His Best Acquisition: The Russian's Acquisition / A Deal Before the Altar / A Deal with Demakis. Dani Collins
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a tease or real, he had ached to accept her invitation like nothing he’d ever wanted, even his lifetime of revenge. He’d controlled himself because any weakness for women had always been a distraction he couldn’t afford. He wouldn’t let a habit of a lifetime click off like a switch, but he’d been near panting in London when she’d thrown down her condition that the money had to clear.
His saving grace had been that she had been panting too; it was affecting him. The women he usually went for enjoyed sex, but with Clair the chemistry was notched to maximum. She might have an agenda, but her desire was interfering with it. It was an unbelievable turn-on; it enthralled him.
Surely once he’d had her the mystique would dissolve though. It had to. This obsessiveness was intolerable.
He stepped into black jeans and tugged on a light gray pullover, returning to the lounge, where he made a few calls while pacing off his restlessness, mercilessly tying off his need as he waited for staff from a nearby restaurant.
As he waited for Clair.
* * *
Clair forced one foot in front of the other and stepped into the lounge, tensed for the impact of Aleksy’s inspection. He was on the phone, his face and body in quarter profile.
She had expected one of his disturbingly penetrating looks, but found herself doing the appraisal, going weak as she took in the length of his back and the way his jeans hugged the shape of his backside and outlined his muscled thighs. He stood with his long legs braced and shrugged a shoulder, drawing her attention to the powerful layers of muscles bulging beneath the wool. She imagined exploring light fingers over the textures of cashmere, swarthy neck and short, damp hair and had to strangle a moan of longing.
He finished his call and turned to strip her deep purple slip dress with hungry eyes. It was the same look he’d given her this morning, just as carnal and without the safety net of an office full of people to prevent him acting on his desires.
The assessment acted exactly as powerfully on her, pinning her feet to the floor and making her realize that for all her rationalizations about helping orphaned children, the real reason she was here was this: she wanted to be with him. It was a frightening admission after a lifetime of convincing herself she didn’t want or need anyone.
“Lovely,” he said, languidly climbing his appreciative gaze from her exposed knees to her carefully composed expression.
Her stomach contracted under the impact of his undisguised sexual intention.
“Victor liked it.” She didn’t know why she said it. Perhaps to keep him from guessing how utterly he held her in thrall, but it had a glacial effect on him.
He narrowed his eyes and said chillingly, “Be very careful about throwing his name at me, Clair.”
Uneasiness wafted over her along with confusion. She had pushed that “spoils of war” unpleasantness to the back of her mind, but it came flooding forward now.
A knock on the door kept her silent.
He opened it to uniformed staff. They turned one end of the dining table into an intimate candlelit cove, setting out covered plates and pouring wine. Soft music came on and fragrant flowers complemented scents of orange sauce and rich braised duck.
Unsteady in her heels, Clair moved forward to the chair Aleksy held for her, trying to frame her suspicion in a way that didn’t demean her any further than she already was.
When they were alone, she cleared her throat. “You said earlier—” Was it only a few hours ago they’d stood in her flat setting out terms for this arrangement? What was she doing! “You said that you’d been targeting the firm for some time. Victor was under considerable stress leading up to his heart attack. Was that from the takeover?”
The implication behind her simple question crashed and reverberated in Aleksy’s head, as swift and unexpected as the knife that had cut the line into his face. A dark maelstrom of emotion threatened, the kind he hadn’t allowed himself in years. He fought it back, master of everything he felt or didn’t feel, but it shocked him that she’d almost pulled something out of him that he no longer allowed. Chagrin. Loss. Rage.
“Are you accusing me of murdering him? Intentionally?” He was able to keep his tone impersonal, but she didn’t mistake the threat beneath. She paled.
“N-no.” Her voice was weak.
“Because I’ve been targeted for takeovers many times. It never raises my blood pressure. Van Eych knew what was coming and may have grown hypertensive, but that’s because he didn’t take care of himself. He lived as if an overweight, sedentary lifestyle would never catch up to him.” His entire body ached with tension.
“I know. I told him—”
“I don’t want to hear what you told him,” he snapped with a slip of control that made her jump. “I know more about the man than I ever wanted to. Now I want to forget him. I want his entire existence obliterated.”
He was revealing more than he intended to, but it would put an end to any more infuriating remarks regarding Victor. He glared at the elegantly simple dress that showed her delicate curves to perfection, offended that Victor had paid for it, that anything about the man had ever come in contact with her.
She sat primly, cowed by his temper into holding her hands in her lap, her spine straight, her eyes downcast. He didn’t apologize; he wanted the message driven home that this topic would never be revisited again.
“Well,” she said with quiet impertinence. “That certainly answers the question I was really asking, which was whether you had a grudge against Victor.”
“A grudge?” Aleksy choked on the inadequacy of the word, but what did you call it when you knew a man was responsible for your father’s death? For your mother’s slow, painful decline? For your own self-destruction? He swept his clogged throat clean with a swallow of wine, suppressing anguished thoughts. “Yes, Clair, I had a grudge.”
Aleksy’s posture was casual, but his stillness spoke of extreme tension. There was nothing to be read in his expression beyond the startling prominence of his scar.
Clair realized she needed to tread softly, but she had to ask, “Why?”
“He knew. That’s all that’s important.”
“Not to me,” she protested.
The corner of his lip quirked. She realized he knew what was really bothering her. “You struck the deal you wanted. Do you hear me asking why it was important to you?”
He’d already made it pretty clear he didn’t care about her motivation. This was commerce, not romance, but the worry drilling a hole in the pit of her stomach was that he didn’t really want her. Obviously he was attracted to her to some degree, but she didn’t want to be a thing. She wanted her first sexual experience to at least be sensual, not a twelve-point inspection and a stamp on the windshield. What happened when she turned out to be less than the high-performance ride he was used to?
“I just want to understand. You didn’t want anything to do with me when you thought I’d been sleeping with Victor, but when you learned I hadn’t, you coerced me into this arrangement. If you’re on a mission to collect all of Victor’s possessions, why count me among them? And why sell them off as quickly as you acquired them?”
His jaw hardened at the word coerced, but he only said bluntly, “To dismantle what he built. To expunge his mark on the world.”
“Well, I won’t let you dismantle me.” She grew hot. “I wasn’t his. You don’t get to erase me.”
“He thought you were his,” he shot back. “You let the world think you were.”
“It doesn’t mean you can treat me like—”
“Property?” Bracing his elbows, he leaned forward so she had to jerk back. “Why do you care? You got what you wanted. I’ll get what I want.