The Only Woman to Defy Him

by Carol Marinelli

  It is not the agency’s fault. I perhaps exaggerated my real estate experience to them, so please don’t hold them accountable.

  Alina.

  Her hand was shaking as she signed her name and she left the note beside his computer, imagining his reaction when he read it.

  He’d wasted an entire day.

  Demyan Zukov, Alina was certain, wasn’t going to be best pleased.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FRIDAY WAS WRETCHED!

  Alina spent the day waiting for the explosion to come from the bomb that she knew she had set off.

  She knew, even though they had exchanged phone numbers, that Demyan wouldn’t be the one to contact her. All day Alina waited for Elizabeth’s caustic call.

  The worst thing was, it never came.

  No, the worst thing was the promise she’d made to herself if things didn’t go well.

  Alina pulled her paintings out of her wardrobe and some other artwork too, trying to pluck up the courage to make a booking for a stall, but when she heard how much it would cost she didn’t follow through.

  Yes, it was a wretched day and a portion of it was spent hiding behind her laptop.

  She didn’t look Demyan up, instead she tortured herself with another name.

  Her father’s.

  Alina did this fairly regularly but always, till now, it had been to no avail, but there her father was on the screen of her laptop, smiling back at her, his wife and three daughters beside him.

  Two years ago Alina had tried to find him but had gotten nowhere.

  Now, with her mother overseas, Alina’s need to make contact with her father had increased and at last something about him had appeared online.

  It was him.

  Alina stared into dark brown eyes that matched hers.

  Kind eyes, she hoped as her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wasn’t asking for support, or to blaze into his life, Alina told herself.

  She was merely asking to be his friend.

  Alina heard the door open as Cathy, her flatmate, popped home on her lunch break and Alina hurriedly hit send.

  ‘Oh!’ Cathy was there with her boyfriend and clearly a bit put out that they didn’t have the place to themselves. ‘I thought you had a month’s work lined up.’

  Alina hadn’t told her that she would be working for Demyan—Cathy wasn’t exactly discreet.

  ‘It didn’t work out.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Cheer up, something else will come along.’

  Not from the agency, Alina thought, picking up the house phone and ringing her mobile just to make sure that it was working. She couldn’t believe that Elizabeth hadn’t called.

  ‘Will you get paid for yesterday?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Alina more than doubted it.

  ‘Well, at least you’ve still got the restaurant. Are you there tonight?’

  Alina nodded and then held her breath, knowing what was coming next.

  ‘I might have a few friends over when you get back. Just letting you know.’

  Great!

  It would be more than a few people. Cathy had parties all the time and Alina was desperate for a place of her own and was frantically saving towards that goal. Sydney prices, though, were terribly expensive.

  Perhaps she should have just faked it with Demyan for a little while longer, Alina thought as the sound of Cathy and her boyfriend having sex filled the small apartment.

  Demyan.

  She wondered just how cross he was.

  Worse, she wondered if he’d even deign to note her leaving with a shrug.

  He was still there in her mind that evening as she was getting ready for work.

  She pulled on her black skirt and T-shirt and loosely tied back her hair. There was no hope of make-up staying on in a busy restaurant so Alina didn’t bother with it. The restaurant, though exclusive, had a casual ambience and the waitressing staff were all young and friendly. Most of them were students, all of them, actually...

  Except Alina.

  Alina pulled on her sandals and headed for her shift. She took the bus as parking in the city was far too expensive.

  Sydney was beautiful but never more so than now. European royalty was visiting and the new hotel and casino were opening soon and the place throbbed with excitement. Tonight the restaurant would be crammed to bursting with the beautiful and well heeled.

  Before starting her shift, Alina checked her phone, wondering if her father had made contact yet.

  Still no.

  ‘Cheer up, Alina!’ Pierre, the manager, said as he briefed the evening staff on the house specials and dishes of the day. He wasn’t being kind, he was telling her. ‘Our guests don’t need to know that the waitress is having trouble with her love life.’

  Love life? Pierre couldn’t know but that was a rather black joke and there, an hour and a day after she’d written Demyan that note, Alina knew the real reason she’d walked out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Demyan.

  The man himself.

  Yes, Alina loathed confrontation and she’d never known a man as confronting as him.

  As sexually confronting as him, Alina amended as she pushed out a smile and got on with her evening.

  Clearing a table around nine, her mind was so conflicted she wanted to just sit down and put her head in her hands to get it straight.

  Yes, she was naïve and might have acted as if she’d seen it all before yesterday morning when those women had left...

  She just didn’t want to see it all again.

  ‘Alina!’ She could hear Pierre calling to her as she came to a painful truth.

  She was already jealous of whoever Demyan was bedding.

  It had had little to do with work.

  ‘Alina!’ Pierre came over. ‘Leave that and get table four ready.’ Table four was the best one and already taken. Alina glanced over and saw an extremely put-out couple walking past. ‘I had to move them—Zukov is coming here.’

  Alina felt the colour drain from her face.

  ‘Demyan Zukov?’ She had this brief surge of hope that it might be Nadia, she had been here a couple of times for lunch after all, but even before Pierre answered, the smile on his face told Alina the bad news.

  ‘None other.’ Pierre grinned. ‘Oh, my God, he’s here!’

  ‘Pierre...’ Alina started, but what could she say? That she didn’t want to wait at his table? Pierre would simply tell her that she was fired there and then. Pierre was probably going to fire her soon anyway when he found out that she had lied and told Demyan that there was a wedding on.

  The restaurant fell silent for a second as guests realised just who had entered and then there followed a buzz of excitement.

  ‘This is Alina,’ Pierre introduced them, ‘and she will be looking after you this evening, as will Glynn, our wine waiter.’ Alina saw Pierre frown at her less-than-effusive response so she quickly plastered on a smile, though she felt as if she were about to wet her pants.

  ‘Alina.’ Demyan frowned and repeated their very first conversation. ‘That is a Slav name, no?’

  She simply couldn’t answer.

  Instead, Demyan did. ‘Or is it Celtic?’ he mused, as he took his seat.

  ‘Both,’ Alina croaked. She was nearly in tears but still frantically smiling.

  ‘Thank you for accommodating us.’ Demyan turned to Pierre. ‘I know that you are exceptionally busy tonight.’

  ‘We’re never too busy for you, Demyan.’ Pierre blushed, as he gushed, as he flirted shamelessly. ‘Any time.’

  Any time at all.

  ‘Thank you.’ Demyan turned his attention back to Alina, who then had to go through her spiel about the menu.

  ‘What would you
recommend?’

  He’s enjoying this, Alina realised.

  Demyan was.

  At first, he hadn’t recognised her. He’d been far too busy admiring a bottom and tanned, freckled, rather heavy legs, and then Alina had turned around and he’d realised they belonged to her.

  His missing-in-action PA.

  Poor baby!

  That had been his first thought, yet, rather than put her at ease, teasing Alina was the most fun he had had in...

  Ages.

  ‘The lobster in lemon butter sauce—’ she started.

  ‘No,’ Demyan interrupted. ‘I think I’ll go for tenderloin.’

  She heard that word so many times a night; not once did it make her burn, never had it made her loins feel tender.

  Till tonight.

  Still, Demyan was a very good host and turned his attention to his guest, though he did tease her a couple of times during service. ‘What happened to the wedding?’ he asked when she brought the main course, and Demyan glanced at his empty water glass for her to fill it.

  ‘They cancelled.’

  ‘Liar,’ Demyan responded softly, watching her shaking hand overfill his glass. He said it so that only Alina could hear and she turned her burning face to him.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I will deal with you later,’ Demyan said, except he was smiling and so too, for a very brief second, was she.

  Her first genuine smile of the night and Alina didn’t know why, didn’t understand the message in his eyes, for, had Hassan not been there, he might have told her that he would put her over his knee.

  Alina thought herself as clueless at flirting as she was at temping.

  She was doing it, though.

  She knew exactly the moment his eyes were on her, even with her back to him. She could feel it, that was all.

  And when she stretched her back, when she put her hands behind her waist and her bust jutted out a touch, even if it was without deliberate intention, it was for him. Her body, rather than her mind, seemed to know how to play this game.

  It was a dangerous game, though. She knew that. But on what should have been the worst night of an already wretched day, for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, Alina felt like laughing.

  Until he left.

  Glynn had done everything he could to tempt him with dessert wine or cognac but to everyone in the restaurant’s disappointment, all too soon, though respectably late, Demyan and his guest left.

  ‘Off to cause mayhem,’ Pierre sighed, swiping the wallet containing his tip before Alina could and then watching Demyan’s suited shoulders depart.

  Alina was beyond confused.

  He hadn’t told her off, he hadn’t even seemed offended or slighted.

  As they all huddled together at the end of the night, waiting for Pierre to put them out of their misery and tell them how big his tip had been, Alina’s mind wasn’t on the money—instead it was replaying Demyan’s words. I will deal with you later.

  It wasn’t so much what he’d said, more the way that he’d said it, that had brought a flurry of unfamiliar nerves.

  ‘Did you smell him?’ Pierre asked, handing over their envelopes.

  ‘No,’ Alina lied, because she wanted to bathe in a scent named Demyan and then went very pink when Pierre gave out the divided-up tips and she realised how generous Demyan’s tip had been.

  He wasn’t cross.

  It was so warm that Alina hadn’t brought a jacket. She grabbed her bag and though usually she walked quickly to get her bus, tonight she lingered a little, looking at the beautiful Opera House, when usually she dashed past, just enjoying the vibe of a warm Sydney night.

  For once she was going to be reckless, Alina decided. Instead of adding the tip to her savings she was going to put the deposit down for a market stall.

  For her, that was wild.

  She wasn’t petrified of blowing the money, she was just petrified of revealing her work and the appalling vision of no one caring to stop.

  She was going to do it, though, she decided. Tonight he had made her feel just a little bit wild.

  ‘Hey.’ A hand tapped her shoulder and Alina’s first instinct was to walk faster, not because she was scared of a stranger, this was no stranger to her brain for she knew Demyan’s voice, would never forget it, yet instinct told her to run from him. ‘Alina!’ He caught her wrist and turned her around and the scent that had driven Pierre crazy was doing the same to her now. Yes, she wanted to run, for he was more than her senses could deal with.

  ‘I have to get my bus.’

  ‘You’re so not getting a bus.’

  ‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’

  ‘First-day nerves.’ Demyan shrugged. ‘I’m very used to them. I will see you on Monday.’

  ‘No.’ It wasn’t selling the penthouse that terrified her—it was him, it was the way that he made her feel.

  ‘I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘The answer will still be no.’

  ‘I won’t ask again,’ Demyan said. ‘I loathe nagging.’

  ‘Begging,’ Alina corrected.

  ‘I don’t beg,’ Demyan said.

  Nag still wasn’t the right word. Didn’t nagging mean constantly pushing for something the other didn’t want?

  No, he wasn’t nagging, she was simply too scared to say yes.

  ‘Maybe we could go to my hotel and discuss it.’

  ‘No!’

  Oh, my God, Alina thought, he said it so easily. She tried to tear her mind from sex to the conversation in hand but they matched perfectly anyway. ‘Demyan, I can’t work for you. I don’t have any experience.’

  ‘I think you will do very well.’ Demyan said. He was speaking the truth as he looked into brown, caring eyes. Those eyes were the reason that he had not fired her and why he had not called the agency today. It was not a nameless transaction. Selling up was difficult and Demyan had soon realised that Alina would take the care that the memories of his home deserved. ‘Anything you’re not sure of you will speak with Marianna. If she’s a bitch to you, tell her I said not to be.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the agency I’d walked out?’ Alina couldn’t help but ask him.

  ‘No need to. I was always going to ring you tomorrow. I thought I’d give you today to calm down. It didn’t work, though, did it?’ Alina stared into his beautiful eyes now in a way she hadn’t been able to yesterday as his hand brushed hers and then took hold. His breath was on her cheek as energy thrummed in the lessening space between them. ‘I’m not calm either,’ Demyan said, and his hand toyed with hers a little and she almost wanted him to move her palm, her fingers digging into his as she resisted an urge, an urge that had never, till now, existed.

  She wanted to feel him, wanted his hand to guide hers to his groin, and Alina had never known such a feeling.

  She was breathing too fast yet it felt not enough.

  ‘Your name means bright and beautiful.’ Demyan saw her confused blink and he was just a touch surprised too at his own admission that he had looked her name up.

  ‘It means light,’ Alina said.

  ‘Not where I come from.’

  He watched her free hand move and her nails run across her mouth, as they had yesterday.

  And he smiled as he had before, for they had wanted each other even then.

  ‘If your lips itch, it means you will be kissed soon.’

  ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘Where I come from it does.’

  ‘They don’t itch.’

  ‘Are you a compulsive liar, Alina?’

  ‘They don’t itch.’

  They didn’t any more—they burnt. She could feel the heat from his skin on her cheek, she could actually feel his words coming from the mout
h she was now impatient to meet. She moaned in relief as his mouth ceased taunting and it was sublime. A few fumbled kisses and gropes was the sum of Alina’s experience. This, though, was far from fumbled, his directness was heaven. His lips were soft and warm as they pulsed on hers then there was the delicious first brush of his tongue—warmer than summer; she shivered like winter and Alina never wanted it to end.

  Demyan had been waiting long and hard for this but her kiss was as unexpected as his attraction to her.

  God, it was nice, he thought, sinking in.

  Wet but nice.

  He tried to slow her tongue down with his, yet she didn’t read his dance. He could feel the utter inexperience in every clumsy stroke, yet it was so curiously nice.

  So nice that his hand was stroking her thick nipple and wanting more of the same, even as his mind registered that there would be no spanky-spanky.

  What the hell was he doing, necking in the street with a virgin?

  Please, no!

  He didn’t have the time, or inclination, to take his time.

  But, yes, she was a virgin, he was sure of it as his tongue firmly held hers still.

  She felt the pin of muscle in her mouth and her tongue desisted then more slowly curled back to life against his.

  She was so willing and pleasing, an A-plus student, in fact, for her kiss was one a usually bored by now Demyan wanted. His fingers were in her T-shirt and as he peeled back her bra and his thumb grazed her nipple again he felt the moan in her throat. It was pleasing to feel her purr into sexual life, so completely rewarding that he wanted to play a little bit more, yet Demyan resisted.

  He liked her.

  Maybe more than he cared to admit, but while he wanted to linger and continue this delicious perusal, while he wanted that mouth trained by his, he attempted to slow things down. Yet she was harder to get off than red wine on a white rug. His mouth kept going back to hers, swirling in ever-decreasing circles, wondering if he might just give her one come, wondering if he might...wondering what the hell...

  ‘Come on,’ Demyan said, peeling his mouth back, holding her hips. ‘My driver will take you home.’

  He saw the flare of disappointment in her eyes as he retracted the hotel offer.