The Platinum Collection: A Convenient Proposal. Maisey Yates
shapely ass. For now, he wouldn’t focus on the feeling of entrapment that was winding itself around his throat. He would focus on her skirt. That pencil skirt she was wearing was a gift. He’d rarely appreciated what well-cut, high-class clothes could do when fitted just right to a woman’s curves. He typically aimed for obvious targets, not hidden gems like this one.
Right now he was rethinking that.
Then she paused and turned to him again, one pale brow arched, and he immediately remembered why, in spite of how lovely their asses looked in pencil skirts, he didn’t go for women like her.
He liked a good time. He liked a simple time.
Work was hard. Life was hard. Sex, in his opinion, should be easy.
And nothing about Victoria Calder said easy.
“Did you have something else to say, Ms. Calder?” he asked.
She pinched her lips together. “No.” Then she turned and continued on up the stairs.
She stopped in front of the closed door at the top of the staircase, her hands clasped in front of her, fingers curled around the strap of the bag she seemed so proud of.
He positioned himself behind her very purposefully and leaned in, reaching past her to the keypad on the wall, entering a different code from the one he had put in outside. He could feel her indrawn breath, could see the way that it caused her shoulders to rise, then stiffen. He felt a smile curve his lips as he lingered, his fingers still hovering over the buttons after he had finished entering the code, taking a pause before he opened the door.
He didn’t like being surprised. He liked even less the thought that this woman might think she could come into his facility and start issuing demands. He was not a dog waiting to be brought to heel, and she would realize that soon enough.
The power was his. Even if he was intrigued by the idea of making use of her and her offer, it did not mean that she had the upper hand. She had already revealed that she had more at stake than he did, and he was prepared to use that against her.
Because no matter that Dmitri Markin had long ago left the ring, he was a fighter. And everyone who entered his territory was an opponent as far as he was concerned. Victoria was no different. He would not hesitate to find her weaknesses so that in future, if need be, he could exploit them.
“After you,” he said, keeping his hand firmly braced on the door, holding it open.
Victoria didn’t look at him; rather she walked straight ahead and into the room. She was an icy creature, and prideful. It intrigued him. It also provided him with a weakness. She prized her control—that much was clear. It was connected to her pride—that much was also clear. And now he had found her pressure point.
He walked in the room after her, closing the door behind him. It was a sparse room, but much more upscale than one typically anticipated after seeing the gym below. He’d had it remodeled a year or so ago as a place where he could go and be free from the press. Free from any ex-flames. Free of any expectation. That was what the gym had always been for him.
No one bothered him here. At least until Victoria Calder had showed up.
Victoria continued more deeply into the room, her high heels clicking on the high-gloss black tile. She was looking around, likely thinking the same thing he’d been observing. That this room was not what one would expect upon entry to the gym. Clean lines, modern furniture, black, white and stainless steel everywhere. No windows. He was buried too deeply within the gym. And he found he liked it that way. A way to truly be cut off from the outside world, something he’d lacked in his teenage years.
He pushed open the bathroom door. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” He walked inside and stripped off his clothes, not bothering to close the door behind him as he moved to turn the shower on.
If Victoria wanted to beard the lion in his den, she would have to accept the consequences.
HE HADN’T CLOSED the door. Victoria stood in the middle of Dmitri’s spotless, ultramodern apartment, still holding on to her purse as if it was a lifeline, not quite certain of what to do next.
She could hear the water running, assumed that he was now in the shower.
And he had not closed the door.
He was naked. Wet.
It was inappropriate.
And very likely, all a part of him trying to get the upper hand. His behavior absolutely reeked of that. And she was determined that she wouldn’t let it work. She did not respond to intimidation tactics. No matter what form they took. There was no doubt in her mind that this was, in fact, an attempt at intimidating her. Too bad for him it wouldn’t work. A little bit of wobble in her knees wasn’t going to put her off.
But while she might not be intimidated, she was a little bit uncomfortable. Because her mind kept going back to naked and wet. Which was unusual. More than unusual, it was almost unheard of. She’d been cured of base lust very early on. Once she’d realized how it could be used to manipulate, it had lost its luster.
She let out a heavy breath, feeling exasperated at the turn this had taken. Not that she had expected him to accept her proposal on sight. But she hadn’t expected all this, either.
She was determined to play it cool, determined that she would not allow him to put her on her back foot.
And just as she had made the resolution firm, it broke apart like a sand castle being hit by a wave. Because just then Dmitri reappeared, water droplets rolling down his chest, a towel wrapped around his hips. If she had been paying attention and not been so busy gathering her determination, she might have realized that he’d turned the water off. But she hadn’t. And he had. And he had managed to surprise her again. Of course, she wouldn’t let him see that.
She swallowed hard, her throat parched. Which was odd since he was...wet.
“Do you own a shirt, Mr. Markin?” She looked him up and down, doing her best to keep her expression disinterested. “Because I have yet see evidence of it.”
“I do, but I don’t always see occasion to wear one. Does it bother you?”
“Not at all. I was merely concerned. You are a billionaire, so obviously I assumed that you were more than able to cover the expenses in your life. But if not, I’m happy to take up a collection. Charity is after all my area of expertise.”
He chuckled, the sound dark and rich, and far more off-putting than she would like to admit. “Your concern is very touching. However, you should not worry yourself with my clothing needs, as I find they are adequately met. But you do seem to know one thing I am in want of, and that is a better public image. I am wondering who your sources are.”
Victoria tapped her chin. “A lady never tells. Anyway, don’t worry too much about it. Your part in this will be minimal, all told. As I said, we won’t even really have to get married.”
“I only need to buy you a ring, is that it?”
She arched a brow. “If the implication is that I might be doing this to get a piece of jewelry out of you, then allow me to inform you that you’re very wrong. I have my own money, Mr. Markin, and I’m not in need of yours. I could buy my own damned ring.” She said the words crisply, knowing that she was betraying her annoyance.
After the loss of London Diva her father had withdrawn his support—both emotionally and financially. Her mother had left so long ago Victoria could barely remember her, but it hadn’t mattered because she’d had her father. She’d been the center of his world. And then...it was as though a veil had been torn from his eyes and he’d seen her, not as his princess, but as a flawed, craven creature, who wasn’t even related to the little girl he’d once cherished.
Oh, he hadn’t stopped speaking to her. Hadn’t thrown her out of the house, or openly shamed