“Money’s no object,” the notorious Bratva mobster Dimitri Antonov reminds me.
When he says this to me, my ears perk up, zeroing in on his accent being distinctly central Russian. His jet-black hair and cold dark eyes are offset by an upbeat lilt in his voice that’s well trained to be both pretentious and enticing. I suppose even venomous reptiles have access to charm school.
“An unlimited budget,” he says, “and you have free rein to do whatever you want.”
Underwhelmed, I glance around, careful to avoid insulting the man outright by an obvious eye roll that could get me shot. Instead, I take a loose interest in studying the details of his home.
Between the gold accents on every inch of his residence and the confused mixture of modern and gothic designs, the whole place is a testament to bad taste. And that’s coming from a man who’s got half his shit in cardboard boxes.
I have no idea why I’m even here, having made the near hour-long drive to satiate my need to know. And I do need to know, as do all the operatives who’ve had their paths darkened by the man.
His name is one of a dozen from a not too distant past that should stay buried. At least, that was the assurance I was given. My tracks weren’t covered. They were burned beyond recognition, washing all traces of my existence from a mission that just won’t end.
Could this be a trap? Sure. And I’m the idiot mouse staring down a big fucker of a piece of cheese, thinking I’m faster than the deadly hinge that will snap my neck.
Or maybe I’m the one who’s snapped, letting a heavy cloud of paranoia suffocate me in conspiracies and international plots where none exist. Anything’s possible. Because when notorious Bratva mobsters lure ex-operatives to their death, they do it with a mild handshake and a warm smile, and say shit like, “Come be my architect.”
Architect is a stretch, but one I’m comfortable assuming with my background in construction. And Coop doesn’t mind that the only commercial street cred I’ve got in construction is his building. Yet, somehow I’m now front and center as someone with the chops to redesign this guy’s McMansion.
Unsettled, I laugh, wondering if maybe, just maybe, there’s truth in both options. It’s a trap and I’m off my rocker.
Already exhausted, I pull in a breath, ready to move on with my day. I’m only here because, as usual, Maverick managed to lure me.
Oblivious to my disinterest, Dimitri keeps going. “Seriously, the sky’s the limit. Name your price.”
“Well,” I say slowly, leading him through one of several scripts I’ve practiced in my head. “Residential’s not exactly my specialty. My work’s all commercial.”
“Yes, but I’ve seen your building. Brilliant.”
I take the compliment because despite his piss-poor taste, the man’s not wrong. Busting my ass fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, has given me a standout monument on the Dallas skyline covered in my fingerprints. It’s also given me an excuse to keep going when my heart felt a million miles away.
Feels a million miles away.
“Thanks, but as I said, I’m—”
“Dimitri?”
A statuesque brunette with hair down to her ass and wearing six-inch heels slinks down the stairs in lingerie so thin, nothing is left to the imagination. I’m not exactly shy, but leering at her right in front of the man is cocky even for me, so I stroll to a large bay window facing the front driveway.
Gazing out at an endless expanse of lush gardens not meant for the Dallas heat, I lock my gaze far off in the distance while eavesdropping on their conversation. Unconcerned with my presence, their discussion is open and candid, and entirely in their natural Moscovian Russian. Intently, I hang on every word, easing back into the language like an aged single-barrel whiskey.
“What the fuck are you wearing? Are you trying to make me jealous?” Dimitri’s rough with his words, but even from the corner of my eye, the terse smack on her ass only serves to pull her into him.
“What?” she says. “I thought he was here for the three-way you keep promising.”
Amused, I cross my arms, because now I’m wondering the same thing.
“He’s the fucking architect.”
“And an architect’s cock doesn’t work? He’s perfect.”
That purr of her words is electric, and even from across the room, I feel the heat of her stare. Somehow, Dimitri’s huff manages to widen the smile on my face.
“No,” he says in a tone that has somehow settled a teetering decision. “I’m still not sure. Two men for you, or two women for me? You don’t deserve a reward. You’ve been a bad girl, leaving your panties on my nightstand. On purpose. You wanted her to find them.”
At that, she giggles.
I can see from the window’s reflection that he’s about ninety seconds from fucking her right in front of me. Rather than request a snack and some quality vodka, I watch a small car approach and figure that one way or another, it’s my cue to leave.
“Listen, Mr. Antonov—”
“Dimitri,” he says with jovial insistence, and I’m cautious as I approach him. As he gives me a once-over while sporting a cheesier-than-shit grin, it’s apparent he’s into me as much as she is. Which is definitely where my fun train comes to a grinding halt.
Not judging. Just not for me.
“I’m really not the guy for the job.” And yes, I mean that both ways. “So I’ll just show myself out.”
The low rumble of the approaching car draws him to the door before I fully open it. Concern pinches his brow as he peeks outside and then shuts the door, cutting me off from my graceful departure. Before I get belligerent on all five foot ten of him, he huffs out an irate breath and barks out a fuck, completely free of his thick accent.
With a swat on his leggy vixen’s ass, he shoos her away, all the while chastising her.
I don’t mind the bounce of her body as her legs hurry up the stairs, but his incessant belittling of her in his native tongue is seriously pissing me off. Reining myself in, I remain calm and controlled. I have to.
She rushes upstairs without a word, and his hand claps hard on my back, with my natural response being to clench my fist. Hopefully, I can keep the predictable and oncoming throat punch in check. For both our sakes.
His tone gives away a crack of desperation, though his stern eyes are a pure threat. “I’m sure I can trust your discretion.”
My eyes narrow. “Not a problem,” I say, not exactly sure what’s about to go down. “Because as I said, I’m leaving. But if you don’t get your hand off me, I’m ripping it off and taking it with me as a hood ornament.”
Okay, that wasn’t exactly me keeping my cool. I rationalize away any concern, knowing it could have gone down so much worse. On top of Dimitri’s outlandish wealth and unquestionable power, the man has squeezed his way into the upper echelons by tamping down his own reactions.
It only takes him a second before his hand lifts from my shoulder and the charmed smile returns to his face. With four inches and thirty pounds of pure muscle on the guy, I smile back. We’re done here.
I take a few determined steps and fling open the front door, then stalk my way across the annoying-as-fuck pebbled drive. With any luck, when I peel away, my back tire will shoot a rock or two right through a few panes of his custom bay window.
I grab my helmet but can’t bring myself to put it on. I’m too stunned, frozen like an idiot, staring at the car inching to a stop right in front of me, driven by a woman with honey-touched waves that frame her sweet face and slender shoulders.
She kills the engine and gets out of the vintage Mercedes convertible that seems custom built just for her. The black dress hugging her petite frame gives me a tease of her toned thighs and hugs every soft curve of her body perfectly. Her bright blue eyes are wide as they fix on mine, and all I can do is imagine how dark they’ll get when her body is under me.
“Hey, neighbor,” she says smoothly as her pouty lips spread to a genuine smile, and I can’t help but smile back at her giggling lips. “Scouting new locations to streak?”
“With you here? Don’t tempt me.” After a moment of losing myself in her eyes, I scan the length of her breathtaking figure. I deflate as my focus screeches to a halt on her hand, and the ring on her finger.
Fuck. I’m not sure how the hell I missed a diamond the size of Antarctica, but I must have been too distracted the last time to notice. Was she wearing it? By the size and elaborate setting, she’s not just engaged, but to someone who’s about to drive me straight to round two of nearly losing my shit.
The girl next door with a notorious mobster?
My gut sinks at the disturbing thought of her being his. Of him having her.
I have no right to this woman, but based on the electricity that zings between us every time we’re close, I feel like I do. Like I already own her. I try forcing down my wants and desires, and remind myself I’m here for a reason. To find a weakness.
Focus.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her.
“There you are.”
Dimitri’s voice precedes him, but not by enough that I can get on my bike and race away from here before he’s next to me. His statement isn’t for me—it’s for her. He’s talking to the spry baker girl, but his hand claps my shoulder again, spurring me to dart him a glare. Smartly, the asshole releases me and backs up.
“What’s . . . going on?” she asks, her gaze bouncing between him and me with a suspicious squint that, for whatever reason, relieves me.
“Well,” Dimitri says as he wraps a hand around her slight waist and pulls her close. “You said this place didn’t feel like home, so I figured we’d get someone to build you what you want. The sky’s the limit.”
Compared to the last woman in his arms, this one is elegant and sexy in a way that’s demure. The differences between the two make me realize this little one is way out of her element and a far cry from her comfort zone. She’s tense. Fidgety. And her hand on his chest isn’t soft or caressing. More like pushing him away.
He goes in for a kiss, and she turns her head, fixing her eyes on mine as his lips land on her cheek.
The move makes me blow out a breath. Of frustration. Of irritation. Of an unsettled amount of possession that I have no right to. Dimitri seems to share my sentiments, huffing out his own quiet breath.
“You’re an architect?” she asks, understandable confusion lacing her question. When she pulls from Dimitri’s rough hold, my pulse rattles for a second. If she asks too much more, I’m screwed.
Acting as though we’ve never met, it occurs to me that technically, we haven’t. I might have let her in my house, made her coffee, bantered with her with my morning wood in full salute behind the counter, but not once did I give her my name. Or occupation. Though I might not have denied the whole gigolo angle.
“I—” I have no idea why, but I can’t lie to her. Nixing the I’m an architect angle, I decide to wing it. “Honestly, I’m not exactly the right guy for this job.”
“You’re leaving?” she asks, a sad ring to her voice as those eyes that are normally wild and bright go dim.
I’m leaving. I know I’m leaving. But she’s batting her eyes and pouting those gorgeous full lips, and I shrug undecidedly.
Dimitri’s hand slides down her hip, wiping the smile right off my face. “Of course he’s not leaving. You two have to . . . get together.”
His bold hand lowers before pushing Evie forward, so close to me I smell wisps of a scent that’s a mix of some floral perfume and her warm body in the Texas heat.
I don’t know what the hell’s happening, but the previously mentioned threesome suddenly flicks at the hungry parts of my brain, and a strange feeling comes over me. Like I’m on display. We’re on display.
Taking in the curves of her body again, I’m at a loss. A man would have to be insane to think about sharing a woman like this.
Fucking insane.
I whirl around, the confusion on both our faces making me wonder if she spoke with him about me being a gigolo. I look at her, and she looks at me, and it’s apparent we’re both wondering the same thing.
Thankfully, Dimitri continues. “Austin, remember I said money’s no object? It’s because I would do anything for this woman. She loves your work.”
“Dimitri,” she says, shyly scolding him, trying to downplay something she must have confided in private.
“What?” he asks, oblivious to her embarrassment as he speaks to me. “And she gets whatever she wants. Meet my fiancée, Evelyn.”
Now all that talk about discretion flashes back, and I now have confirmation that I’ve managed to land between a man and his wife-to-be.
“Evie,” she says, grabbing my big hand in both of her slender ones for a heartfelt two-handed shake.
Despite my irritation bubbling over and the tragedy of this woman somehow being attached to this sleazebag, I squeeze hers back, becoming more worried by the second. “Austin.”
The more I feel this woman’s warm grip and examine her tender gaze, the more I know she has no idea what she’s dealing with. And it’s not my place to say. Is it?
Best option? Don’t walk away. Run. Seriously, I need to mind my own goddamn business, hit the road, and get on with my day.
Instead, I ask, “So . . . you, uh, like my work?” What work?
Confusion knits her brow as she gives Dimitri a quizzical look. “I do?”
“You said you loved that building in the heart of Dallas. Well, this is the man who designed it.”
Now I’m even more taken aback, and I hate myself for being a little flattered. “You tracked me down from the new headquarters for the Valor Group?” My question rings of genuine surprise.
“It came up on my feed, and I want Evelyn happy. I have a feeling your touch will do just that.”
With his recent conversation still fresh in my head, I’m more than a little alarmed by what he may be suggesting, and realize my hand is still locked in the comfort of hers. Quickly, I pull it back, pocketing it.
“So,” she says with an excited hope lighting her beautiful eyes, “can I give you a tour?”
Stalling, I rake a hand through my hair. This whole situation has bad judgment written all over it. I can’t help but huff out a laugh when her lower lip pushes past the point of fair play. But then I see Dimitri and remember the part I have to play.
Firmly, I say, “I can’t.”
I stand my ground . . . for about thirty seconds until those big eyes start their own Jedi mind tricks, leveling me with a slow bat through lush lashes.
Fuck. “I mean, I can’t . . . start anytime soon.”
“We’re in no rush,” she says with a smile that will be my complete undoing if I don’t get the fuck out of here.
Every instinct in my body tells me to toss her tempting body over my shoulder and carry her the hell out of here. But Dimitri has two armed guards on the doors, one pacing along the roof, and his own weapon tucked in the back of his shirt.
Still, I’m debating it, but then it’s too late. Dimitri whisks her into his arms like he owns her—and for all I know, he does.
“Happy?” he asks in an eager-to-please tone that half makes me think the man’s capable of caring for the girl.
She hesitates for a moment before nodding. Their kiss is enough to convince me to get my ass in gear, and two seconds, I have my gloves on and helmet secured.
“I’ll be in touch,” I say before revving the bike with blatant disregard for their little love fest.
When hell freezes over.