneath the soft knit, guiding her touch up his hot chest.

Startled by this new realm, she explored with rapt intrigue. His skin was like sunbaked satin, his chest hair flat and softly abrasive, his nipple small and pebble sharp against her curious fingertips. She splayed her hand, petting, fascinated, and learned quickly when he taught her the pressure he liked. She circled and flicked, feeling him jerk. Wrong again?

His arm at her back pinched her closer. “Do you want me to do that to you?” His head dipped and he caught her earlobe between his lips, sucking and sending a shocking streak of pure excitement flashing into her loins. “This too?”

She groaned at the thought of his mouth on her breast and curled her fingers against his chest, raking his nipple lightly with her fingernail. “Yes.”

His breath hissed in. “Take off your dress, then,” he ground out, loosening his hold on her and backing away.

Shaking, she dragged her hand free, grazing his abdomen on the way, feeling his stomach contract beneath her touch. He was remarkable. This state was remarkable, feeling all hot and fascinated. Alive.

It struck her that he would forever hold a place in her memory for this. The indelible connection was already bittersweet enough to make the backs of her eyes sting. Part of her screamed, Run away. The bond was temporary and would hurt to break, but she craved it all the same. Desperately. So much so that she found herself nudging the straps of her dress off her shoulders. They fell down her arms and warm silk dropped into a dark puddle over her shoes.

She was naked but for her bra, underpants and hose, all black but built for function. Her palms shyly covered the clasp between her breasts, forearms shielding the small, pale swells that peeped over the cups.

“Ask me for help with it,” he said.

“I—” It wasn’t that she couldn’t open it. It was how real this was becoming. What if she wasn’t enough for him, even for a night?

He commanded her with a look, wanting to gaze on her nude body, do things to it. The unknown scared her, but the thought of stopping was equally frightening. She couldn’t move, caught in a trembling paralysis.

He stepped close and sure fingers brushed past nerveless ones. The cups released and her neck went weak. She dropped her forehead onto his chest, aware of her bra skimming lightly over her shoulders and down her back. Her breasts were exposed to cool air while her back was branded by his hot palms. She covered herself with her crossed arms, lacking the confidence to step back and reveal herself.

“Sit on the bed.” He curled a steadying hand under her elbow.

She complied because she would fall down if she didn’t, but sitting put her eye level with his fly and she wasn’t ready to go that far even with a glance. She looked up at him, but he was no gentleman intending to kneel at her feet. He held a look of detached intensity. A roaring sound filled her ears, the kind that warned of danger. She had inadvertently entered into a power struggle with a man who could overwhelm her without effort, but he wasn’t doing it like that. He was turning her against herself. Stoking a hunger that was stronger than her natural reserve.

She clung hard to her shields but sensed he would disarm her without even trying. As easily as he caught a hand behind her knee and stroked tantalizing fingers under her calf, carrying her foot up to his stomach, tipping her onto her back.

Her heart dipped in consternation, and then she squeaked in alarm as the position parted her knees. She shot a hand between her thighs, hypersensitive to where his gaze was traveling, so tangible it was like a physical caress.

Her shoes hit the floor, thump, thump, barely heard over the beat of her racing heart. He reached to stroke her knuckles where she protected her most intimate flesh, his touch so personal she almost jerked her hand away in surprise.

“Let me take off these at least.” He moved his hand down her thigh, stroking the translucent hose. “You want to feel my hands on you, don’t you?”

“Yes, but— You’re not going to undress?”

“Eventually. When you’re ready.” He ran his hand up to the waistband, eyes glittering with challenge while his expression was one of merciless control.

Over her or himself?

Both.

Warring thoughts crashed inside her like storm waves. Apprehension at the reality of being stripped. A moral compulsion to keep her word and go through with this. An underlying weakness of pure want. Terror at the way self-control was slipping away.

He began to draw the hose down and she lifted her hips to help him, eyes closing in denial of what she was doing, but she couldn’t ignore that only her panties remained. She hid them behind her palm, knees bent to the side and locked together, breath held as she tried to imagine what would come next. And then after that.

He stood over her assessing her, proud and commanding, all the power in his court. “Do you want me to join you?”

She blew out a breath of wild laughter at his taunt. He must know how badly she wanted him and was only making her ask for it to prove a point. If she could have revealed that she wasn’t ready, she would have, but it was mortifying how much she wanted to feel him on top of her. “I do.” Her voice broke in surrender.

“Make room, then. When you’re ready,” he added, raking her body with hot, hungry eyes.

She writhed in protest, wanting mastery over herself and wanting him. Rolling onto her back, she straightened her legs, forcing her hand to fall away from her mound, the other to lift off her chest. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life.