“Peter!” She recognized the man as he rose fluidly and didn’t mask her surprise at seeing him. Vlad froze in place beside her as she detached without realizing and glided forward to meet the gallery’s surprise visitor.
Peter Franklin had been an associate and good friend of her father’s for years. She had always thought him tall and in well-kept shape physically, but next to Vlad, she could see just how unremarkable Peter really was… and this was with him standing a few steps higher than Vlad. It surprised her that the Russian, who had found ways of keeping close to her all evening, now appeared to be hanging back and maintaining his distance from them.
“Maddie, I’m sorry.” Peter Franklin forked a finger and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Looks like you’re… I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
“‘Maddie’?” Vlad observed the familiarity. His voice was as stiff as his posture. Madison darted him a look, wanting to be angry with his rudeness but unclear as to where it was coming from.
Finally, terribly, it clicked.
“Wait, do the two of you know each other?” Madison demanded.
An awkward silence descended between the three of them. She supposed that answered her question. Her skin prickled, and she knew her already-overworked complexion darkened in a hue indicative of her displeasure. Funny how the human body, or at least her body, could find every opportunity to flush and make her feelings known.
“I see,” she said eventually. “You’ve worked together in the past. Maybe you even work together now.”
“Purely a business arrangement,” Peter interjected.
“How do the two of you know each other?” Vlad demanded. The heat behind his own version of the question startled Madison. It was almost as if he… but no, it couldn’t be. There was no way Vlad Karev perceived a threat in Peter Franklin. What’s more, there was no way he could actually be jealous of Madison’s history with the other man, could he? Her friendship with Peter was entirely innocent. She couldn’t decide if having it misconstrued now as anything otherwise would work in her favor, or only succeed in driving an unforeseen wedge between herself and Vlad.
“Peter has advised my father on more than one occasion,” Madison said carefully. “Our family has always found his legal input invaluable. But I can see now where we might have made a mistake.”
“Maddie, I promise I’ll explain everything to you when I can.” Unbelievably, Peter grasped her by her shoulders. Clearly he wasn’t reading Vlad’s body language the way she was. Clearly he couldn’t see the way the Russian tensed like an apex predator watching his conquest get stolen out from underneath him by a scavenger. “But right now I need you to answer something for me. Just a quick answer, and I’ll be out of your hair. The both of you,” he amended with an apologetic, faintly oblivious glance at Vlad.
“Go on,” Vlad instructed. “Ask her.”
His challenge was a clear assertion of Vlad’s authority over Peter Franklin. He was effectively forcing the lawyer who worked under him to conduct his business with a third party present.
Before she could turn and request the privacy she thought due to her, Peter said, “Maddie, when was the last time you saw Sergey?”
Now that was unexpected. She completed her turn toward Vlad, who bore a stricken look in the immediate aftermath of the question. She thought his expression must mirror her own.
“About a month ago. I left Sergey a note,” she said, her eyebrows pulling together. “From my father. But you knew that already, Peter.”
“Where is that note now?” Peter prompted her. Was it her imagination, or was the tension in Vlad’s body bordering on petrification? He looked like a statue that had escaped the gallery standing there.
“I have no idea,” she replied. “And frankly, I’m surprised you would come all the way out here to ask me that… at this hour.” She rested her hands on her hips and directed her most pointed gaze toward the lawyer. “Especially considering I told precisely no one where I would be.”
That wasn’t exactly true but Savannah didn’t know Peter and certainly wouldn’t have ratted Madison’s whereabouts out to him.
“It’s nothing,” Peter dismissed quickly. “I had a feeling you’d be here. That’s all.”
But nothing about your feeling indicated that I would be here with Vlad. She had always been tight with Peter, but she wasn’t sure that their close working relationship would continue now that she knew he was on the Bratva’s bank roll.
Then again, so was she.
“Vlad, have you seen Maxim around recently?” Peter asked, switching over to addressing the silent Russian.
Maxim? Who is Maxim? Another member of the mob? With a name like that, he had to be, she decided. She filed the information away for later.
“Not since the funeral,” Vlad answered him.
Peter nodded, wearing an odd expression that Madison couldn’t quite place. There was a lot about this surprise meeting that she couldn’t quite place.
Peter Franklin waved as he departed, hustling back down the stairs and popping the collar of his coat against the night.
Vlad’s expression was easier to read now. His eyes were slotted, narrowed in a glare powered by an anger Madison hadn’t expected to see; especially not directed toward someone who secretly worked for his family.
“Vlad?” she asked hesitantly. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer her. Madison raised an anxious hand to the side of her hair and pressed it flat. Her curls were already starting to fall out.
“When I mentioned I delivered a note to your father—” she started.
“I’ll call you a cab,” Vlad interrupted her. Her heart lodged in her throat. She tried to search his expression for some tell, some indication of what she had done wrong or why the night had gone sour so quickly. All she could think was that her downfall had begun with Peter’s arrival but what had she said to warrant this reaction?
Vlad moved down the steps to signal for a cab. Madison hurried after him. “You know, I… I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home!” She was at a loss of how to recapture what they had, where they had found themselves, only minutes before. She could still feel the hot, possessive imprint of Vlad’s hand burning between her legs; more infuriatingly, she found herself still aching for the touch. If only she hadn’t halted things inside the gallery, maybe they would—
“You said you didn’t live close.” Vlad’s voice was chilly, so cold that it momentarily froze Madison to the spot.
So that was how it was. He was calling an end to their night together, just like that. Well, she wasn’t about to give him any more reason to believe she might be devastated by the lack of an outcome.
Madison whirled on her heel and walked away from him, hiking the strap of her purse up over her bare shoulder. Behind her, she heard Vlad’s sigh of exasperation, and the brisk staccato of his footsteps as he followed after her. She cursed privately and hopped up onto one foot to divest the other of its heel; soon enough she was bare foot and gaining speed, but Vlad caught up to her anyway.
He didn’t speak a word to call her back or put out a hand on her arm to stop her. Instead, Madison felt a surprising weight settle on her neck and shoulders: Vlad’s dinner jacket, still warm from his body heat.
She paused. Then, without saying a word, she kept walking.
5
Just like that, the enchantment of the evening was over and Madison, his Cinderella in a midnight-black dress, escaped into the night. She had looked every bit as stunning in it as he had imagined.