by Zoe Blake
Everything about him was darkly sensual. Everything about him screamed danger — keep away.
Tamping down my irrational disappointment that Damien actually hadn’t been watching me earlier, I turned my attention back to the drunken arms that were slowly squeezing me to death. As I raised my knee, ready to drive my spiked heel straight into his toes, I jerked backwards as his grip was wrenched from around my middle.
Turning, I realized Damien had stormed up behind me and was now holding the inebriated man by the collar of his wrinkled cheap linen suit.
He kept his voice low. If I hadn't been standing so close, I wouldn’t have even heard him over the music and laughter. Whatever he said in Russian, it had pierced through the fog of alcohol, because the man’s eyes widened in stark fear. Sputtering an apology in English to me, the drunk scampered off the dance floor where he was quickly met by Nadia’s family’s scary head of security, Mikhail Volkov.
Damien captured my gaze.
Uh oh.
Frantically spinning about, I reached out for the hand of my earlier dance partner. His smile in greeting quickly faded when he saw the monster standing over my shoulder.
“Leave. Now.” Damien's command was dark and forceful.
With an apologetic shrug to me, my dance partner hurried away.
I tried to inhale a shaky breath but my lungs seized. Even with my four-inch heels on, I could feel the immovable wall of towering strength that was Damien Ivanov looming over me. Stiffening my trembling limbs, I slid one foot forward in the hopes he would just let me walk away.
The warm restraining hand on my hip told me otherwise.
His body pressed close to mine from behind. His breath ruffled my hair as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. “May I have this dance?”
I licked my dry lips and tried to swallow before responding. “Do I have a choice?”
He chuckled. I felt the vibrations in his chest. The sound was strangely pleasant given the situation.
“No.”
“You must be a Scorpio.”
“A what?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
I was babbling; anything to stem the fear seizing me. “A Scorpio. They are a very intense sign. Very single-minded and… and aggressive,” I finished weakly. I couldn’t stop the rising tide of panic as it gripped my chest.
He turned me to face him. I kept my gaze carefully averted as his arm wrapped more securely around my waist.
Being this close to Damien was dangerous. Something told me he wasn’t as easily fooled as the rest, that he would see my secret. See through the facade. My breathing came in fast pants, and I began to feel faint.
The opening strains of the next song filtered over the dance floor. Of course, it would be a slow song. The early haunting notes of the romantic lullaby Everytime by Britney Spears drifted over us. My stomach clenched. This song reminded me of Damien and having to listen to it while standing inside the circle of his powerful embrace was just too much.
He smelled wonderful, like sandalwood and a crisp winter morning, as if someone had spritzed cologne onto a smoldering campfire.
He was impeccably dressed, damn him. One day, I hoped to work in the fashion industry, so I couldn’t help but notice his Ralph Lauren cream cashmere sweater paired perfectly with grey Merino wool trousers. Looking down, I stared at the silver and black Rolex wrapped around his thick strong wrist. His skin looked richly tanned next to the ivory of his cuff. Everything about him screamed wealth and power — with all the arrogance that came with it.
His chest rumbled slightly as he spoke, his words for my ears only. “In the future, I expect you to dress and behave with more decorum.” Each word was curt and sharp. There was no mistaking his anger.
What the hell?
I tried to jerk out of his embrace but he held firm. I raised my face to fire back at him but, remembering, I quickly lowered it and allowed my hair to fall over my cheek. He mustn’t look at me too closely. If he did, he would see and then the pity would return to his eyes. I would take his anger over his pity any day.
I seethed through clenched teeth. “Are you trying to say that man’s boorish behavior was my fault?”
“If you hadn’t been putting yourself on display, it might not have happened.”
My mouth gaped open in outrage. How dare he basically call my attempts at flirting whorish! After a second failed attempt to extract myself from his arms, I settled for stomping on his foot. My mouth twisted in wry satisfaction at his slightly pained groan. “Good, I hope I smudged your fancy Italian leather shoes. You deserved it.”
Damien quipped back. “They’re brushed suede actually.”
“Well, I’ll have you know this dress is a Miu Miu from their Fall collection.”
I hazarded a glance up through my lashes in time to catch the sardonic raise of his eyebrow. He whistled softly. “Impressive. I wonder how a little girl in school could afford such a pretty, and expensive, dress.”
My cheeks pinkened. I had walked right into that. I bristled at his tone and him calling me a little girl, which cut too close to the bone with how I felt whenever I was around him. Like some clumsy lost little girl to be pitied. I ignored his question and prayed for the song to be over.
Damien continued. “Spending your winnings so soon?”
Fuck. He knew.
My heart was beating so fast I worried I might actually pass out. So that was the real reason why he had been watching me like a hawk. It wasn’t some schoolgirl crush realized. It was something far more dangerous. “I didn’t do anything against the law.”
Technically, that was true, but I was pretty sure the racetrack owners would disagree.
From the time I could walk, my sleazy stepfather had dragged me to the racetrack and off-track betting sites. He was the worst kind of railbird, turning the sport of kings into something seedy and pathetic. Half my childhood was spent in dingy rooms filled with acrid cigarette smoke and floors littered with discarded ticket stubs. The places always smelled the same, reeking of horse shit, despair, and broken dreams.
A few years ago, he’d started messing with the horses and then recruited homeless people or people he found at the unemployment office to place bets on the fixed races for him. It helped if it wasn’t the same person winning over and over again. The random recruit got a small cut and then was threatened to keep their mouth shut.
I'd noticed he would place the bets on random races for a long shot horse to win in first place which always seemed to pan out. When I was finally old enough to understand he was part of a scheme to fix races, I’d put a plan into place. Lucky for me, although I’d hated the subject, I was really good with math. Like really, really good.
So, I had come up with a math equation which took advantage of the parimutuel betting system at the tracks. In short, I’d come up with an algorithm to place bets, not on the prospective winner but on the second-place horse, which would have been the first-place horse, if the mafia hadn’t fixed the race. By staying out of the first-place winner’s circle, I'd figured I would fly under the radar.
And I had, until a few days ago.
That’s when my stepfather hit me for what I’d determined would be the last time.
I’d known graduation was in two weeks so I had nothing to lose.
I’d started placing higher, riskier bets.
And they paid off — big.
Casting a quick glance at Damien from under my lashes, I asked, “How did you find out, anyway?”
Through clenched teeth, Damien said, “Placing three Pick Six bets in one week and winning every time. Did you really think no one would notice?”
By the stiffening of his arms, I could tell he was angry.
It was a stupid and rash mistake. A Pick Six was nearly impossible to hit. All a person's horses must win six consecutive races for it to pay out. It was a unicorn bet, and I had made it and won three times in a row. I had foolishly believed I would be long gone before anyone put two and two together.
&n
bsp; As we were still on the dance floor and observed by the guests, Damien kept his voice low but it still had a harsh, biting edge. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?”
I refused to answer. My mind scattered in a million directions. Had anyone found the money where I had stashed it? Had my stepfather? Were all my plans ruined?
Without warning, Damien grabbed me by the chin and forced my head back. “Yelena, I expect an answer.”
My eyes widened.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
His quick inhalation through his teeth told me otherwise. His dark gaze hardened to two diamond chips as he stared at my face and at my black eye.
It had happened days ago and was already fading. I had hoped my heavy eye makeup would cover it.
I guess not.
Without saying a word, Damien wrapped his hand around my upper arm and dragged me across the dance floor. Using his flattened palm, he shoved open the nearest French door and pulled me over the threshold into the pitch-black night.
Chapter 3
Yelena
“Let go!”
Yanking my arm did nothing to loosen his strong grasp.
“Damien, stop! Where are you taking me?”
He refused to answer.
In the darkness, I tripped over the rounded edge of the cement patio. The moment my open-toed high heels sank into the damp grass, I balked. “Are you crazy? These are satin and suede Sophia Websters! I’m not walking in the wet mud and grass in these!”
He turned so quickly I slammed into his chest. His face could have been carved in stone if it weren’t for the tic high on his right cheek. His lips, thin and tight with anger, didn’t move. Bending over, he pressed his shoulder into my middle and hauled me up high. My startled gasp was muted to a strangled puff of air as I absorbed the impact to my stomach.
Before I could even protest, his warm hand wrapped around my ankle. I was not prepared for the sensual shock of feeling his skin against my own. I had been so distracted on the dance floor with trying to hide my black eye while still arguing with him that the impact of his nearness hadn't really registered.
It certainly did now.
Especially since, for all intents and purposes, we were alone.
He pulled one high heel off, then the other. With an outraged cry, I threw out my arms, vainly trying to catch my shoes as he tossed them to the side onto the damp turf.
Planting my palms against his back, I leveraged myself up as high as I could and drew a deep breath into my lungs. “Do you have any idea what those shoes cost? Those are her iconic butterfly wing heels embellished with real crystal! You don’t throw shoes like that into the mud!”
“I’ll buy you another pair,” Damien ground out.
“I don’t want you to buy me anything. I want you to put me down!”
He pressed on, carrying me deeper into the wooded backyard. Past the soft glow from the lower windows of Nadia’s house, which cast long slanted beams of light onto the lawn. The music and laughter receded till the guests were just shifting shadows inside.
I caught the glow from a cigar around the corner. I momentarily considered crying out for help from the stranger but immediately thought better of it. I had no idea who that might be, and there was a very real chance that whoever it was would take one look at Damien's stormy expression and scurry away.
The hollow sound of wood planks beneath his feet told me he had stepped onto the dock, which stretched out over the Potomac River and ended in a large octagon gazebo. It was dizzying and disconcerting to look down and see the edge of the dock and then nothing but dark churning water.
I cried out and fisted large clumps of his sweater as his body dipped low to cross the gazebo entrance then straightened. Looking up, I could see the whitewashed rafters and the candy cane-striped life rings that hung on deep metal hooks along the edge. Our sudden appearance disturbed a nest of sparrows. Two of the small brown birds took flight, squawking their protests to the night sky.
Damien flipped me back and deposited me on one of the wide inlaid benches that lined the circular walls. Thankfully, each was covered with a thick cherry red cushion or the impact to my backside would have jarred every bone up my spine. I did not stay seated for long. Springing up, I raised an arm and pointed a finger at him. Immediately, I realized that without my four-inch heels, his already imposing height became impossibly tall and threatening. Without my fashionable shoes, the top of my head barely reached his shoulder.
Hating the disadvantage, I hiked up my dress skirt and stepped onto the bench. Feeling on more even footing, I placed my hands on my hips, raised my chin and prepared to do battle.
Damien gave a sharp inhale.
Even in the dim moonlight, I could see the hard glint in his eyes as he advanced, his arms raised. Startled, I stumbled backward, wrapping my hands around the post at my back to steady myself, and then followed his gaze.
Horrified, I realized the rounded neckline of my gown had pushed down when he'd lifted me onto his shoulder. The curves of my breasts were spilling over the top, and I could see the white lace edge of my bra. From my position on the bench, my chest was now practically at his eye level, completely on display.
“Christ, babygirl,” Damien growled before lunging for me.
With a squeal, I dipped under his outstretched arm and scrambled in my bare feet along the bench to the other side of the gazebo. Keeping one steadying hand on the post, I yanked up the neckline of my dress.
Once again pointing a finger in his direction, I warned, “Don’t you touch me!”
His mouth twisted in a grin. “We are long past that being an option, my malen'kiy padshiy angel.”
Since he barely remembered to feed me as a child, my stepfather definitely never took the time to teach me his native tongue. I really only knew a few curse words and the phrase useless brat in Russian.
I narrowed my gaze. “What does malen'kiy padshiy angel mean?” I asked, sounding it out phonetically.
Reaching down, Damien pinched the hem of my dress between his finger and thumb. He pulled on the pink velvet. “It means my little fallen angel.”
My cheeks flushed at the implied intimacy of such a nickname, not to mention the sexy way he’d said it.
To be honest, I had never liked the sound of the Russian language. It had always sounded course and guttural to my untrained ears, like they were grinding rocks with their teeth as they spoke. It wasn’t the same with Damien. When he spoke Russian, it was more like the low warning purr of a lion.
He twisted the excess fabric in his hand. The dress pulled tight around my hips. I resisted his tug as I clung to the post behind me. He twisted his fist again. This time the dress shifted down, once more exposing the top of my bra. Without thought, I let go of the post and flattened both palms protectively over my chest.
It gave him the perfect opportunity.
With a swift tug, he propelled my body forward, sending me crashing into his arms. It was like hitting a brick wall. Grasping his shoulders for purchase, I still couldn’t stop the momentum and slid down until my knees hit the padded bench. Now all I had to do was tilt my head upwards for my mouth to be only inches from his….
Time stood still.
I cried out and tried to escape.
Damien leaned in close, his lips caressing my ear as he whispered in a low soothing voice, “Shhh… malyshka. I won’t hurt you. Not if you give me what I want.”
I started at the double-entendre of his words.
He slipped a finger under my chin and raised my head. His eyes were such a dark blue they were practically black. They gave away nothing.
With his thumb, he caressed my lower lip. Smearing the clear shimmering gloss I had just put on. Keeping his focus on me, his hand slipped lower to the opening of my dress. He pulled on the neckline till one of the delicate buttons popped. With the dress gaping open, he could once more see the white lace of my bra.
His thumb swiped the upper curve of my right breast
, then the left, marking them with a shimmering trail of glitter from my lipstick.
I bit my lip to keep from crying out, whether from misplaced desire or fear, I had no idea.
Damien ran his knuckle back and forth over the upper swell of my left breast. He observed darkly, “In my line of work, there are so many creative ways to make a person talk.”
He pressed his hips against my body, and I could feel the push of his erect cock against my stomach. I inhaled sharply as if pulling away from a hot brand.
He leaned his head down and whispered against my open mouth. “So. Many. Creative. Ways.”
My ears buzzed with the sound of the water lapping against the shore and my own hesitant breath. Beneath my hand, there was the steady drumbeat of his heart. My lips parted, and for a spare moment, we shared the same air.
He lifted his right arm and cradled my cheek. My skin, chilled by the night air, felt cool compared to the heat of his palm. The pad of his thumb caressed the outline of my cheekbone.
“Now tell me, who hurt you, babygirl?”
My heart skipped a beat. Part of me yearned to curl up in his arms and spill all my problems onto his big shoulders.
Twisting my head to the side, I lowered my gaze. “It’s nothing.”
Placing a finger under my chin, he forced me to turn back. “It’s far from nothing. Someone hit you. That’s not acceptable. You need to tell me who so I can deal with the matter.”
My curiosity got the better of me. “Deal with the matter? What are you going to do?”
His jaw shifted as he inhaled deeply through his nose. “That is none of your concern. Just give me the name.”
“None of my concern? You’ve got that backwards. I can’t see how any of this is your concern.”
Damien wrapped his free arm around my waist, placing his palm against my lower back and pulling me forward till his hips pressed into my stomach. He leaned down till his lips were barely a whisper from mine. “If you think that, then you haven’t been paying attention.”
His lips claimed mine.