by Laura Hart
“Do you like the display?” came a vaguely familiar voice, making her jump slightly. She looked up and was stunned to see him standing next to her, him being none other than Max Orlov, her savior of several days ago. What in god’s name was Max doing here, and why did he have to look so damn good? This morning he was wearing a nicely fitted suit that she guessed to be Italian, and he still looked very… full—his hair loosely full, his eyebrows full, his lips full, and, this morning, his eyes looked very full of interest as they studied her.
“Should I take your silence as a yes?” he continued. “The window obviously leaves you speechless.” He gave her a killer smile.
Sadie suspected she might be blushing ever so slightly, so she hurried to move the discussion away from herself. “I’m wondering what the stone is in that gorgeous little box? Do you know anything about it?”
“I know a little,” he replied, still smiling, and she had the most uncomfortable feeling he was laughing at her. “Come in and I’ll show you the box.”
Sadie looked startled. “Do you have a connection with this place?”
Again, that killer smile. Max reached inside his inner suit pocket and took out a silver card holder, then opened it and handed her a card.
Maxim Alexandrovich Orlov
House of Orlov, Fine Gems and Jewelry
The Galleria, Houston, TX 77056
Sadie blinked in surprise and then stepped back so she could see the name of the shop whose window had attracted her. There it was, House of Orlov, in beautiful black and gold lettering, with a gold eagle next to the name.
“This is your shop?” she asked, barely believing that for the second time he’d managed to so totally take her by surprise.
“It's my family's, but I’m responsible for the American part of the business, which is quite new. We’re just coming into the market here.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but it’s all that came to her mind.
Max motioned with his hand as he again invited her to enter, and this time she did. It wasn’t a large store, but there was a richness to the décor, and she smiled at a second man, also impeccably dressed, who was watching her and who nodded his head at her.
Max offered her a velvet-covered chair before turning and saying something quietly to the other man in a language Sadie didn’t recognize. Then he unlocked the front display window, took out the little box in question, and handed it to Sadie.
“It’s malachite,” he said as she took it carefully and studied it. “Malachite has been used in Russia for centuries in both the decorative arts as well as in jewelry, but its history is actually several millennia old.”
“I’ve seen malachite before, but it was darker and more patterned than this. This is beautiful, almost like jade.”
“It’s very fine quality, yes,” he agreed, watching as she turned it around in her hands. Then she looked up and asked, “Are you from Russia?”
“I am,” he replied, and then, seeing the look on her face, added, “Is that a problem?” He looked amused, and, once again, she had the unsettling feeling that he was laughing at her.
Before she could answer, a woman wearing a black silk dress entered from the back carrying a beautiful enamel tray with two silver pitchers, each with a warming candle under it, two glasses set into ornate silver holders with handles, a small plate of lemon slices, a silver bowl of sugar cubes, and a small, silver pitcher of milk. There were also two silver spoons and two cocktail-size linen napkins.
Max took one of the glasses, poured a small amount of what appeared to be a thick liquid into it, and then looked questioningly at Sadie. “How strong do you like your tea?”
Sadie hesitated. She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, so she shrugged slightly. “Normal, I guess. Not too strong, not too weak.”
Max smiled and poured hot water over the thick liquid and then stirred it. “What would you like in it?”
“Sugar, please.”
Max picked up small silver tongs and dropped a sugar cube into the glass and then asked, “Another?” His eyebrows seemed to go up with his intonation.
“Yes, please.” He added a second cube, stirred again briefly, and then handed her the glass in its holder and a monogrammed napkin.
“Thank you,” she said weakly, feeling as if she’d fallen through a rabbit hole. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been calmly looking at windows in the Galleria, and now she was sitting on a velvet chair in a salon-like little shop surrounded by beautiful things and being served tea ever so properly by one of the sexiest men she’d ever encountered. Max repeated the process for himself, adding lemon as well as sugar, and then he sat down on a chair similar to Sadie’s.
“What was the first thing you put into the glass?” she asked, puzzled by what he’d done.
“Tea concentrate. In Russia we frequently make a tea concentrate and then combine it with water so that each person can have the tea exactly the strength he wishes. The more water you add, the weaker it becomes.”
“Oh.” And there it was again, that scintillatingly clever response she seemed to fall back on when in Max’s presence. “Do you ever use a samovar?”
It was Max’s turn to look surprised. “Most Americans don’t know about samovars. Why would you ask that?”
“My father’s a humanities professor, and he spent a year in Greece. I spent some of that time with him, and we traveled when we could. We saw samovars in Turkey and Bulgaria, but we were told they were used in Russia, too.”
“Interesting.” It wasn’t just a polite word. Max’s eyes were studying her with genuine interest, and it was making her uncomfortable, so she decided to change the subject.
“How long has your shop been here? I don’t remember ever seeing it before.”
“We’ve only been open not quite three months. This is our first active location in the States, although we’re currently negotiating a space in the Dallas Galleria.”
“So, do you have a big store back in Russia?”
Max smiled again—that smile that seemed to say that something was amusing. “I don’t know what you consider big, but we have a showroom in St. Petersburg, which is my family’s home. We also have a shop in Moscow and representatives in other major cities.”
“Oh.” It’s a good thing she didn’t have to pay a fine for her overuse of that word today.
Max offered her more tea, but she declined, so he took her empty cup and put it back on the tray. “I was just getting ready to go get some lunch when I saw you at the window. Might I persuade you to join me?”
Sadie suddenly looked cautious. This was not how she’d expected her day to go. The idea of going to lunch with this mysterious and too-sexy man completely unnerved her, so she looked at her watch and then shook her head. “I should probably be getting back to Galveston.”
“Have you already eaten?” he persisted, still looking at her intently.
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Then you can nibble on some small thing while I eat my own lunch.” He seemed to think the subject was closed, and Sadie didn’t know whether his presumption made her angry or weak-kneed. To tell the truth, it was a little of both.
“I really shouldn’t,” she said with less than full conviction.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Damn him! Why did he have to keep smiling at her that way!
“Where are you going to eat?” she asked, aware that she’d just all but capitulated.
“Wherever you’d like. What’s your favorite Galleria restaurant?”
She hesitated again. What in god’s name was she doing going to lunch with this dangerously sexy man who was awakening every tiny, dormant ounce of ‘female’ that she’d not used for several years now? This was obviously her punishment for having been careless with her bag last weekend: The world’s sexiest man was now edging his way under her tent flap.
“I’m not sure I’d call it my favorite, but I always like the seafood at The Oceanaire. I usually just get appetizers the
re, though, because it’s kind of expensive, and anyway I like their appetizers best.”
“The Oceanaire it is,” he said with finality. “And it’s my treat, so there’ll be no talk of prices.” He turned to speak with the other man who had recently returned to the front area, and then he motioned to her with his hand and held the door for her as they left the shop.
“No,” exclaimed Sadie suddenly, stopping abruptly after a few steps. She looked at Max, who also stopped and looked at her with a question on his face.
“No, what?”
“No, I won’t let you pay. I can pay for myself.”
And there was that smile again. Was she being tested?
“I’m quite sure you can pay for yourself, but I’ve invited you as my guest. The rules about guests are quite clear, at least in my country. It’s insulting to a host to not accept his hospitality.”
Sadie still wasn’t moving, so Max looked at her curiously. “Why is it a problem if I take you as my guest?”
Ordinarily this would have been an opening for Sadie to hold forth on her beliefs but standing in the corridor of the Galleria with Max’s intent gaze on her was a bit unnerving, and, to be honest, she knew he had a point. Every case of a man buying a woman a meal wasn’t about control.
“All right,” she said simply as she started walking again. This might well go down in her book as one of her most uncomfortable days ever, especially since adding to her discomfort about going anywhere with Max was the vague feeling she had that she was somehow underdressed. In fact, she looked perfectly fine for the Galleria in her tan linen pants and simple sleeveless white top, accessorized with a twisted leather belt and leather sandals, but Max gave off an aura of perfection that was slightly unnerving.
I can get through one meal, thought Sadie to herself as she tried to keep up with his long stride, and, on the upside, I won't need to cook anything tonight.
You Can Call If You Want
They didn’t say anything more on the short walk to the restaurant, but once they were seated, Max smiled at her again. “When I got up this morning, I had no idea I was going to have lunch in the company of such a charming companion.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, not sure what response was required. The guys she usually spent time with didn’t say things like that. In fact, they were much more likely to say something like, “Do you have any money with you? I left my wallet in the car.” Somehow, she couldn’t imagine those words coming out of Max’s mouth, but she wasn’t sure whether that was a plus or a minus.
She busied herself studying the menu with great interest so she didn’t have to look at him, but once she’d given her order and the server had taken the menu, she had no more cover. She wondered, with a slight feeling of panic what she was going to talk about for the next hour.
“So,” began Max, obviously not having the same problem, “tell me about yourself. You said your father is a humanities professor, but what about yourself? What do you do?”
Oh god! How was she supposed to explain to this man what she did? She shook her head slightly and said, “Different things. I write a blog and I proof student papers, and sometimes I do some freelance marketing writing for small companies.”
He looked at her with interest. “That sounds like a very independent agenda.”
“So?” She hadn’t meant for it to come out quite so defensively, and Max looked at her in surprise.
“It was an observation, not a criticism,” he responded, wondering to himself why she was so touchy about her own work. “Do you consider ‘independent’ to be a negative?”
Well, thought Sadie, he certainly jumps directly in. No small talk here. His piercing eyes were watching her intently, and she squirmed a bit in her chair. “No, it’s totally not a negative. In fact, I think it’s a huge compliment to be called independent.”
Max’s raised eyebrows seemed to say he was skeptical, but his manners kept him from arguing with this woman he barely knew, so he changed the subject. “Are you a native of Galveston?”
“Partly. My grandparents used to live in Galveston, but I was born in Houston. After my parents got divorced, my mother moved to Galveston, and, since I was only ten at the time, I went along with her. Now I have my own place there, but I come into Houston a lot, too. Sometimes I have work-related business, but also, my dad lives here, so I visit with him and his wife several times a month.”
“I see. I guess if you write a blog, you can do that from anywhere.”
“It’s what I was working on the morning my bag was stolen,” she admitted, bringing up that unfortunate incident for the first time today.
“Aha.”
The ‘aha’ seemed laden with meaning, but she was saved from having to figure it out by the arrival of their food. True to her earlier statement, she had ordered the shrimp and grits with Cajun butter sauce from the appetizer menu, and Max had been unable to cajole her to order more. He’d more than made up for it, though, by choosing a large lobster complimented with truffle mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus, but at least when he offered her a small bit of the lobster, she accepted gracefully.
They ate in silence for a couple minutes, but then Max surprised her by going a totally different direction. “That ring you’re wearing is quite interesting. Where did it come from?”
Sadie turned her right hand to better see the ring he was obviously talking about. “It was my grandmother’s,” she answered, still looking at it. “I don’t really know much about it.”
“May I see it?”
“Sure.” She took it off her finger and handed it to him, and he studied it with interest for a minute before reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a small jeweler’s loupe which he put in his eye and then looked even more closely.
“Are you kidding me?” laughed Sadie. “Do you always have one of those things with you?”
“Usually.”
“So, what’s so interesting?”
“This is the work of a very fine Austrian craftsman who lived in the nineteenth century. His work is still popular in European markets.”
“Awesome. If I’m every starving, I can sell it, right?”
Max gave her a strange look and said, “If you ever want to sell it, come to me first,” and then, with another of his killer smiles, he added, “Likewise if you’re ever starving.”
The rest of lunch was eaten in relative peace, at least at their own table. Sadie asked about Max’s excellent English and was told he’d been educated at a Swiss boarding school where fluency in English, French, and German was required. He asked about her own education and was told she’d gone to Rice as an English and French major.
Again, he looked surprised. “Alors, vous parlez français?”
“Oui, mais probablement pas aussi bien que vous.” (“Yes, but probably not as well as you.”)
“Well, Ms. Duval, you are full of surprises. I find myself in the company of a French-speaking, blog-writing woman who wears a fine Austrian ring and who knows what a samovar is. It seems that each time I encounter you, my day is made more interesting.”
Just then their attention was drawn to the couple at the next table whose voices had been getting louder. There was obviously a disagreement about something, but whereas the man was attempting to keep a civil presentation, the woman had started hurling invective at him, using some very unladylike words. His attempts to mollify her were utterly failing, so he motioned to the waiter for their check and took care of it, all the while being the recipient of his companion’s tirade. Finally, they got up to leave, and, as they did, Max looked after them and said, “I hope he gives her a good spanking when they get home.”
Sadie froze and just about dropped her fork. Had she heard correctly? Had he really said what she thought he had? She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, and when Max looked at her, he laughed. “You’ll have to forgive my blatant political incorrectness, but my Old-World self happens to think a sound spanking would do that harridan a world of good.�
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Sadie sat there dumbfounded, and for the second time that day she feared she might be blushing. Not only was she in the company of what might just be the sexiest man she’d ever met, but now he was openly talking about spanking a grown woman. She wondered briefly if she could call the waiter back and get a menu to hide behind.
Max, of course, had absolutely no way of knowing that her most deeply held secret was a fascination with spanking—a strong man spanking a woman, to be exact. She didn’t want to have the fascination, and she’d fought against it ever since she could remember, but fighting who we are never really works, and it hadn’t worked for her. She had absolutely no idea where her interest had come from, because, as far as she could remember, she’d never been spanked in her entire life, but yet the fascination was there. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she daydreamed about a strong, stern man taking down her panties, turning her over his knee, and spanking her bare bottom until it was bright red and stinging unbearably, all the while ignoring her cries for him to stop.
This deeply hidden secret of hers was doubly troubling because it went against everything she believed about equality. How could a woman be independent—pay her own way, open her own doors, look after her own car—and then get turned over a man’s knee and spanked? It was like she was two separate people, and the problem was far too embarrassing to talk about with anyone. She’d never had a discussion about spanking with anyone ever, and now here was Max, sitting across from her calmly using the S-word. Clearly, he believed in spanking adult women, and that left her with a dilemma: Should she run the other direction as fast as she could, or should she recognize a gift from the Fates when it was dangled in front of her?
She glanced at Max and wished she hadn’t, because she suddenly realized that not only was he the very personification of a sexy man, he also exactly fit the bill of the man of her daydreams—tall, dark, muscular, every inch the gentleman, and yet, judging by the way he’d nabbed her purse snatcher at the beach, totally able to handle himself and others. She suspected he could be very stern if the situation warranted.