Maisey Yates - His Diamond of Convenience

“Oh, hell no. I don’t care about that. I’m not the one who made vows. But I did not know she had children.”

In many ways, he preferred conducting his affairs with women who had other attachments. It allowed him as much detachment as he wanted. Which was essential. He didn’t have relationships, he had sex.

He didn’t sleep with his lovers. That required trust, and he didn’t trust the women he had affairs with.

But that was because he didn’t trust anyone.

Victoria made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Yes. Well. In that case you’re practically a saint, aren’t you?”

“The patron saint of vodka and orgasms, maybe.”

Color flooded Victoria’s cheeks. “Odd. I’ve never seen you depicted on the stained glass at mass.”

“Something to do with my excommunication I’m sure,” he said drily.

“I could solve your problems,” she said, twisting the subject expertly.

“By marrying me?”

She chuckled, the sound like a fork on crystal. “Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t actually have to marry you. I would simply need to hang on your arm for a while, then wear your ring for a while after that. Long enough to get things going.”

“You have thought this through.” And she had ambushed him with no warning at all. A smart woman. Were she a burly man and not a fine-boned female she might have made an excellent fighter.

A worthy opponent.

But she was not a fighter, and not his opponent. And was, in this moment, mainly irritating.

“Of course I have. I was hardly going to storm in here without a plan,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

Just for that, he would make her pay. He was not beneath her. Her or anyone else. And he would not allow her to speak to him as if he was.

“Well, sadly for you, you don’t know my schedule all that well. I have somewhere to be soon, and that means I need to go back to my place, shower and change.”

“Well...where is that?”

“Happily for you, just upstairs.” He had a set of apartments above the gym, an odd choice, he knew. This gym wasn’t in the trendy part of town, but it was where he’d got his start when he’d come from Russia to London and it held sentimental value to him.

Even more now that Colvin was dead. The loss of his mentor was a heavy weight around his neck, and being here made him feel...well, like the old man wasn’t entirely gone.

Fanciful garbage he wasn’t normally given to, but he hadn’t been able to let go of this place.

Colvin had given him choices again. Colvin had given him—not his old life back—but a new life. One that consisted of more than grubby bars, threadbare blankets and foam mattresses on cement floors. One that consisted of more than taking blow after blow, washing the blood off in a dirty bathroom in the back of an underground club and going back for more...

Choice was what Colvin had given him. It was what Dmitri wanted to give to the children who would benefit from the charity.

It was what Victoria Calder was slowly tightening her grasp on, and tugging away from him, as she laid out a finely honed argument that showed him two options. Her, or failure. Dishonor or death.

Much like being back on the streets of Moscow.

It made anger fire straight through his blood, a wall of flame that heated him from the inside out. But he would never let her see that.

He knew better than to expose his weaknesses to his opponent.

“You want me to come upstairs while you shower?” she asked, obviously incredulous. Good.

“Unless it’s a problem.”

She sputtered and shook her head. “Oh no. No. Why would it be a problem? Of course it isn’t a problem. You just...lead the way, then.” She waved a manicured hand and he fought the urge to do something shocking. Grab it. Tug her to him. Wrap an arm around her waist and hold her against him. Prove he wasn’t some lackey she could come in and order around.

Because no one had informed Victoria Calder that not everyone leaped to attention at the sound of her crisp accent. He, however, would not. And she would learn quickly.

But damn her for finding a weak point. He was not given to emotional connections. He had one. And she had found it.

“Right this way, then,” he said, not bothering to look at her as he forged through the workout room and to a door that was nearly hidden in the back. He entered in his code on the keypad on the door and he heard the lock give, then he jerked the door open, holding it. “After you, Ms. Calder.”

She shot him a look he was certain was intended to be deadly, but he continued on anyway.

“You will find I am not wounded by icy glares, Ms. Calder,” he said.

Her back stiffened and she stopped midstride.

“I am not trying to wound you,” she said. “That runs counter to my objective.”

“Of marrying me. Yes. It would not do for you to become a widow before we get a chance to start our new, charitable life together.”

She sniffed audibly. “Indeed.” She started walking again, her high heels clicking on the hard floor.

He forced a chuckle and followed her up the stairs, his eyes pinned to her 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.

CHAPTER TWO

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.”