His Best Acquisition: The Russian's Acquisition / A Deal Before the Altar / A Deal with Demakis. Dani CollinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
to come out of hiding. That was so disturbing he didn’t know what else to do but run.
“You’re going out?” she asked without emotion, making it impossible to tell if she was relieved or disappointed.
Her remoteness renewed the fear that had been creeping through him since the early hours. Had he said something revealing in his sleep? Was that why she’d left him for the bed down the hall?
“I’m needed at the office.” He scowled at the briefcase he’d filled like a criminal fleeing the country, as if putting off facing her would change anything. There was no changing what she thought of him, only the disclosure of what that might be. “I didn’t mean to disturb you last night.” He watched her closely, trying to discern what was going on.
“It’s fine.” Her lightness sounded forced. “I needed to go to my own bed anyway.”
He bit back a reflexive Why? Her insistence on sleeping apart from him annoyed him and he didn’t understand the reaction. He usually gave his women separate apartments and left them in the middle of the night, but even that first night when he’d been in a state of utter turmoil, there was something satisfying in knowing Clair was in his bed. He’d looked in on her more than once, baffled by the spell she’d cast over him, but pleased with her presence.
He was a possessive man with possessive urges, he supposed, trying to rationalize how out of sorts he was. But this exaggerated reaction made him more determined than ever to ensure that this arrangement stayed on clearly defined footings. She had a place in his life and it was a narrow one.
“Invitations will be pouring in after last night. I’ll call to let you know where we’re going and what time to be ready.” He collected his briefcase, willing his driver to ring. “I have accounts at all the boutiques on Tverskaya. Ivan will come back after he drops me and you can shop or Lazlo can arrange a private guide if you’d like to tour the city.”
Clair tried not to gape, but she was still trying to process her reaction to last night’s expulsion from his bed and all she could think was, So this is what a mistress does with her downtime.
Logically she understood that a strong man like Aleksy would hate that he’d revealed any sort of vulnerability, so she tried not to let his plan to abandon her cut too deeply. She’d spent hours last night coaching herself not to take any of what happened between them to heart. This wasn’t personal; it was convenience. Sex. Good sex.
She licked her lips, trying not to get off track, but memories still crept through, warming her with insidious desire. She suppressed them, considering the shopping and sightseeing offers. Getting out sounded good, but she didn’t need anything after the spree in Paris. She just wanted to clear her head and remember how to be herself.
“Don’t bother anyone. I’d rather see where my feet take me,” she decided.
His macho eyebrows came together like clashing titans. “You want to walk? Alone?”
The incredible sexism in the remark got her back up. “Do you think I’ll get lost? I’ll print a map before I leave.”
“It’s not safe,” he impressed on her with another stern frown.
Clair dismissed that with a wave. “I’ve lived alone in London for five years.”
“Moscow isn’t London, Clair. Kidnappings are on the rise—”
“Who’s going to kidnap me?” She splayed a hand on her chest, forcing a laugh, but the need to state the obvious gave a surprising pluck against her heartstrings. “I don’t have any family to threaten. Remember?”
“Do you think the paparazzi at the Bolshoi haven’t printed photos of the woman with me last night? Even without that you’re young, pretty, well dressed. You don’t speak the language. Opportunists are out there and you should never, ever underestimate what people will do for money. I don’t.” His scar stood out stark white against his flush of emotion.
Foreboding slithered through her. She knew then that his scar was not the result of a tragically placed ice patch and a broken windshield. Aleksy had been indelibly marked by violence. Internal brakes wanted to screech the whole world to a stop so she could somehow process that, but how? There was no erasing what had happened to him.
A poignant ache flooded her at the same time. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached out with all the familiarity that had developed between them last night. Cupping his jaw, she lifted herself on tiptoes, aware of him stiffening as she leaned into him. Her lips almost brushed the puckered line before he abruptly set her away, jerking his head back.
“What are you doing?”
His rebuff tore her in two. She winced, regretting the lapse in her reserve, but he had no idea how few people ever showed concern for her—and after whatever he’d been through…
“Thank you for trying to look out for me.” She forced the words out.
He tugged the lapels of his overcoat as if he were fitting armor back into place and closed a few buttons. Glancing at his watch, he took a step toward the door, speaking over his shoulder dismissively, “You’ll stay in, then? Or call Lazlo for an escort?”
Her silence made him pause. He turned another weighty frown in her direction.
Clair curled her toes in her slippers. It would be so easy to let her self-reliance crumble and allow this protective, strong-willed, incredibly attractive man to run her life. What about when they were through, though? She’d be back to taking care of herself. She had to hold on to her independence.
“I’m not your kidnap victim.” She tried to sound wry, but for some reason her lips trembled and her heart skipped a beat. “I’ll go out if I want to.”
“Despite the risk,” he snapped, temper sharpening his voice.
“It’s not that great a risk!” She folded her arms, stopping short of saying he was overreacting. Obviously his experience had taught him differently. Determined to hold her own, she reasoned, “When you want to do something, who do you ask? No one, right? Same here.”
His jaw tightened. He was used to everyone answering to him, that much was clear. The precisely machined, titanium wheels in his head seemed to whir at top speed as he sought a suitable rejoinder.
“I’m not trying to be obstinate,” she said, checking her flawless manicure.
“But you won’t give me your word.”
“It would be a lie.”
With a hiss of impatience, he set down the briefcase, its weight hitting the tiles with a hard thunk. His mobile sounded and he answered with a staccato burst of Russian before tossing the device on the hall table and shedding his overcoat, his stare holding hers with antagonistic force.
Clair swallowed and fell back a step. “What?”
“You won’t stay at home as I’ve asked, so now I have to take action, don’t I?” He began loosening the knot at his throat.
“What does that mean? You’re going to tie me up?” Genuine alarm made her retreat several feet in the face of his deliberate advance.
“It means I have to change and go with you.” He yanked his tie free and draped it over her shoulder as he passed, voice pithy and displeased, but he still made her grin as he said, “Save the tying up for after dark.”
* * *
Clair reminded herself she was not behaving like a spoiled socialite. She was a fully grown adult making her own decisions, and Aleksy could do the same. She wasn’t keeping him from his work. His pacing and brooding would not make her feel guilty.
She refused to set herself up for criticism either, so she took the precaution of checking the weather even though the sky was intensely blue and the sun glanced brilliantly off Moscow’s blanket of snow. The modiste in Paris had tut-tutted about Moscow’s temperatures,