His Diamond of Convenience

by Maisey Yates

  Something intriguing, which made it dangerous. Because she should not be intrigued by him. Not now, not ever. He was simply a means to an end; he was nothing to get excited about.

  She cleared her throat. “Either way, I think you will be well served to share your story. I found it inspiring.”

  “Did you, Victoria? If so, I’m surprised.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You don’t seem the type to be moved by human interest pieces.”

  Victoria wasn’t quite sure how to take that. “I’m not sure what you mean. I have been celebrated for my work in charity.”

  “I fail to see what charity work has to do with the way things actually make you feel. You seem a woman more motivated by the bottom line than by altruism.”

  She made an indignant sound. “I love altruism. I’m a huge fan of it. I also like people to be fed. I like them to have shelter. I don’t think I like the personality that you seem to be ascribing to me.” His words stung a bit. But it wasn’t as if she was doing a good job of being honest with him about how much her charity work meant to her. But it was personal, and she didn’t like to share personal.

  In her experience, sharing personal pieces of herself only led to rejection. It was one thing to risk that for her father, or for the man she’d thought herself in love with. She saw no point risking that with Dmitri.

  “Do not be offended. I am merely saying it as I see it. I am not a man given to sentimentality, either. Except in this case. Except where Colvin, and his legacy, are concerned. Because of what he did for me personally I want him remembered, what he did remembered. And more importantly, I want the essence of who he was to keep living.”

  Well, now she felt slightly guilty for withholding honesty since his response was completely genuine. She cleared her throat. “Good. Channel all of that into a speech about how incredibly your life changed because of your experiences with martial arts and the opportunities the mind-set opened up to you.”

  The scenery had started to change, the buildings growing older as they went deeper into the city. A track line for trolleys ran through the center of a busy street, lined with large hotels, fast-food restaurants and upscale boutiques, as though everything had sort of crashed into each other and settled like this.

  They turned off the main drive, all of the architecture here reminiscent of things more commonly found in Europe than in the United States. But there was something else, too. An open friendliness to go with the stateliness that was unlike any place she had ever been before. Magnolia trees grew on the sidewalks, large white blossoms punctuating the dark green leaves, strands of colored beads trapped in the branches, like Christmas decorations that had been left behind.

  The buildings were connected, tall and narrow, made from stone with ornate iron balconies that wrapped around the facades. And every few feet there were signs hanging down from the balconies, advertising rentals that came in two varieties: haunted and non.

  “I forgot to ask about ghosts.” She was trying to lighten up the topic of conversation now. Trying to move it away from his personal take on her as a human being, which she was almost certain she didn’t like it all. “It appears there are ghostly options here. I hope very much I have not put us on the wrong side of those options.”

  He waved a hand. “It’s New Orleans. As far as I know every place has its ghost, and if it doesn’t...the owners are lying.”

  “I don’t want any ghosts coming in and spoiling our party.”

  “How do you know they would spoil it? They may very well enhance it.”

  “For a man who is so confident in his ability to manage the ghosts of the past, you seem open to the idea of them coming into the present.”

  “Someone else’s ghosts are fine. It’s my own that I prefer to keep buried.”

  That made her laugh. “I’ll drink to that. In fact, perhaps we should, later.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  The car came to a stop in front of a pink building that wrapped around a street corner. It was three floors high with hanging plants and vines growing over the balconies, doing their part to obscure the windows, and those who might be behind them, from the street below.

  “This is it,” she said, “I recognize it from the pictures online.”

  “An excellent venue—I have faith that those who came looking for something uniquely New Orleans will be satisfied.”

  Victoria certainly hoped so. She had made sure to tell him that there would be no guarantees on her end of the deal. After all, there was no way she could force people to change their opinion of him. But the fact remained that she wanted to do the best job possible. It was important to her, because when she said she would do something, she felt she’d better bloody well do it. The fact was she had enough of letting people down. Yes, it had been only one major mistake, but it had been a major mistake. One her own father could scarcely forgive her for.

  She had never felt clean after. She wasn’t sure she ever would. Wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to obliterate the stain from her record. But she had to try, she had to. That was why she was here now. That was why she was doing her damnedest to accomplish this for her father, and suddenly, she felt driven to accomplish this for Dmitri, as well.

  He meant nothing to her, not personally. But his story was compelling, his goal was noble.

  He spoke about how Colvin had changed his life and that made her want to be a part of this. It made her want to change the lives of the children his program would impact. Because if Dmitri Markin could come from a dirty bar in Moscow, Russia, to be one of the wealthiest men in all of Europe, then truly anything was possible. Even reconciliation with her father.

  And she knew she wouldn’t be the only one who came away from this week’s gala feeling that way.

  “I do hope you brought suitable gowns,” he said.

  “Of course I brought suitable gowns. I have an entire closet full of nothing but suitable gowns. It is all but my profession to attend these kinds of events.”

  “Yes, I do realize that. But you’re not attending as Victoria Calder. You are attending as Victoria Calder, lover to Dmitri Markin, and my lovers have standards.”

  She snorted. “Maybe you have raised your standards since the last time you appeared with a lover.”

  He laughed and opened the back door to the car, leaving her sitting in the air-conditioned space by herself. She unbuckled and scrambled out her side, stumbling as she placed her foot on the uneven pavement just outside the vehicle. “Good Lord.” She righted herself. “Just one second,” she said. “What exactly do you think is so funny? I’m very classy.”

  “In my experience, Victoria, when someone has to tell you they are something, they are not it.”

  She spread her hands. “I exude class.”

  “Certainly you do.” He regarded her closely, looking up and down as though she was a car he was interested in buying and not a human being. “The problem is my lovers tend not to.”

  “I thought we went over this. The press would expect you to be with a woman who had a little bit of fight in her. Maybe ultimately the press will be expecting for you to end up with a woman who doesn’t fit your normal repertoire.”

  “Perhaps.” He rounded to her side of the car and knocked on the front passenger window. The driver rolled it down. Dmitri leaned in. “Have the bags sent up. I need to get Ms. Calder out of the car as I believe the Southern weather has thoroughly rumpled her rather delicate English temperament.”

  Victoria harrumphed. “My delicate English temperament,” she muttered. “You’re from Russia. I would’ve expected you to melt by now.”

  “I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He turned his broad back to her, the sun glinting off the black fabric of his suit jacket. She was roasting just looking at him. He began to walk in toward the hotel entrance and
she followed, dodging the dips and dents in the sidewalk. She had read online about the sidewalks in New Orleans being notoriously bad, but she had still worn high heels for travel day, and she was starting to question the sanity of that. Fortunately, she had brought an entire suitcase filled with sensible shoes for when she would be walking outside the hotel. The kinds of shoes that did not ask a man to bend her over anything and do anything to her.

  The memory of that interaction made her face burn.

  Her face still burned even when they walked into the very ornate lobby. The air was cool inside, but it did nothing to make her feel any less hot and bothered. Though, she imagined that the heat Dmitri made her feel was completely independent of the heat outside. It had to be, because she’d been hot since before they left England.

  Acknowledging it is the first step to dealing with it. So deal with it, Victoria.

  She had to; she had no other choice. Because the only other option was giving in. And she had already vowed that she would never do that, never again.

  * * *

  Dmitri found himself fascinated by Victoria, and he found that fascination annoying. She was icy, she was prickly—in short, she was a female version of himself. Though, he knew how to be softer with a lover. Victoria seemed capable of being only one way with him. She did not seem capable of playing a part. It should bother him because it put their entire ruse in jeopardy. But it didn’t, or rather, it did, but only in the sense that it made him determined to figure out a way beneath the hard shell exterior she wore around her like armor.

  They had gone their separate ways once they were inside the hotel, Victoria saying she needed a shower to get rid of the film of stickiness she had accumulated over her skin since landing in Louisiana. He had not seen reason to argue, though he had wanted to stay with her, not wanting to give her reprieve, not wanting to give her the chance to rebuild her control. And he could have stayed with her, seeing as they were sharing a multiroom suite in the interest of keeping up appearances, but he had not.

  Because he felt as if every time they parted she had her walls back up even more firmly than before they left each other.

  Because the fact was, he seemed to be breaching them to a degree. A triumph if ever there was one, though, only depending on how you looked at it.

  He should not want to be intrigued by Victoria, not on a personal level. But the fact remained that he was. She was as beautiful as she had been the moment he had first seen her, and as bad an idea as she had been from that moment, too. His body did not seem to care. His body seemed to think that because she was wearing his ring, no matter the terms, she should also be in his bed.

  His stomach tightened, blood flowing south, making him hard.

  Yes, there was no denying that he was physically intrigued by Victoria.

  Though right now she seemed intent on denying him her presence. He had asked her to meet him down in the lobby, where he was currently waiting for her, and she was most definitely late.

  He looked around the room, at the marble walls and floors. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He was used to this kind of ornate architecture. It was everywhere in London. Finely done architecture, intricate stonework. Everything that glittered most definitely gold. And yet, every time he was in a new place, he found himself admiring it all the same. As though it were the first time.

  He found that no matter how much he wanted to be, he could not be jaded about this kind of beauty. The same way he could not be jaded about the type of beauty Victoria had.

  He had been with many women, most especially since his rise to fame and fortune. And at this point, one beautiful woman should be same as the next. But they weren’t. They never were. Soft luxuries in his life he appreciated, every time, without fail.

  Victoria all the more. Because she had a particular quality of luxury to her that was almost indefinable. She was the painting in the museum flanked by guards. Cordoned off by thick velvet ropes and signs that warned you it was okay to look but never to touch. She was the next level of luxury. And she was everything he craved, whether he should or not.

  The fact remained that when there was art around that could be touched, could be purchased easily, it made no sense to covet the piece that was unattainable.

  It made no sense, but it was human nature.

  Which was why he desired Victoria, though he should not.

  The plane ride over had not even been helped by the fact that she had spent most of it hiding in the bedroom. He had still been intensely aware of her presence. As he had been intensely aware of her in the car. That awareness had caused him to lower his guard. Had caused him to spill forth the kind of honesty he rarely allowed.

  His past was not impossible to discover. Even so, he often avoided speaking about it. There were no happy memories back in the mists of time. Nothing he liked to revisit.

  With her, the story had seemed easy to tell. He had wanted to tell her, and he could not quite understand why. To make her understand? To make her see the gravity of it all? Why he needed things to work out as he did. Yes, that made sense, and he could not be faulted for that. Because this charity felt essential to him, and he did not want her to view it as having any less importance.

  He felt her come into the foyer before he saw her, every muscle in his body tensing, his nerves on high alert. And then he saw a fine-boned, pale hand resting on the banister, followed by a slender ankle on the stairs, then her foot in a pair of elegant, flat shoes pressing down on the rich burgundy carpet of the bottom step.

  And then finally the rest of her was in sight. Her golden hair cascading around her shoulders, slender curves outlined to perfection by a pair of ankle-length pants that conformed to her curves and a flowing top in a slate gray.

  The outfit was demure in every sense of the word, and yet, perhaps for that specific reason it was unspeakably arousing. It revealed not a flash more skin than was strictly necessary, and that false sense of the demure managed to capture his imagination in ways that something more revealing never could.

  That made him wonder if perhaps he was a bit more jaded than he had ever given himself credit for. If the endless array of models and flashier women had finally become monotonous. If his array of choice had spoiled him.

  Though, until meeting Victoria, he had not been aware of them seeming monotonous. No, in fact he had been very happy with his sex life. And with his choice of sexual partners. It was only since meeting Victoria that he experienced a different desire. As though discovering delicacies he had not known existed before. Delicacies his body had now decided it craved beyond all else.

  “So,” she said, the pristine crystal tone back firmly in place, as formal as their surroundings. “Are you going to take me for that drink you promised?”

  “I had thought we might take a few moments together. If for no other reason than to make sure we are on the same page when it comes to the gala.”

  “That seems like a good idea.”

  “And yet, you seem annoyed with me.”

  She waved her hand, his ring glittering on her fourth finger, catching the light from the chandelier and putting the crystals above their heads to shame. “Not any more than usual. I should have liked to recede into my bed and enjoy a little bit of room service, but I will not be seriously wounded by going out, either.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that. That you would not be seriously wounded, that is.” She had a look on her face that he had come to recognize as being very practiced. It was not a natural facial expression—that was for certain. It was one that was pulled tight, schooled into a smoothness that simply didn’t ring true. He had seen it break so rarely, the only time in recent memory the moment in his office when he had sifted his fingers through her hair, when he had treated her like a lover and not a business partner.

  Well, not so much like a lover as he might’ve liked.
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br />   “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, we shall. You’ll be pleased to know that I have arranged for us to dine privately on the balcony here in the hotel.”

  “Dining even? A whole meal? I was expecting just one drink.”

  “That’s the thing with me, Ms. Calder, I don’t do anything by halves.”

  And that right there caused a blush of color to blossom in her cheeks. That subtle innuendo caused a disturbance in her otherwise-unruffled appearance.

  She felt it, too. This thing between them. It made his blood run hotter. And it made him want to push.

  “Is that a promise, Mr. Markin?” Her tone was as cold as ever, but he knew the truth now. It was written over her pale skin, a rose-colored letter signifying her body’s interest.

  “Oh, yes. It is a promise. For you most especially. Should you ever want to test me, I will be more than happy to rise to the occasion.”

  He could see that she knew he was baiting her, knew that he was taking the conversation away from neutral territory, that he was moving things into the realm of the sexual, which he had purposed upon first meeting her not to do.

  He had never been a capricious man; his lifestyle had never lent itself to that. At least not the lifestyle he had found himself in when he’d been cast onto the streets.

  From that moment on, planning had been of the utmost importance, finding a course and staying it.

  But right now he was contemplating going off-plan altogether. Considering what it might be like if he were to ignore the chess game and surrender to what felt inevitable. He prized his control above all else—men who came from the depths that he had come from could afford to do nothing else. Because he knew what it was like when he let his emotions wreak havoc in his life. And when you came from a place where you let your anger control you, you held no control. There was nothing but blood, nothing but violence. And after that, nothing but an endless well of anger, a black pit that had no bottom that he had seemed to fall through endlessly, waiting for a crushing end to the fall that had simply never happened.