“Not long. No more than a couple of weeks.”
“Oh?” she said managing to give Deringer’s retreating back a longing look.
She almost laughed aloud when Leo very deliberately moved to position himself in her line of vision. He also moved much closer which was not at all good for her thought processes or her libido. She looked up at him, at six feet she rarely had to do that to anyone, but he had several inches on her, and was thankfully much broader. His wide shoulders not only blocked her view of Deringer, but of everyone else in the room as well.
“I’ll only be here for a couple of weeks, but I’d like to spend that time with you,” he said.
“Really? I assumed you’d come to town to see Pasha.”
“Pasha understands.”
“You Russians,” Vries said with a shake of her head.
“So are you in agreement?”
“In agreement?”
“Yes. About spending the next couple of weeks with me,” he said.
“I suppose so.”
“What, are you worried about your friend? I can definitely make you forget about him.”
Vries put on her dazzling smile again. Leo’s English was usually flawless, as was his Italian, but when he was irritated or angry, his slight Russian accent deepened considerably.
“I’m not worried about Dare. And, of course, I’ll go out with you.”
“In that case, are you ready to leave?”
“Leave? You just got here,” Vries said, annoyed at what she’d revealed.
“Gianni will understand. Do you have a coat?” he asked with a pointed look at her long white evening dress. It was actually quite demure, save for the deep cutouts on either side revealing quite a bit of the midriff that she fought a never-ending battle to keep toned.
“Must be nice to have so many people who understand you. I have a wrap. Where are we going?” She asked as he took her elbow and began escorting her toward the exit.
“I’m not going to spend my very limited time with you sharing you with others,” he said with an upturned lip. “I have not yet dined, I thought I’d take you out for a late supper if you’re in agreement.”
Vries sighed. Eating at this hour would cost her dearly, but she was hungry. She took the soft cashmere wrap from the doorman, and Leo brushed the other man aside to help her wrap the soft white wool around her shoulders. She looked around expectantly as they walked through the door the doorman held open for them.
“Where are your bodyguards?”
“I left them at home tonight. I wanted to be alone with you.”
Vries came to a dead stop on the walkway outside the palatial mansion. “Are you kidding me? A man in your position can’t just go roaming around without a security detail.”
Leo frowned, his pale brows stood out in the streetlights. “I’m perfectly safe in Milan. Why would you think otherwise?”
Vries realized she’d overplayed her hand. She should have only mild interest, if any at all, in his security. “No reason. You always had them with you before, so I assumed you traveled with them all the time.”
“I do, but not when I’m going to the home of a dear friend. Besides, Pushka is driving me tonight and he’s all the security anyone could ever need,” he said.
Vries looked at the enormous man standing beside the dark luxury sedan. He dwarfed even Leo and his grim expression was enough to frighten small children.
“Pushka?” Working with Pasha and her nearly all-Russian staff Vries had picked up a smattering of Russian, and was perpetually confused by their affinity for nicknames, but surely his name didn’t mean…
“Cannon,” Leo said confirming her suspicion.
Vries raised her brows, but really the man did look like a big gun with his bald head and bulky build. He looked as though he could easily take on anyone foolish enough to attack. Still, it was stupid, bordering on insane for Leo to go without security especially given the current situation. Clearly Lelia’s intelligence was dead-on and he was in dire need of protection. She slid across the silky smooth leather of the car’s seat, making sure to clutch her jeweled minaudière with its lethal arsenal more closely. It would be a miracle if she didn’t have to break it out tonight.
Leo stared at the woman sitting across the table from him, almost not believing that he finally had her where he wanted her. Well not exactly. He suspected that had he asked her to go to his flat right away he would have got that “fuck you” stare that she seemed to have patented. Besides he really was hungry. The osso bucco was divine as always but for once it was not his primary focus. Vries, the Goddess of Milan, Luz de un Girasole. She of many names. It seemed he’d wanted her forever. But the timing was never right. Either one or both were seeing someone, or business would intervene. She was always jetting off to who knew where and so was he. Foolish of him not to make the time, and he was furious that she’d almost got away. He pressed his lips together, incensed as he thought about that model she had been with at Gianni’s. He made a mental note to make inquiries about the man as soon as possible. Now that had come to his senses he would brook no competition for Vries. Really it would be a goddamned shame to kill the man, but damned if he would brook any interference now that she was finally willing to be his. It would probably be prudent to have Pushka look into the situation.
Her hair in its fluffy wild glory gave him a hard-on every time he saw her. He just wanted to get his hands in it, to hold her still as he made her his. The golden brown cast of her skin contrasted with the pure whiteness of her dress and its intriguing cutouts. Her big round eyes with their long spidery lashes had always intrigued him, for there he found a mixture of womanliness and innocence holding tales of deep-held secrets that made him want to know more. No matter how often he told himself that the artlessness he saw in her eyes was out of the question in a sophisticated woman like Vries, it still drew him in a way he’d never experienced before. She had a way of looking up at him through her lashes that with other women signaled flirtatiousness, but her look was analytical and at times quite leery. Still, he couldn’t get enough of it. Couldn’t get enough of her, period. After he spent hours playing in her hair he wanted her mouth with its full bottom lip that looked as though she was in a perpetual pout. He’d had dreams of sucking on that lip for hours, then he wanted it on his cock… He shook his head slowly arresting those thoughts.
“Pasha told me she’d renewed your contract for Girasole. I told her you were still the perfect representative for the brand,” he said.
“Somehow I don’t think you would say that if you didn’t have, shall we say, a personal interest in me.”
“Then you don’t know me. I never mix business and pleasure. Your contract is very lucrative. Some would say extortionate, and while I have no qualms about doing what I have to do to get what I want, I would never risk my company to do so. You are perfect for Girasole because you are just what the name is. You are like the sunflower.”
She laughed. “Really? Other women are compared to roses or lilies of the valley, but I’m a big, loud sunflower,” she said, still laughing. Her southern accent rounded her vowels as she spoke. He liked her like this; relaxed and comfortable. He knew that she usually eradicated that accent from her speech. Knowing she felt comfortable enough with him to speak naturally gave him a great deal of pleasure.
“Elegant. Awe-inspiring. The light of the sun, and its only true lover,” he said.
“Oh my, I had no idea there was a Russian equivalent to the Blarney Stone.”
“Surely you know by now that I never say that which I don’t mean.”
“Not even to get a woman in bed?” she said and there was that look again. Her lashes swept down on the high curve of cheekbones as she gave him an assessing look through them.
“Especially not to get a woman in bed. You will make love with me or not for one reason and one reason only.”
“And what reason is that?”
“Because you feel the same pull that I do. Because yo
u lie awake nights wondering what it would be like to feel my body sink into yours. Because you burn with the need to feel my tongue against your skin.”
“My, you’re a confident bastard, aren’t you? How do you know I feel any of that?”
“Because that’s the way I feel. As though if I don’t have you tonight I will cease breathing.”
He watched as his confident dinner partner looked down at the small salad on her plate apparently at a loss for words. He took another bite of his delicious veal shank, wanting nothing more than to have her under his mouth instead. He was pretty sure he could have her naked in less than five minutes. His gaze traveled to the complicated fastening at the neckline of her dress. Okay, maybe seven, at the very most. It might be easier to just rip the goddamned thing off and buy her another one.
Vries forced her gaze back to Leo’s. She knew her rapid blinking made her look like an idiot but she didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it because…damn. She hadn’t expected him to put it down like that. They’d been dancing around their attraction for over a year now, so she’d anticipated more of the same. Now it was all she could do to think straight and she definitely regretted wearing the clingy white dress as she was sure he could see her arousal pointed right at him in her rigid nipples. Thank God he couldn’t see what was going on below as her nerve endings throbbed in response to his words. Apparently Deringer wasn’t going to be enough of a barrier, but really sleeping with a client was so unprofessional. Lelia would be appalled, but they probably would have wound up just at this point even if he wasn’t her client. That was irrelevant, of course. He was her client, and sleeping with him was a major violation of protocol and her professional ethics. Vries realized she’d been staring at Leo for an uncomfortably long time, to the point of rudeness really.
“So, is that a no?” he said.
Vries frowned, had he asked her a question? Man, she was really out of it. “What?”
“Usually when I ask a woman to go to bed with me they answer either yes or no.”
“I doubt there are many nos.”
“Not lately, but then I’m a man of great wealth.”
“I’m sure women want to sleep with you even if you drove taxis,” she said.
“You think so? You work with beautiful men all the time. My looks are not anything special.”
Vries frowned fascinated by the melancholy note to his voice. He sounded almost jealous. Surely he didn’t think anything of all the male models that hung around her. For one thing, most were gay, besides, compared to him they were boys. Leo, with his imposing presence, graying blond hair and sharp Tartar features was all man. He’d lived an interesting life and it was stamped on every line of his face.
“I’m not going to pander to your ego.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I suspect you know perfectly well why women go nuts for you.”
“Yes, my money,” he said.
Vries rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine. Her second glass tonight. She didn’t want to think about the brutal workout her trainer would put her through to pay for it.
Surprisingly Leo didn’t raise the question of their sleeping together again, and after dinner he escorted her back to the car and his patiently waiting driver. Without a word, he directed Pushka to her flat. When they arrived, Pushka opened the door and she turned to get out.
“I’ve had a lovely evening,” she said, surprised as Leo followed her out of the vehicle.
“I’ll just walk you to your door,” he said.
Conscious of Pushka standing just a few feet away, Vries turned to Leo when they arrived at her door. “As I said, it was a lovely evening. Thank you.”
“What are you doing tomorrow? How about lunch?” he said.
Vries smiled. She had all but cleared her calendar when she received this assignment, but there were still some things pressing. Though not as popular as she’d once been she was still a favorite of a few photographers, and some were a bit put out by the cancellations.
“I have a shoot tomorrow. It’s been awhile since I’ve received a lunch invitation.”
“I wanted to make it breakfast, but didn’t want to be accused of imposing. What time?” he said with a wry twist of his full mouth.
“What time?” she repeated, still intrigued by his lips.
“What time is your shoot?”
“Nine.”
“Will it go all day?”
“Probably.”
“Couldn’t you cancel or re-schedule?” he said with an impatient frown.
Vries rolled her eyes at the man’s arrogance. “Somehow I don’t think you’d be suggesting that if I told you it was for Girasole. And the photographer is Miralena.”
“Dear God,” he said with a melodramatic shudder. “Pasha will have my head. How about breakfast before your shoot?”
“Clearly you’re not Milanese. You know Italians don’t eat breakfast, and certainly not at the crack of dawn,” she said with a laugh.
“Fortunately, I’m not Italian. Frankly I think they’d be a more efficient country if they had something more substantial than coffee and pastry for breakfast,” he said.
“Italian inefficiency, in a country this lovely with such wonderful food why would anyone hurry? Russians have to move fast for fear of freezing to death.”
“When there are millions of dollars at stake, inefficiency is money.”
“Good point, but it’s not going to change, so you might as well relax and have another cappuccino,” she said with a laugh. “And speaking of cappuccino, if you really want to torture yourself why don’t you come work out with me? We start pretty early, though,” she warned. It was nearly midnight now.
“Sounds delightful. I’ve been so busy of late I’ve gotten out of my workout routine.”
“Well, Pietro will certainly whip you into shape.”
Leo nodded. “Should I call for you here?”
“Sure.”
“Until tomorrow lovely Vrieshka. Dream of me,” he said. Then he leaned forward to place an almost chaste kiss on her mouth. Before she could move to deepen it he stepped away. She turned and unlocked the door to her flat. Dream of me, he said. Well that was pretty much a given.
Chapter Four
Vries studied Leo from the back of the gym where she’d retreated to take a water break. As she had suspected, her trainer, Pietro, was particularly brutal this morning. It was as though he had something on her that let him know when she’d deviated from her strict diet and exercise regimen. The gym was small, and unlike most in the area not at all spa-like. Vries liked it because the patrons ignored her and she wasn’t required to dress up to attend. In Milan style was everything, and under most circumstances she loved that about the city, but at six in the morning she just wanted to get her workout in and get out again. She did a languid stretch wincing as her shoulder muscles reminded her that she’d just spent the last twenty minutes pulling Pietro’s favorite torture device, the sled. Leo was using it now, and even with twice the weight his movements were smooth and coordinated. She watched as his muscles rippled in his casual t-shirt and running shorts. His thigh and gluteal muscles bulged as he strained to pull the weighted cart. For a billionaire financier he was a real hard body. No wonder he felt comfortable going without a bodyguard. Of course, muscles don’t stop bullets, she reminded herself, but watching him she had a sneaking suspicion he was more than capable of caring for himself.
Pietro called time and gestured for Vries to resume her workout while Leo took a break. She almost groaned out loud because she knew what was coming next, burpees. Oh how she hated them. Oh how she loved what they did for her body. She put the water bottle down on the floor and walked back over to her trainer, passing Leo on the way. Almost against her will she inhaled deeply as she did so, filling her nose with his clean, masculine scent. Her body responded immediately wanting more.
Leo sat on the cold linoleum floor across from Vries. As they tossed a weighted medicine bal
l back and forth he was intrigued by the glistening sheen the hard workout had brought out on her richly toned skin. More than anything he wanted her to sweat like that for him and vowed that it would happen. Distracted by a small bead of perspiration that meandered in a leisurely course down her cleavage he missed his catch and was rewarded when the ball slammed into his chest with a hard thwat! Vries St. John definitely did not throw like a girl.
“What’s wrong Leo? Are you okay?” she said, frowning in concern.
He raised his hand to rub his chest in the area that still smarted from contact with the ball. “Yes. Yes. I was just lost in thought for a moment. When will this torture session be over?”
“Glad to know I’m not the only one hurting all over. Pietro is in rare form today. We’ll probably do just a little more cardio, then after some stretching we should be done.”
He nodded. “So where would you like to have breakfast?”
“After that workout? I’m scared of anything more fattening than distilled water in a sterilized glass.” She said, flashing the broad smile that always left him stuttering like a boy.
“Sorry, I require more nourishment than that. We could go back to my home for zavtrak. My cook makes delicious blinis and right now I could eat my weight in them.”
“Don’t say that too loudly. Pietro will make me run a marathon if he ever even imagines me eating pancakes of all things. I do love them though, and would love some.”
“Sounds great,” he said, rising to his feet. He leaned down to give Vries a hand up as she rose gracefully from the floor. Pietro stood next to them as they did another round of jumping jacks, interspersed with several burpees. After some lengthy stretches that felt impossibly good after the brutal workout they took advantage of the Spartan shower facilities. Leo stood under the lukewarm water as it pounded down on his aching muscles. The shower looked like something out of war surplus, but what it lacked in heat, it more than made up in force and he groaned again and again as her muscles surrendered to the ablutions. Finally the sparse hot water ran out and he turned off the taps. After toweling briskly and dressing in a pair of running pants and a navy blue t-shirt he walked out into the foyer. Though he expected to have a long wait Vries joined him in less than ten minutes. She looked refreshed from the shower and with her amazing abundance of hair caught up in two neat ponytails —really one day he was going to have to ask how she did that— she looked like a young girl. Fortunately the look in her eye as she gazed at him was all woman. Thank God.
The Lion in Russia Page 3