The Bastard's Bargain Page 17

  For the first time since his father died, Dmitri had something to prove—both to himself and to whatever enemies might be watching.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It took two minutes to put a call out to Blackbird for a carryout order and dispatch one of the Romanov men to retrieve it at the allotted time. Blackbird didn’t normally do carryout, but Keira had no problem dropping Dmitri’s name to ensure they complied. They were within his territory, and he’d made a passing comment the other day about how he looked forward to getting back to his regular meals there—with her at his side, of course.

  Since Keira had no intention of going out in public with the dress she’d picked out, she’d just have to bring his favorite restaurant to him.

  She took a quick shower to scrub the sweat off her body. Her stamina sucked, she was too goddamn skinny, and she’d gotten dizzy doing even the shortest workout on Charlie’s list. Keira had never spent much time worrying about diets and exercise—other than the activities Devlin dragged her along on when he got a wild idea—but it was probably time to start thinking about that. Right now, she was a liability. If there was a situation where she had to run or fight, she was dead in the water.

  Not a victim. Not to myself and not to anyone else.

  She didn’t know where to start with either—other than the Krav Maga gym she was determined to check out the day after the reception. Keira would make time, regardless of what else was going on. She had to.

  She left her hair down but threw some product in it to accent its waves, and went classic with her makeup—smoky eyes and red, red lips. Then she stepped back and took in the full picture.

  If we get through dinner without Dmitri fucking me on the table, it’s going to be a goddamn miracle.

  Keira grinned. She picked up the hem of her dress so she didn’t trip over it and headed downstairs. Dmitri might need to change or shower or something, and she didn’t want him to see her before it was time for dinner.

  She met Pavel at the door to the family dining room—smaller and more intimate than the massive formal dining room off the ballroom. He had to be capable and trustworthy, because Dmitri had put him on her detail, but his cherub cheeks made it hard to guess his age, and his body was a little too lanky, as if he hadn’t quite grown into his frame yet. He must be older than the eighteen she’d estimated his age to be.

  His blue eyes went wide, and then he hastily averted them. “Mrs. Romanov, I’ve set up the food as you asked.”

  Mrs. Romanov. Or, rather, O’Malley-Romanov.

  It had a nice ring to it, though she’d never admit it aloud. She’d technically lost that bet, though she wasn’t sure coming against Dmitri’s mouth counted as losing in any sense of the word.

  “Thanks.” She waited for him to step out of the way and strode into the room. The food was under covered plates, and there were two settings situated on either side of the small table. Good. Satisfied everything was as it should be, she walked to the window and glanced out onto the street before closing the thick gray curtains. There didn’t need to be any witnesses for what would happen next.

  Since there was nothing else to do but wait, she poured herself a glass of sparkling water and took a cautious sip. Water with bubbles is fucking weird. She’d stick with ginger ale next time. Grape juice felt too juvenile, even if it was as close to wine as she was going to get. Sparkling water was supposed to be fancy shit, but it was just plain unnatural.

  Glass in hand, Keira moved to the painting dominating the wall across from the door. It had to be five feet tall, and easily twice as wide, taking up the entire surface. Something that size should have overwhelmed the space and made it claustrophobic—especially with the curtains shut—but it felt like a window into another world. The scene was framed as if looking out a window and into a small courtyard garden. Rough brown stone contrasted with flowers hanging from window boxes, the blooms creating rainbow waterfalls designed to lead the eye to the main attraction—the woman sitting on the edge of the bathing pool with her back to the painter. Her long dark hair was pinned up on top of her head, leaving her neck and shoulders bare, and she was half-turned as if she’d heard someone calling her name and was caught in the midst of responding.

  It was utterly captivating.

  “You like what you see.”

  She’d heard the door open, but wasn’t ready to abandon the painting yet. “Very much.” She could have stopped there, but with her heart too full and her mind still wrapped up with what the artist had accomplished, she kept going. “I wish I could do this kind of thing.” Keira waved her hand at the woman, the flowers, the stone. “It’s phenomenal.”

  Dmitri stopped next to her, his shoulder brushing hers. “Tell me about your paintings.”

  If he had asked her—demanded, really—in any other situation, she would have changed the subject, but Keira was helpless in the presence of the damn painting. “It’s been years since I’ve bothered.”

  “Grief presents itself in strange ways.” Just that. No demands for an explanation. No trying to convince her that she’d made the wrong choice when she put down her brushes and never picked them back up again.

  “It might have started that way, but it wasn’t what kept me from going back to it.” Why was she telling him this? She didn’t tell anyone this.

  Dmitri didn’t seem to move, but she felt his presence intensify all the same. “The alcohol and drugs.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she answered. “There’s a cost that comes with being numb.” Finally, finally, she turned to face him. “I don’t feel numb anymore.”

  His gaze never left her face. He had a guarded expression, but beneath that was something almost like hope. “Do you want supplies and a designed room to paint in?”

  Yes. She tried to temper her response, but he saw it despite her not giving it voice. He nodded. “I’ll see it done.”

  She exhaled slowly. “Thank you.” God, what is this? It’s almost a civil conversation.

  “If there’s anything specific you need, give me a list, and I’ll send Pavel to retrieve it.”

  At the mention of her babysitter, she laughed softly. “Poor Pavel. He’ll have a heart attack before the month is out if you keep him on my detail. He’s very…” When Dmitri raised his eyebrows, she rushed on. “He’s not exactly the picture of a hardened criminal who’s seen everything.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Her cheeks heated, and the painting drew her gaze again. “I made him blush and stammer.”

  Dmitri barked out a laugh. “Moya koroleva, have you seen yourself? I stood in the doorway for a full five minutes before I regained control of myself. Poor Pavel didn’t stand a chance.”

  She knew she looked good, but he was overstating things. She nudged him with her elbow, a part of her secretly thrilled at the easy contact. “Flatterer.”

  “Truth speaker.” He turned and took her hands, shifting her to face him fully. Dmitri lifted her hands up and out, leaving her on display for him. “Where in all that’s holy did you find this dress? I’m not sure if I should gift a fortune to the designer—or kill them.”

  * * *

  Dmitri tried to dial back his words, but the sight of Keira robbed him of his calm and icy demeanor. She smiled at him with fuck-me-red lips, her makeup doing something to create the illusion that her hazel eyes were even larger than normal, and her hair had an artful tumble to it that brought to mind fucking.

  Or perhaps the dress was to blame.

  If her wardrobe at the last dinner had been a taunt, this one was a tease—an invitation. The ropes of silver rhinestones circled her neck and shoulders before turning into a netted pattern that clung to her breasts and hugged her ribs, narrowing down to the V of her legs. A second set of roping rhinestones circled her hips. On its own, the pattern would have been captivating, but combined with the sheer nude fabric beneath it, Keira’s body was on full display.

  For him.

  He let go of one of her hands and
traced his thumb along the top string circling her hip. The fabric might as well not have been there. As he watched, her dusky nipples pebbled and her lips parted. “Tell me something.”

  “Sure.” Her voice was breathy and more than a little needy.

  “How many of these dresses do you have tucked away? A man can only survive so many heart attacks.” When he’d walked in and saw the line of her body covered with shimmering stones beneath the low light, he’d almost gone to his knees right then and there. He craved the taste of her, craved the feeling of her body beneath his hands, craved the way he was totally and completely present whenever they were together physically.

  The outside world ceased to exist.

  He couldn’t live like that indefinitely, but the little pockets of time they carved out could be invaluable—if they found a good balance between them.

  Keira winked at him, looking downright playful. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  “If you’d worn this…” He squeezed her hips and then ran his hands up her sides to cup her breasts. Dmitri cursed. “Moya koroleva, if you’d worn this to the dinner with my cousin, I would have—”

  “Don’t you dare say you’d kill Ivan.” Her smile dropped away. “I like him, and no one needs that toxic masculinity bullshit.”

  She was so fucking prickly. He shouldn’t like it nearly as much as he did. Dmitri circled her nipples with his thumbs. “He is my cousin, Keira. He’s just as much a monster as I am, but that changes nothing. There had to be loyalty to one degree or another. I wouldn’t hurt him because you pulled a stunt like this.” He pinched her nipples, earning a sweet gasp from her lips. “What I would have done was drag your disobedient ass into the hallway and fuck you against the door.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would have.” He released her breasts and stroked up her arms and over her shoulders to cup her neck between his big hands. She didn’t flinch, didn’t look the least bit worried by the position, and he loved her a little bit right then for it. “Each thrust would have rattled that door, each cry from your mouth would have echoed through the room. Ivan would have known exactly what I was doing to you.”

  Keira lifted her chin, pushing her throat more firmly against his palms. “Maybe I should have worn this then.”

  “Nyet.” He gave a sharp shake of his head and leaned down. “I like having this view all to myself. I fully intend to savor it through our meal and then have you for dessert.”

  “Dmitri.” She placed her hand on his chest, directly over his heart. “I want your cock tonight. I want you every way you’ll give it to me. No freaking out. No bullshit. Just you and me.”

  “In every way I’ll give it to you,” Dmitri repeated. His body went hot at the possibilities she laid before him. Last night was hotter than it had any right to be considering they hadn’t finished what they started. To have Keira with no holds barred for the entirety of the night…For the entirety of our lives.

  He rocked back on his heels. “Let’s eat. And then I’ll feast.”

  She licked her lips. “It’s a deal, then.”

  Dmitri followed her to the table, hanging back a few steps to enjoy the way her ass looked beneath the dress. She was still too skinny for her frame, so as soon as she removed the coverings from the food, he motioned to one of the chairs. “Sit. I’ll serve.”

  “The gentleman-murderer Dmitri Romanov, serving me dinner? Lucky me.” She grinned and put an extra bit of sway into her step as she moved past him to the chair he’d indicated.

  Keira was stunning in nearly every situation, but a playful Keira was something to behold. He hesitated to say anything that could potentially damage her mood and went to work loading up two plates. It was only when he got to the roasted spaghetti that he stopped short. “This is from Blackbird.”

  “It is.”

  She sounded so pleased with herself, he had to smile in response. “I wasn’t aware they allowed carryout.”

  “They don’t.” Her grin widened and she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But I’ll tell you a secret—all I had to do was drop your name and they bent over backward to give me whatever I asked for.”

  “Ah.”

  “Indeed. I tipped them absurdly, of course.”

  He chuckled. “Of course.” It was so very like her to have put the fear of God in them and then turned around and paid a large tip to reward them for meeting her demands. A good way to earn loyalty. I would wager they won’t hesitate to give her whatever she asks for next time she deals with them.

  Dmitri set her plate in front of her and then took his seat. It was only when he settled in that he realized she was staring at him again. “Is something wrong?”

  “No…just wondering who this plate is for because there’s no way you think I can eat this much.”

  He frowned at the portions. They were large, but it wasn’t as if she had food piled a foot high on the plate. “You lost weight you couldn’t afford to lose while you were going through withdrawal, and you were already too thin to begin with.”

  Her eyebrows almost disappeared beneath her side-swept hair. “Are you going to throw me in an oven and eat me after you fatten me up?”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He picked up his fork and set it down again, hating that he felt flustered. “You’re putting words in my mouth. Your body is beautiful as it is, and you damn well know it. But if you’re going to be expending calories you need by working out, you need to take more in to make up for the lack.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He couldn’t divine anything from her tone except surprise, and it drove him mad. Dmitri picked up his fork again. “I can walk you through certain dietary regimes that help build muscle if that’s something you’re interested in. If it’s not, that’s fine, but you can’t afford to skip meals either way.”

  “Would that be why poor Pavel was trying to stuff two sandwiches onto my plate all casually this afternoon?”

  He refused to look away. “Possibly.”

  Keira managed to hold on to her shocked expression for a full five seconds before she burst out laughing. She had to set down her fork and hold her arm over her stomach to keep from sliding out of her chair, and Dmitri frowned. “I don’t see what’s so amusing.”

  “You, Romanov. You are ‘amusing.’” She managed to look at him—and then promptly burst into giggles again. “Oh my God…you as a mother hen…I can’t…it’s too much.”

  He held himself with all the dignity he could manage with her laughing her ass off at him. “There’s nothing wrong with being concerned with my wife’s health.”

  “Look at my plate.” She waved at it, still laughing, though she made a blatant effort to get her glee under control. “I’m sorry—except sort of not sorry—but you caring about what I eat or don’t eat is adorable.”

  He didn’t see what was so adorable about it, but the conversation could very easily have devolved into her furious at him for trying to meddle in her nutrition, so Dmitri considered being laughed at the lesser of two evils. “If you say so.”

  “I do. I do very much say so.” Keira shook her head, still grinning. “Now, pick that fork back up and eat before it gets cold. I find myself eager to move on to dessert.”

  Eager did not begin to cover it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Keira barely focused on the food in front of her. It tasted good, but beyond that, nothing mattered except eating enough to satisfy Dmitri so he’d have her for dessert. He never took his attention off her as they ate in comfortable silence, and she couldn’t help replaying his filling her plate over and over again in her mind.

  He was…taking care of her.

  There was no other way she could explain that action. She was functioning just fine, so there was no reason for Dmitri to be overly concerned with what she ate or her weight, but he obviously was—and not in a creepy douchey way, either. He wanted her healthy. He was offering to give her tips to help her get her muscle mass up to par,
for God’s sake. That was not normal.

  Or, rather, it wasn’t normal if he was thinking of her as a sexy lamp like she’d originally feared. It could be a manipulation tactic, but really, why bother to go through the trouble to lie so thoroughly? She was here, exactly where he wanted her. He didn’t have to put forth an effort, because she wasn’t going to leave as long as he kept his word and did everything in his power to maintain peace between himself and her family.

  And yet he was making an effort.

  She finished her pork chop and sat back, pleasantly full. The whole dinner had been so comfortable, she worked up the courage to ask him something she’d been wondering about since she got to New York. “What was it like growing up in this house?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s just…” She waved a hand, trying to find the words. “It’s intimidating and kind of over the top. I mean, our town house in Boston is, too, but it’s a totally different feel from this place.” It might be the color choices—the walls and carpet skewing toward the darker end of the spectrum—or the furniture, all heavy and made of dark wood, or the striking lack of windows, but it kind of felt like she was in a modern-day gothic mansion. “You don’t have your first wife locked up in the attic, do you?”

  He snorted. “I’m hardly Rochester.”

  Of course he knows I’m referencing Jane Eyre. “I don’t know. You both have the brooding loner thing going for you. Being compared to Rochester isn’t a bad thing—he’s sexy in that should-definitely-be-in-therapy-but-is-still-a-hot-bad-boy kind of way.”

  Dmitri shook his head, though his gray eyes shone with amusement. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Do that. My word is excellent even if my taste in men is questionable at best.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, back to the original question—Child Dmitri and this big, scary house.”