“Trust me, Vladimir,” Igor continued as he settled a hand on Vlad’s shoulder. “You and I both want the same things.”
An image of Madison O’Connor flashed unbidden across Vlad’s mind’s eye an image he was quick to suppress. He would see her again in only a few hours’ time.
And then, he was certain, he would get exactly what he wanted.
Madison O’Connor met Vlad at Mari Vanna exactly on time, drawing much more than Vlad’s attention when she entered. She strolled through the front door with confidence and purpose, even though he had the impression that morning that she had never been there before. She spotted him almost instantly and bypassed the hostess, allowing her long, shapely legs to carry her in measured strides across the room toward him.
He was standing before he knew what he was doing. His nostrils flared derisively at his own eagerness, but he didn’t budge an inch to correct the instinct. He felt certain that it was a gentleman, and not the mafioso, who stood a chance of extracting information from Madison O’Connor.
She looked taken aback by his physical appearance, and he tried to suppress some of the same feelings as they threatened to overcome him. If he greeted her like a queen, it was the least she deserved. She was a vision in red, her luxurious long hair styled in pin curls that draped her bare—and yes, freckled—shoulders; her candy apple-red dress sheathed her body as well as if she had been sewn into it. It may as well have been the long lost Grand Duchess Anastasia gliding into Mari Vanna for all the reaction she was getting. Vlad doubted it was his patriotic feelings that made his cock twitch at the sight of her.
There was no denying she looked beautiful, but there was also one glaring problem.
“Where is the dress I sent over?” Vlad inquired. It did not occur to him that those were the first words exchanged between them since that morning, and what passed for his greeting. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t to your liking?”
“I… didn’t have time to stop by the gallery,” Madison said hastily.
Vlad carried himself around the table in one smooth movement, drawing the woman’s chair out for her. The gesture appeared to surprise her as much as seeing him in a suit had. She flushed, tipping her head down in a failed attempt to prevent him seeing, and settled herself into the offered seat.
“You’re lying.” He let his faint amusement at the fact override his condemnation. Madison O’Connor’s flush deepened all along her pretty freckled nose, and Vlad knew he was correct. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“If you must know, it was to my liking,” she confessed. “But it was very short. Extremely short.” Her blush began working its way down her neck as he watched with interest. “I didn’t think they’d let me in here wearing something like that. They’d have to knock a star off, at least.”
“You did your research,” Vlad noticed. He signaled a passing waiter with a vague stroke of two fingers; the waiter scurried off to place the wordless order at the bar. Vlad’s family was known at Mari Vanna, and it went without saying that they were always treated well here.
“So did you. How did you know my measurements, anyway?” Madison cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you knew just by looking at me?”
“I can tell a lot just by looking at you,” Vlad said, simply to watch her blush again. It was amazing the responses, the signals; the woman gave off without knowing what she was giving away. He doubted if she would last a day in his world.
Yet here they were: two worlds on a collision course, neither willing to back down or correct their cataclysmic trajectory.
The waiter returned with a flight of expensive vodka samples. Madison’s eyes snapped to the board as it was placed before them, and Vlad felt an unexpected flare of pride at her clear approval of his choice. He had hoped to discover a different woman outside of the office, and he was not disappointed. She was like a ruby slowly baring new facets of herself for his appraisal.
“May I call you Madison?” He surprised himself with the question.
“You may,” she acquiesced. “Shall we toast?”
Vlad tipped a shot glass to her. “To our continuing business partnership.”
“To Sergey Karev,” Madison returned.
Something in his chest clenched at her words, a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it was his heart that responded to her words, but it was something, an emotion he had thought long dead and buried.
He narrowed his eyes, not to glare, but to study. He detected no trace of irony in her words, not even a veiled derision at the mention of his father. It was no secret to him that Madison O’Connor resented his family’s involvement in her business; she had made it as clear as the distilled liquid placed in front of them that she thought her life was better off without members of the Bratva circling her territory like encroaching wolves.
So why was she here with him now? Surely it wasn’t to take advantage of an expensive dinner, paid for with the very money she so resented. Vlad watched her over the top of his glass, forgetting to join her as she raised the vodka to her plump, pillowy lips and swallowed it down without so much as a flinch. He imagined how the alcohol must burn that luscious mouth and the delicate throat beneath, but she never once betrayed the discomfort that had been on full display when she drank his coffee that morning. She never broke eye contact with him, either.
Interesting. Maybe Madison O’Connor wasn’t an effective liar, but she was still able to keep things hidden from the outside observer. His drink forgotten, Vlad found himself leaning across the table without thinking.
“Vladimir!” a familiar, bell-like voice rang out across the restaurant. “They told me you were here! And you didn’t even drop by the back to say hello? Naughty boy.”
Vlad eased back in his chair once more, as if to make additional room for the enormous personality now mincing toward them. Madison started slightly as a tall, gorgeous woman strode from the back of the restaurant and appeared beside their table. The blonde paused just short of pulling up a chair and seating herself down beside them. Instead, she lorded over their private meeting with one hip cocked, and an expensively-manicured hand posted up on her waist as if to accentuate what she considered to be one of her best assets.
The woman was exotic in a European way, and it wasn’t just her accent that betrayed her Russian roots. Her eyes were a twinkling blue, almond-shaped and wideset; her nose was perfectly symmetrical and economic, leaving plenty of room for her expansive high cheekbones and easy, dimpled smile.
“Katya,” Vlad acknowledged. His eyes scarcely strayed from the face of the redhead still seated across from him. Madison’s dark eyes flickered between him and their intruder searchingly. It occurred to him that she might instinctively detect the history between him and the proprietress of Mari Vanna; a history decidedly less innocent than the present cool relationship on display. Katya was certainly making it appear like they were on much closer terms than they actually were, and Vlad had little doubt that Madison was the intended audience for her show.
“You never call me!” Katya pouted lips just as large, but far less visually magnetic, than Madison’s. “You know I will get you in any night. Special. Why not your usual booth?” she demanded, sweeping her free hand toward the back of the room. “You don’t feel like getting comfy this evening?”