The Platinum Collection: A Convenient Proposal: His Diamond of Convenience / The Highest Price to Pay / His Ring Is Not Enough

“Nothing like that. I intended to marry Stavros. Sadly, he fell in love with someone else. And I wished him the best when it happened. I made not a ripple in the waves of the media when things ended between us. I was nothing but gracious.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing, distracting her yet again. Her eyes followed the dark lines of the tattoos that were inked into his skin, and to the leather band that was tied around his wrist. He was so very different than the kind of men she typically interacted with. Different and fascinating.

“Yes, you do come over as very gracious.”

She nodded in agreement, even though she knew he was being sarcastic.

He uncrossed his arms and waved a hand, beginning to pace around the room. And she was very worried for the precarious position of the towel, riding so low on his hips. Okay, maybe worried wasn’t the appropriate word. Concerned? Fascinated. No, she should not be fascinated. She knew better than to be fascinated by men.

“How long do you think this will take?” he asked.

She blinked, almost unable to believe that he sounded interested. “We’ll need to put in several appearances together. We will need to organize a few galas, where we will collect pledges and let the public know about what you hope to accomplish. We will need to make contact with the appropriate people in high society, and if not in high society per se, those who are part of the one percent. That takes time. In all actuality I’m imagining we will need somewhere around three months to accomplish all of this.”

“A month is a more acceptable time frame.”

Victoria tried to imagine planning something on the scale she was picturing in only thirty days. Obviously the man hadn’t planned many parties. “Yes, but sometimes no matter how liberally you throw money at things time is still a factor. It’s unforgiving, really.”

“You’ve got that right. Time really is quite unforgiving.”

Ironic to hear him say that, since time had clearly been good to him. In his thirties, Dmitri was in peak physical condition, and for a man who had lived the kind of life that he had, he was strikingly devoid of scars.

“I can’t promise it will be a success,” she said, pressing on. “You know I have to allow for variables. I’m not entirely certain what all your past entails, and that might hinder both of us.”

“I do not expect a guarantee—what I expect is effort.”

She shrugged, feigning a casualness she did not feel at all. “As long as you understand that while I can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear I will have a harder time making one out of a horse’s ass.”

He laughed again, his dark chuckle filling the space. “You are amusing—I will grant you that.”

“I am gleeful at the thought of being a source of your amusement.” She was not gleeful, not by half. Her heart was racing, the thrill of possible victory pouring through her. Yes, this must be what it was like to be an opponent on the mats. No, she had not defeated him with her fists, but persuading someone using only her tongue was much more satisfying. “Anyway, I promise I will keep my cleverness under control when we’re in public venues.”

“Don’t. I hardly think the press would be impressed by my engagement to a simpering, unclever female. Moreover, I doubt they would believe it. I like a fight. I like a fight in the ring, I like a fight in the boardroom. And I very much like a fight in the bedroom.”

His words sent a flash of heat through her. And they echoed what she had just been thinking moments ago, minus the commentary about the bedroom, so closely in fact she feared for a second he might be a mind reader. Which would be bad indeed, since she had spent an undue amount of time pondering his muscles.

“And what kind of woman do you suppose the press might expect you to be with?”

He began to pace again. “When I choose opponents in the ring I choose them because I know they’re going to give me a good match. I like someone who is clever, strong and fast. I like someone who will make me believe I might lose, if only for a moment. I like a challenge,” he said, his voice rough, sending a shiver through her. “So just be yourself. That should be enough.”

In spite of herself, Victoria felt strangely complimented. But she wouldn’t let him see it. In fact, now that she was aware of it, she wouldn’t let herself feel it. She only needed the approval of one person, the forgiveness of one person, and that was her father.

Sixteen years of perfection erased by one mistake. And every year since desperately trying to regain it.

Her father was the only one who could absolve her.

“I can be myself, Mr. Markin. Effortlessly, as I imagine most people can, but the question is which version of myself would you like?”

His smile turned feral. “Do most people have more than one version of themselves, Ms. Calder?”

“Everyone does.”

“Not everyone,” he said, his deep voice rolling over her in a wave. “Everything that you see now is all that I am. This apartment, this gym, my work. I have been other things—I have been a great many other things. But this is all that’s left.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.” There was something strangely grim about that. And there was something about it that she couldn’t quite believe, either. For some reason, though, she believed that he bought into it wholly and completely. And she was not certain why.

He seemed to think that he had only one layer, that this was the sum total of what he was, as though you could leave versions of yourself behind like an exoskeleton. Victoria knew better. Victoria knew that the part of herself that had betrayed her family still existed. She knew it, and that was why she kept it squashed. Forgetting what you were capable of doing didn’t do anyone any favors.

And she was capable of great stupidity.

She wondered why it was Dmitri Markin thought he had defeated his old demons entirely. Then she wondered if somehow he had. And for a moment she envied him. Because she would never be free of those past versions of herself. All she could do was try to atone for them.

“I know there are all sorts of people who believe in past lives,” he said, “who believe that when we die we are reincarnated as someone or something else. I’m not sure about that. But I do know that sometimes things in this life change you, burn you, leave everything you were as nothing more than ashes at your feet. And when that happens, you have no choice but to walk forward into a new life. Whether you want to or not.”

“That sounds...bleak.”

“Perhaps. But I’ve had many changes since then. All to do with Colvin. And the reason this charity is so important to me. Thanks to him, I am not the man I was.”

“Who were you?” she asked.

“A very bad man,” he said. His words sent a shiver through her, down her spine and to her feet.

“And now you’re a good man?” she asked, her voice thinner than she’d like it to be.

“I wouldn’t say that. But not as dangerous.”

Her heart bumped hard against her chest. “You were dangerous?”

He did nothing more than flash a smile, and this time she was certain she saw a predatory edge to it. “I find it best to leave the past buried.”

Something about the way he said this sent trail of ice down to the pit of her stomach, making her shiver, causing goose bumps to break out on her arms.

“So...I suppose we should finalize things. I have other appointments.” She was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still standing there in a towel, and even more aware of the fact that somewhere over the past couple of minutes she had forgotten. She would love to feel triumphant about that, love to feel triumphant about the fact that she had obviously mastered whatever thing was happening to her when she saw his muscles. But she knew that wasn’t the case. That was oversimplifying. She was distracted, and that was unforgivable. Because the moment you became distracted, you revealed your weaknesses. She had done it in the past, and she refused to do it now. Something about him had drawn her in, made her lose her sense of time and space, and she could not allow that to happen again.

“As do I. When would you propose we make this official?”

“Tonight. We had reservations at a private dining room at a restaurant on the Thames. It was very romantic. We had a lovely time.”

“You really have thought of everything,” he said.

“I have. Rest assured that several people saw us arrive, and several people saw us leave looking very happy. We came and went by way of the back entrance, so it was only restaurant staff who saw us. Do we have an accord?”

He only looked at her for a moment. Then he nodded his head once, his expression unchanging. “We have a deal. Your family company is yours once we terminate the engagement, provided you help me establish my charity.”

“Excellent,” she said, trying not to betray the utter relief that had washed over her.

“So, what would you have done about your little ruse had I refused you?”

She laughed, ignoring the twist of nerves in her stomach. She had done it. She had got his yes. Got him to agree, and now she could leave. She could see the light at the end of a tunnel that was more than a decade long. She could have sagged with relief. Melted straight into a puddle of Victoria on the floor.