“My plans are wide open,” Vlad replied, still looking at Madison. “To an extent.”
He wanted to make it clear that Katya did not in any way factor into his newfound willingness to improvise. The intensity of his gaze finally succeeded in drawing his date back to him, and he was rewarded with a hesitant, appreciative smile. Madison certainly dressed the part of the effortless siren, but her experience with this sort of entanglement was observably lacking. It didn’t make her any less appealing to him; if anything, her indecision of whether she should feel jealous of his history with Katya only made her more charming, somehow elevating her further above the primitive, physical world he inhabited.
Katya, he knew, had experience with many entanglements of various types. The owner of Mari Vanna cast a look between them, studying the situation with a new understanding. She appeared to be paying special attention to Vlad’s face, and to the fact that he was decidedly not paying equal attention to her.
“All drinks on me this evening,” she granted them generously as she backed away in retreat. “You You need anything else; you know how to be in touch, Vladimir.” Katya plucked his hand from the table in parting, threading her fingers between his and allowing them to slip away in tantalizing promise. She turned on her heel and left the two of them alone once more, her rear end working overtime to deliver her out of reach. Vlad didn’t allow himself to look and was surprised that his abstinence didn’t even require that much effort.
“Who was that?” Madison inquired when they were alone once more. She reached toward the sampler between them, before clearly thinking better of it. She then allowed herself to overreach instead, lifting his untasted shot and acquiring it as her own. Vlad supposed it was the revenge she deserved.
“The owner,” he replied seamlessly, knowing full well that he withheld the information she ultimately wanted.
“What does she own?” Madison asked offhand. She broke off from her questioning to tip back her second shot with equal ease to the first.
Vlad smiled at the question in spite of himself. “Less than she thinks,” he replied.
“You know, I’ve already given you a hard time for being Russian,” Madison mentioned, thankfully segueing into another subject. “But you haven’t remarked at all on my Irish ancestry. That takes a lot of self-control, let me assure you.” She lifted another glass from where it nested in the flight, letting it dangle casually between her fingers. In contrast to Katya, Madison’s nails were real, shorter, certainly, but he had no doubt that they could leave their mark on a man. Just imagining them clawing desperately along the bunched muscles of his back made him stiffen once more beneath the table.
“Usually dates think they’re being really clever when they comment on my lineage,” Madison continued. “I’m not used to waiting. So come on, I can take it.”
“I have no doubt that you can take many things,” Vlad returned as he finally helped himself to his first drink.
Madison laughed but her blush made it evident it was for show. She shifted in her chair, clearly at the mercy of whatever mental image his comment had inspired. Vlad would have given anything in that moment to know what she was thinking; he would have given more to make it a reality.
Deciding to take pity on her, at least for now, “Let’s just say I was referring to your business savvy,” he volunteered. “Clearly you are as much a professional used to getting what you want as I am. On the subject of lineage, I would like to know more about your family.”
Your father, specifically.
But he couldn’t say as much, not without betraying the note relegated to a secret pocket on the inside of his dinner jacket, nestled between his heart and the Makarov pistol he always carried on him.
Madison shook her head, red curls bouncing around her beautiful face. “You know enough already,” she said. “We O’Connors may have what you call business savvy, but I sincerely doubt we have enough of it to last against a family like yours.”
“You make the mistake of thinking we’re at odds,” Vlad observed, “despite what is obviously a mutually beneficial partnership. The O’Connor Fine Arts Gallery doesn’t survive on the collective dreams of its artists and art benefactors. Not even on the ambitions of a beautiful woman such as yourself.”
Madison gave a delighted little laugh at this. “If you think I’m ambitious when it comes to the art we showcase, you’re both right and wrong, Mr. Karev.”
“Vlad,” he said.
“Vlad,” she repeated. Gazing into her eyes, he had an idea that the familiarity would stick this time.
“The fact remains, Vlad, that I’m not comfortable with your family’s involvement in the… I’m not comfortable with your family’s chosen business,” she corrected herself quickly.
“You have nothing to fear from saying the words out loud, Madison. The patrons of Mari Vanna are all too familiar with who I am and what I do for a living.”
“That’s probably true,” Madison admitted, “but I still find it hard to discuss. Maybe if you told me a little more about yourself…about your family, I would start to feel a little more comfortable with all this.”
She had just deflected his probe with an identical one of her own. Vlad helped himself to another shot before sitting back in his chair, fingering his lower lip, relishing the sting that lingered there. He considered her in silence. Beneath the heat of his gaze, Madison began to react to him once more; she dropped her thickly-lashed eyes after a moment and preoccupied herself with straightening her utensils.
Dinner was served to them without an official order being placed. Madison assessed the plate curiously as it was placed in front of her. An appetite looked good on her. It made Vlad wonder what other appetites she might be harboring.
“Shashlik,” he said, introducing the steaming dish, unleashing his Russian accent in a sensuous growl. Madison shifted in her chair again, leading him to believe that parts of her besides her ears were receptive to the foreignness of the language. “Like a kebab.”
“I can see that.”
They tucked into their meal, finishing the flight between breaks in conversation. Despite attempts on both sides of the table, nothing of further substance was revealed by the end of dinner. Not to say that Vlad didn’t enjoy the verbal sparring. In fact, he was afraid he was starting to enjoy Madison O’Connor’s company a little too much.
He thought it more than likely that his enjoyment was shared, considering her closing proposal to him.
“Want to see some art?” Madison blurted out unexpectedly. If alcohol served to sharpen her tongue, then it blunted her other parts of speech.
Vlad grinned expansively. “Da. I would love to.”
He watched her blush at the unexpected Russian resurgence. They rose together, and Vlad came around the table to walk her out. He let his hand fall to the small of her back, his fingers pressing themselves against the womanly indent they found as he guided her, and relished the little startled arch her spine gave at the intrusion as they walked out into the night together.
4
Madison didn’t get art. She wasn’t even sure she liked it most days. But if there was one thing she knew, it was that art sometimes inspired things in people. Feelings. Ideas. Honesty.
She had seen the gallery act as a confessional between couples on more than one occasion, especially late at night, and she didn’t see why this evening should be any exception to the rule. Just because she had never been affected by the enchantment herself didn’t mean it was beyond the realm of possibility.