Читать книгу The Platinum Collection: A Convenient Proposal - Maisey Yates - Страница 16

CHAPTER EIGHT

EVERYTHING WAS GOING according to plan—the tables were set perfectly, an elegant dinner laid out before exceedingly happy guests. Victoria was thrilled with the outcome of the gala, and with the turnout. The one thing she was less than thrilled about was Dmitri. Not because he hadn’t dressed the part, but because he had, and so convincingly. He was almost a stranger tonight in a well-fitted tux that molded so perfectly to his masculine physique it had clearly been made for him.

His tattoos were covered, his muscles only hinted at, and yet, he still didn’t appear quite tame. She was glad she could see the hint of wildness because civilized Dmitri was off-putting. She didn’t know why he was off-putting, only that he was. She had become strangely attached to the surly, feral man she had spent the past couple of days with. The man who had kissed her, touched her out on the balcony last night.

She thought of her clutch purse, sitting in the cloakroom, containing the leather cuff Dmitri had given her earlier. She intended to hold on to it forever.

So why she had brought it with her into the ballroom she had no idea. Because she wouldn’t be needing it. Because she would not be returning it to him.

But you want to.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, hoping to cool the arousal that was pouring through her body. She couldn’t dwell on this. Could not give in to the attraction she felt for him.

She also did her best to ignore the sound of her shoes on the marble floor. Her rather saucy high heels that she’d never given a second thought to before Dmitri.

Shoes that begged a man to bend her over furniture, he’d said.

No.

She did her best to ignore the voice that was growing increasingly louder inside of her. The voice that was starting to question her resoluteness. Starting to wonder why it would be such a bad idea to just give in to what she wanted.

Because, the more sensible part of her answered, I’ve spent too long forcing myself into this mold to break out of it now.

Well, that sounded like her. Clinging to something out of sheer bloody-mindedness and no other reason.

What about fear? Is fear a good enough reason?

Yes, she had decided fear was a good enough reason. And she ignored the kick of disappointment in her gut as she reaffirmed her decision. She was keeping the leather cuff with her. He was never getting it back. Good luck charm or not. The slight twinge of guilt she felt about it was ridiculous, because that was why he had given her the cuff in the first place. She was certain of it. To make her feel guilty, to make her feel as if she should give it back, rather than holding on to it because of what it was, not because of what she wanted.

Of course, that wasn’t how he’d said it.

Leaving the decisions entirely up to her, now that she thought about it, was the worst part. Because if she indulged herself, she was to blame. Because if she deprived herself, it was because of her. And she couldn’t blame anyone else. It was the only good thing about Nathan, and the incident with him.

She’d been sixteen, and while she took her share of the blame, rerouting her entire life based on her mistake, she logically knew that a good portion of the fault lay with him. Because he had been adult. Because she’d had no experience with men.

She hadn’t realized until this moment, standing in a crowded ballroom, just how much blame she did allow Nathan to bear. And how that blame spared her a good portion of the pain she would feel otherwise.

It made her wonder if what really held her back was fear. Fear of rejection. That she might take her clothes off for a man again and see nothing but pity. See that while he’d wanted to use her, he didn’t really want her body at all.

That there was something wrong with her, with it. With everything she was inside and out.

She couldn’t stand that.

She took a deep breath. This was not the time to be thinking about that. She had to circulate. More importantly, she had to find her fiancé and circulate with him.

She looked across the ballroom and saw him standing next to a table with a tray of champagne positioned on it, looking out of place.

There he was, the Dmitri she knew. He looked too large for the space, too wild. And that was precisely what drew her to him.

She started to cross the room and he looked up, meeting her eyes. He schooled his expression into one of perfect civility and leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to come to him, his movements fluid like a panther. Or more terrifying, like a banker. When she made her way to where he was, he didn’t speak, instead taking her hand in his and lowering his head to kiss her knuckles.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from focusing too intently on the press of his lips against her skin. On what it had felt like to have his lips touch her other places. She cleared her throat. “Who are you? And what have you done with Dmitri?”

He released her hand. “Are you not pleased?”

“I’m pleased. You look every inch the suave sophisticate. How can I not be pleased?”

“You do not seem pleased.”

She lifted her shoulder. “I’m possibly a little bit confused. You seem different.”

“Because I’m not shirtless and dripping with sweat?”

She swallowed hard. “Perhaps. Perhaps it is that.” It was, partly. Because the wilder parts of him were so well concealed right now, and she rather admired those parts.

Not because they matched her in any way, but because they so weren’t her. Because they were so far from her reality. They were like everything good and lush. Refreshing in a dry wasteland of parties, crystalline conversation and self-denial, of which she had grown exceedingly weary.

Just then she felt very tired. Tired of being good. Tired of the long road to atonement. Tired of being afraid.

Tired, quite frankly, of being a virgin.

She would do anything right at this moment to go back to the moment on the balcony when his hand had skimmed over her curves and she had felt nothing but desire. When she had felt no guilt, no trepidation, nothing but need. When the voices in her head had been completely blocked out in favor of the heat that was coursing through her body.

And her mind was back on the cuff that was in the cloakroom in her bag.

No.

“So—” she snagged a glass of champagne from the nearby tray “—how do you find the party so far?”

“It is going well. I’m not particularly looking forward to giving my speech, but I feel prepared.”

“You are prepared.” Much more prepared than she had imagined he could be for something like this.

“And you look surprised.”

“I am, perhaps, a little bit surprised.”

“Don’t be—this was your idea.”

She looked away from him. “I suppose my surprise comes from the fact that you listened to me.”

“Well, I did enlist your services. And your hand.”

She lifted her hand, causing the yellow diamond on her finger, which she was starting to like, to glisten in the light. “More like I enlisted yours,” she said.

“But I agreed that you could be of use.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I’m of use,” she said, lowering her hand.

“Not exactly the use I’m hoping for yet.”

“Stop,” she said, ignoring the flush of pleasure that went through her. She should be angry at him. She should not find him sexy.

The music stopped playing, and the emcee running the event went to the front of the room and started doing an introduction for Dmitri.

For some reason her stomach went tight. It wasn’t possible she was nervous for him, was it?

No, not that. She was nervous because she needed it to go well. Because he needed to say the right thing, or else all of this would be pointless. She was here to help him, and she really did want this to succeed. She didn’t like failing, even when the cause wasn’t hers.

Dmitri downed the rest of his champagne quickly, then set the glass down on the table next to them. Unthinkingly, she reached up and straightened his tie, her fingertips brushing his skin just above his shirt collar, sending lightning shooting through her. She cleared her throat. “You’ll do fine.”

A smile curved his lips, and yet she could see that he was strained. “Of course I will. I win every fight I step into.”

He walked away from her toward the front of the room, taking his position on the stage. And then he began to speak.

“I would like to thank you all for coming here tonight. I would like to thank most especially my beautiful fiancée, Victoria Calder, for arranging such a civilized event. If left to my own devices you would all be eating cocktail weenies from a buffet.” That line elicited laughter from the audience. “I am not known for my sophistication and manners—that much is true. What I am best known for is my fighting. Times have changed for me—my life has changed. But what has not changed is the foundation I was built on. Things that I learned under the mentorship of Colvin Davis. A native of New Orleans, Colvin came to London to change his fortune, then he traveled to Russia looking for champion fighters and found...me. A disappointment, I would think. But he saw my potential. What happened after that changed life for both of us.” He shifted his position at the podium, and Victoria held her breath, willing him to keep talking. To keep going. To keep fighting. She could see his discomfort, but she imagined the audience didn’t. He had a good mask. But she knew him well enough to see beyond it. When had that happened? And why?

He continued. “The values he instilled in me were the values that enabled me to become not only an award-winning fighter, but a successful businessman. He gave me control when I had none. He helped me manage my anger when anger was all I had. He gave me life when before all I had was survival. This is what I want to offer the children who come to the gyms I hope to establish with this charity. A place with mentors, a place for them to learn patience. To learn to protect themselves. And the values to know when to use it. An important part of martial arts is the control you learn along with it, and it is that control that changed my life. I hope you will allow me to pass this on to others. I hope you will allow me to change life for these children the way it was changed for me. I hope you will be moved to give generously.”

It was completely silent in the room, not even the sound of clinking cutlery on plates breaking the reverie that had settled over them. “I know my reputation has not always been exemplary. I have enjoyed my fame, my money. Coming from poverty, having access to so many new things...it turned my head. But Colvin brought me from the darkness, and without him I would not be here standing before you. And without Victoria Calder I would not be here tonight.” He gestured toward her and all eyes were now on her. She smiled, easily, never finding it a challenge to play to a crowd. And yet, this felt different. This was affecting something in her chest, making her feel things. For him. And she would use it now. Use it to make this look real. He was lying now, giving her credit where none was due, and he was doing it to lend validity to a charity that was coming from his heart, not hers. She wouldn’t fail him now. It seemed essential somehow. As if this moment was pivotal. As if it somehow overshadowed the mistakes of the past, the present large and full, more important than it had been in years. With the past looming large and the future her hope, now was so often lost. But not in this moment.

“It is she who inspired me to take what assisted me in bringing it to the world. She who inspired me to use my gifts to help others. I will stop boring you now. Enjoy your dinner, enjoy your dancing, enjoy your evening.”

There were applause and Dmitri walked down from the stage, making a beeline for the back of the room, and for her.

Victoria was about to say something to him, about to compliment him on his performance, when the band began to play again.

He did not let her speak. Instead, he extended his hand to her. She took it and she found herself being drawn in close to his body.

“And now, my dearest fiancée,” he said, “I think you should dance with me.”

She should have been the one to suggest dancing, considering she was supposed to be the bastion of manners and grace. She had not expected for Dmitri to be the one to make that overture. But then, she had not expected he could look so good in a suit. So, he seemed to be offering up surprises all over the place.

She smiled, acutely aware that all eyes were on them. “Of course.”

She allowed him to lead her out to the center of the dance floor, forced herself to relax against his body as he pulled her into his arms. Her breath caught as he leaned in, his breath fanning over her cheek. “I should like to avoid as much social interaction as possible.”

She let out a nervous laugh, strangely disappointed by the fact that his asking her to dance was merely a diversion. Because he had made such a romantic statement in his speech, she had no doubt that they would not be interrupted out here on the dance floor. People would be content to simply watch them lost in their apparent bubble of love.

“A room with five hundred people may not be the best venue for solitude.”

He placed his hand on her lower back, tightening his hold on her. “Perhaps. But this is what we came here to do, isn’t it?” he asked.

“And so far, I think we have done it very well.” She didn’t know why, but she wanted to reassure him. Perhaps because she knew that giving the speech had been outside his comfort zone, and yet he had done it.

“A compliment?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Their dancing was little more than swaying to the music while holding each other, and she found it slightly disconcerting. Because it seemed rather less like dancing as an activity and rather more like something people chose to do if they wanted to touch each other in public and could not think of another socially acceptable way to accomplish that.

“You have a way of taking a tone that sounds a bit like a disapproving schoolmistress.”

“Not the sort of mistress I’m supposed to appear to be.”

“I think not.” He lifted his hand and cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re supposed to appear to be the sort of mistress who warms my bed, not one who sends me to bed alone without supper.”

“It’s a good thing that we are putting on a very convincing show, then,” she said, looking away from him to try to gauge the reactions of those still sitting at the tables. He tightened his grip on her chin, preventing her from keeping her focus away from him.

“Perhaps you should give me a kiss.”

Her heart slammed against her chest. “I thought you weren’t going to seduce me.”

“I’m not.” He slid his thumb along the outer edge of her lower lip. “I am simply keeping up appearances.”

She suddenly became acutely aware of her mouth, and her lips felt exceedingly dry. She hadn’t been aware of that at all only a moment ago, and now it was all she could think about. That she needed badly to moisten her lips. Ridiculous. And she felt too self-conscious to do it. Even more ridiculous.

Still, she found herself running her tongue along the surface of her lower lip, then her upper lip. He shifted his thumb higher, and something wicked overtook her, something that she would not have ever said lurked inside of her, not even at her deepest, most hidden depths. But apparently, it did. She stuck her tongue out again, letting the edge of it touch his thumb, the sharp tang of salt from his skin a force that rocked her body.

Their eyes clashed and held. “Do you know what you are inviting?”

She nodded slowly. “I think I do.”

She raised her hand to touch his face, and he caught it, pulling it back down to her side. “You can’t be asking for sex, darling. Because you have not given me what I require.”

Her breath caught. Of course. That little leather wristband that would signify her freely given choice. That would have to be given to him in a thinking moment, not a feeling moment. That would drastically cool the heat between them, giving her time to reconsider. And he knew that, which was why he had done it. She chose to see clearly now and without ulterior motive. Just now she was opting to look at it at face value.

“We have to stay for another hour.” They could not leave any earlier than that—it was impossible. “The leather cuff is in my purse, which is in the cloakroom. I’m going to give it to you on our way out.” Her words were rushed, and she could barely believe she had spoken them even after they had left her mouth. Could hardly believe that she was committing to this.

But why not? Why not? Nothing she had ever done so far had been able to atone for the sins of her past. She had been good; she had been the best daughter she could possibly be. She had not caused any trouble, had dated no one but a prince in the ensuing years since her one very bad decision. And what had it got her? Nothing. At least, nothing for her. But here she was now on the cusp of her redemption, knowing that the return of London Diva would restore her to the proper place in her family. And knowing for sure that nothing else would.

She had let one man destroy her feelings about her body, her sex, her feelings. Had let him ruin her relationship with her father.

Then she had hidden every part of herself she’d decided was wrong and had sought to prove to her father that she had moved past her youthful mistakes, had sought to prove to herself that she was smarter, stronger.

But in the end her father didn’t care about that. He didn’t care whether or not she got the business back by striking a business deal, or by trading her body. He would never have cared if she had married a prince, or merchant. He would never forgive her, not really. He would never see her the way that he once had.

That was all very clear to her now.

No one cared but her. Everyone had moved on but her.

And with that strange feeling of sadness and freedom roaring through her, she knew her decision had been made. There was no future with Dmitri. But she was okay with that. She didn’t need a future with him; she just needed a future for herself. One that wasn’t for her father, one that wasn’t in response to Nathan.

She would start tonight. With this decision. With this step forward. Reclaiming something that she would have had long ago if she hadn’t allowed her mistake to define her.

“Be very certain,” he said.

“Do I strike you as someone who doesn’t know her mind, Dmitri?” she asked, raising a brow and keeping her tone arch.

“No.”

“I thought not.”

“And now we only have to wait an hour.”

Her stomach constricted, but it wasn’t nerves having their way with her right now. No, it was excitement. Lust. Lust that she was finally, for the first time, embracing.

“Yes,” she said, “an hour.”