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

“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 (#ulink_0d18c46f-d07e-5eca-a09a-5c41438ae5f7)

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.

She let her head fall forward onto his chest to hide how the sweetness in his caress made her eyes moisten. She felt his hardness against her belly, urgent and thick, and caught her breath in wonder. He wanted her. Her.

A burst of relief made her dizzy, unnerving her, filling her with the tautness of wanting him while remaining wary of limitless intimacy. She gathered herself behind an invisible wall, before she followed through on her desire to look up and press her lips to his neck.

Before she could make the move to take this where her body wanted to go, he set her away from him and bent, coming up with the red and the blue gowns. He rejected the red with a toss toward the bed, his expression inscrutable. Holding the blue in front of her, he said with detachment, “This one. Give me thirty minutes. I’ll meet you in the lounge.”

Her mouth still tingled from the pressure of his. Her whole body felt light enough to fly while bitter disappointment weighed like a rock in her throat, keeping her from calling after him. She refused to beg for affection.

* * *

As he dressed, Aleksy was still trying to understand what had transpired in the other room. The fact that he was being so introspective about Clair’s behavior was as irritating as her trying to hold him off.

After resisting temptation all day, he’d been unable to help going to her. Finding her in the spare room, trying to keep space between them, was an oddly disturbing rejection. Everyone gave him a wide berth, but Clair’s doing it stung unexpectedly. Did she fear him? The thought galled him.

He’d been compelled to close the gap and pull her into his arms with as much gentleness as he was capable of. She had reacted beautifully, her arousal instant and obvious.

When he’d kissed her, her mouth had parted beneath his. The silk of her robe had revealed the tension in her belly and the sharp points of her nipples. Her supple body had even leaned into him. She, however, had not been involved.

Why not? She’d called herself practical when they were in Paris, her interest in her financial future blatant enough to assure him they were on well-defined ground. Had she read something about him that had turned her off?

The way she had stared at his scar had seemed to suggest so. Then she’d folded into him, almost as if she was ready to surrender regardless of what she thought of him, but he’d been stinging with disgrace. In one glance, she’d reminded him that it didn’t matter how mercenary she was, he still didn’t deserve to touch her.

Even she seemed to know it.