“If what I’ve heard is true, you want to launch this charity for children. But no one trusts you to be involved in anything concerning children. Because, let’s face it, who would have you spearheading a charity for children? You are, by all accounts, cantankerous, ill-tempered, foul-mouthed and hot-headed. Did I miss anything?”

Dmitri took a step toward her and took a great amount of satisfaction in watching her shrink a bit. “Yes. I’m also something of a womaniser. That doesn’t help my cause. I mean, what with all the rumors flying around about how I meet a woman, take her to dinner and have her naked, between my sheets and screaming my name in only a couple of hours—”

Victoria held up a hand, clearly irritated with the line of dialogue. “I could solve your problems,” she said, twisting the subject expertly.

“By marrying me?”

“I wouldn’t actually have to marry you. I would simply need to hang on your arm for a while, then wear your ring for a while after that. Long enough to get things going.”

“You have thought this through.” And she had ambushed him, with no warning at all. A smart woman. Were she a burly man and not a fine-boned female she might have made an excellent fighter.

A worthy opponent.

But if Victoria wanted to beard the lion in his den she would have to accept the consequences.

MAISEY YATES is the USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online, and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: www.maiseyyates.com

His Diamond of Convenience

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

For Pippa,

because you’ve loved Victoria since she first appeared. Thank you for all of your support, now and always.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

VICTORIA INTENSELY DISLIKED places like this. Gyms with boxing rings, hanging punching bags and various other accoutrements. The lighting was dim, casting everything in a dull shadow. It was probably for the best, all things considered, else it might reveal the stains from dirt, blood and whatever else that undoubtedly lingered on the canvas. The air smelled of sweat, of testosterone. And she could truly think of nothing less appealing.

The entire place, and all of its inhabitants, needed to be hosed down.

If it wasn’t absolutely necessary she find Dmitri Markin, she would never have stepped foot in here.

She ran her hand over her hair, checking to see that everything was still in place, then walked forward, her high heels loud on the concrete floor as she strode through the workout area, studiously ignoring the male gazes that were following her progress through the room.

These were not the male gazes she was looking for. And therefore, she was uninterested.

Oily muscles did nothing for her. Thank you very much.

Not unless she needed a heavy box lifted. Then oily muscles could certainly serve a purpose, but not aesthetically. Not in her world.

One of the men she walked past whistled and she felt her muscles tense, starting at the base of her skull and spreading downward, her shoulders bunching up as the tension bled outward.

She didn’t give the man the satisfaction of pausing, neither did she look at him. Rather, she ratcheted her chin up a notch and forged ahead, tightening her hold on her purse and keeping her strides even.

Over the years she had become something of a challenge to men. They knew she had a reputation for keeping herself separate, for keeping herself distant. And that made her a temptation, apparently, which was just one more reason she had to disdain the gender. Which was potentially unfair of her, but she didn’t care.

In the interest of maintaining the family peace and getting back in her father’s good books, she had at one time entertained the idea of making a suitable marriage. And in her mind, and the mind of her father, a suitable marriage meant marriage to royalty. Yet it had failed spectacularly. Because when she had managed to secure herself a royal fiancé, he had gone on to fall in love with their matchmaker.

Which had put her back at square one. Focusing on her charities and on raising her family’s profile in the media.

Until she had found out that Dmitri Markin had something she wanted. And that he wanted something she had.

Now she had a whole new plan for fixing the pain she caused her family. And it would be a whole lot better than marrying a prince. Assuming she could accomplish it. And she would. Because she didn’t fail. Not anymore.

She had the chance to atone for past sins. She’d spotted this open door, so she was walking through it.

Right at the moment she was thinking of metaphorical doors, she walked through a literal door and into the back of the gym. This was a private training room, so she had been told when she had inquired about Dmitri’s haunts. And just as she had been informed, by the curvaceous redhead she had met at a party earlier in the week, Dmitri was here, grappling with another man.

They were both shirtless, in black pants, fighting as if their lives depended on it. She sniffed. Silly. Their lives certainly did not depend on it.

Men.

She recognized Dmitri immediately. He was larger than his opponent, well muscled and sporting an armful of ink. She didn’t know what the symbols were, or what they represented; she only knew that, were the tabloids to be believed, they were the sort of thing that caused a lot of women to swoon.

Not her. She was not given to swooning.

To her, they were merely beneficial because they helped her to identify her target sooner.

She stopped walking, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and cocking her hip to the right. “Dmitri Markin?”

He wrapped his arms around his partner’s waist, bent and flipped the other man over his shoulder, letting him land flat on his back on the mats. Then Dmitri straightened and turned to face her, hands on his lean hips, his chest pitching with the effort of his breathing. Sweat rolled down his skin, skating over his ab muscles and drawing her eye toward the waistband of his shorts. Toward the line of hair that continued down farther beneath the fabric.

Heat assaulted her and she redirected her gaze quickly. And that didn’t help at all, because as distracting as his body was, well, his face wasn’t any better.

A ripple of unease went through her. Photographs hadn’t prepared her for the sheer magnetism he presented. An element she hadn’t accounted for.

The realization made her stomach squeeze tight, apprehension winding through her. She was momentarily shocked, turned to stone, by the man standing before her.

Considering what he’d done for a living it wouldn’t be outside the norm for his face to be a living record of every punch he’d taken. A time line of his years spent in the ring. But no. He didn’t have the decency to be deformed. His dark hair was rumpled in a near-stylish manner, dark eyes glimmering with humor. His nose had a bump in it, likely from being broken, and it only made him look...rakish, not disfigured. How annoying. Then there was the deep groove in his upper lip, likely a badly healed split, so that his mouth gave the impression he was always sneering slightly, even when he was smiling. That was rakish, too.

A shiver ran through her and she fought to keep from showing the evidence of it on her face. She needed to secure this deal. So that the rift between her and her father could be stitched back together. So that she could finally move on with her life.

She couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not when she was so close.

Damn the man. Was there nowhere she could look? She let her eyes drift back to his chest, and she felt her cheeks get warmer. She had no idea what was going on with her, why for an instant she had felt frozen. Why she was unable to tear her eyes away from his body.

Perhaps it was simple appreciation at the weapon he clearly was. His past was no secret; everyone was well aware of his work as a mixed martial arts fighter. And even though it had been nearly a decade since he’d set foot into a ring, he was obviously still keeping himself honed.

So yes, it had something to do with all of that. And she was moving on.

“I am he.” He took his hands from his hips and rolled his shoulders backward, thrusting his chest forward as he stretched his muscles, the shift and bunch of the lines on his body capturing her attention yet again. These were the very glistening muscles she had just been disavowing and dismissing, claiming they could not be aesthetically pleasing. At the moment she had to admit there was some aesthetic appeal.

Though, it wasn’t in the way women typically admired men. No. Not in the least. This was artistic admiration. She had an eye for clean lines, good design. Dmitri was like fine architecture.

She cleared her throat. “My name is Victoria. Victoria Calder.”

“I do not recall hearing your name before. I don’t think we have an appointment.” His every word was just slightly flat, still colored by a hint of Russian accent, though it was faded after long years of living in the UK. “Unless,” he said, a slow smile crossing his lips, “you are looking for a chance to challenge me on the mats.”

She gripped the strap of her purse tighter. “That’s quite funny. Do you often have women coming to challenge you on the mats?”

The smile broadened, turned wicked, and her stomach turned over, twisted. She gritted her teeth and fought to maintain her composure. “More often than you might think.”

She cleared her throat. “Excellent. Charming. That is, however, not why I’m here.”

“Well, if it is legitimate business, an appointment is typically made.” He looked her over, his gaze leaving a trail of heat behind. She tried to get her focus back. Tried to recite her plan in her head. Envision her goal. She could not be deterred. “There is a certain type of woman who shows up unannounced. If you have legitimate business I suggest you call my secretary and make an appointment. Otherwise, take off your dress.”

She ignored the rough command. She also ignored the rush of heat that came along with it. He was expecting her to get all flustered. She was certain. And she would not give him the satisfaction. At least, she wouldn’t show it, but the wild thumping of her heart made her think flustered was exactly what she was whether she wanted to be or not.

She swallowed hard and met his eyes. “I’ll keep the dress on, thanks. Shall we adjourn to a more comfortable setting?”

“I am perfectly comfortable. And I was not expecting to have a meeting. Therefore, I will stay here.”

The man he had been fighting had risen to his feet now and was standing there looking at the two of them. “Then perhaps you might ask him to leave,” Victoria said.

“Because you’re going to take the dress off?”

She cleared her throat, schooling her expression into one of disdain, ignoring the prickling feeling on the back of her neck. “Sadly for you, no. You can let go of that fantasy quickly. The dress isn’t coming off until I get home and step into a nice warm bath, which, after the harassment I’ve endured today, is well deserved. I’m staying dressed. And we need to have a discussion.”

“It sounds like I might be in trouble. But I have never slept with you, so I don’t see why I should be. I have not caused you any trouble. Yet.”

She gritted her teeth. He was really pulling out all the stops. Fortunately it was nothing she hadn’t dealt with before. Typically the man wasn’t shirtless. Typically he was not quite so good-looking. But neither of those things mattered, not to her. “Either he goes or I go,” she said, keeping her tone bored. “And I have a feeling you want to hear what I have to say.”

Dmitri cocked his head to the side, a small smile curving one side of his mouth. “Nigel, leave us for moment.” The other man nodded and walked out. Then Dmitri turned his focus to her. “Speak.”

She readjusted her hold on her bag, her palms feeling sweaty now. “I am not a dog, nor indeed am I any type of pet. Rephrase.”

He chuckled, a dark sound that poured over her like melting honey. That made her shiver. “Okay, why don’t you tell me what you came here to tell me so that I can go take my shower?”

Her patience was wearing thin. She was still standing in the sweaty gym and, frankly, his bare chest was having more of an effect on her than she would like. Was making her feel as if there was a gaping hole in her plan. All of that was conspiring to put her in a very cranky mood. And that was the only thing that could account for the words that came out of her mouth next.

“All right, Mr. Markin. I just came here to ask you a question. Will you marry me?”

* * *

Dmitri looked at the powerhouse blonde standing in front of him. She was pale, with slim curves, long, lean legs and an expression that could make a lesser man wilt where he stood. And if the look of her didn’t accomplish it, that crisp English accent, so posh it made a man feel as if he ought to put on a tie before he could speak to her, would.

He, however, was not a lesser man and was therefore not wilting. Not in the least. And he wasn’t putting on a damned tie.

“Sorry, you might have had better luck with the proposal if you had taken the dress off.”

“Cheap thrills are your thing, then?” she asked, arching a finely shaped brow.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah. I like a cheap thrill. Though, these days I can afford an expensive thrill, too. But honestly, why not just embrace every thrill available?” He looked her over again, taking in every curved line, every enticingly female part of her. “I would have picked you for an expensive thrill. But as you’ve price checked yourself...”

“You’ll find me short on thrills, Mr. Markin,” she said, her voice biting. “Unless what I have to offer you is a thrill—and do not get too excited. It has nothing to do with bare skin.”

“Marriage usually does have something to do with bare skin. It is the only reason I can see anyone would enter into the union. Though, I’ve found my share outside of it.”

“Which could be part of why you’re having such a hard time finding support for your charity.”

The back of his neck prickled. “How did you know about that?”

The charity he was working on establishing in Colvin’s name was not common knowledge. Yes, he’d approached a few people about it, but he’d told those people to be discreet. The reactions had all been the same, too.

He would need support. Because a man with a reputation for driving too fast, sleeping with too many women, a man who had earned his fortune in the ring...would have his efforts met with cynicism.

And he could not afford to have a negative reaction. Colvin was dead. There would be no paying him back in this life. But he could show the world what the other man had done for him. Offer choices to children who were in the position he had once been in.

Choices he had never had. Control that had been wrenched from him on a cold day in Moscow.

“I always have an ear to the ground,” Victoria said, “plus, I have sat on the board for a great many charities over the years and have quite a few connections. I use those connections to my advantage.”

“How does supporting a kids’ charity benefit you?”

She blinked wide blue eyes slowly. “What do you mean? I’m only thinking of the children.”

He swore crudely in Russian and laughed. “Right. I’m sure you are.”

“I take it you don’t believe me?”

“Do I believe the Ice Princess is thinking of the children? No. You would have to emanate some warmth before I would believe that.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry. Too busy to emanate today I’m afraid. Perhaps another time. However, I assure you I approach my charity work with complete dedication. But I save my passion for my work, so none for you, I’m afraid. Now, about my proposal...”

“Why did you propose?”

She lifted a brow. “It was love at first sight?”

“No.”

She leveled her gaze, meeting his, her eyes alight with determination. “I want London Diva back.”

He frowned at the mention of one of his holdings. “Excuse me?”

“London Diva. I want the company signed back over to my family.”

“Calder,” he said, repeating her name. Of course he hadn’t made the immediate connection. He’d bought the chain of high-end retail stores out from under Nathan Barrett a few years back, but he knew it had been founded by Geoffrey Calder some thirty years earlier. “You’re Geoffrey Calder’s... Well, you can’t be his wife because you just proposed to me. His daughter?”

“Very good guess. A correct guess.”

“So, you walk in and propose marriage, then demand a portion of my business. And what will you do for me in return?”

“You may have seen some of my charity work in the media. They speak quite highly of me. Some outlets have made comparisons with Mother Teresa, though I think that’s selling her a bit short. It isn’t as if I’ve given up all of my worldly possessions,” she said, flashing her expensive-looking handbag. “But, though I’m not a paragon, I am, compared to you. And I have something you want. Something you seem incapable of buying.”

He waved a hand. “Foolish woman. I have yet to find anything I can’t buy.”

“Except a better reputation.” The expression on her face was almost comically angelic. He imagined she would look innocent of a crime just as she was about to cut a man’s throat.

He liked that.

But what he didn’t like was the fact that she had his balls in a vise. And was tightening it slowly. His reputation as a businessman was flawless. His reputation as a human being had some issues. “And why do you suppose I need to improve my reputation?”

“Because if what I’ve heard is true, you want to launch this charity for children. Gyms offering free and reduced-rate lessons in martial arts and other physical fitness activities for children in high risk situations. But no one trusts you to be involved in anything concerning children. Because let’s face it, who would have you spearheading a charity for children. You are, by all accounts, cantankerous, ill-tempered, foulmouthed and hotheaded. Did I miss anything?”

He took a step toward her and took a great amount of satisfaction in watching her shrink a bit. “Yes. I’m also something of a womanizer. That doesn’t help my cause. I mean, what with all the rumors flying around about how I meet a woman, take her to dinner and have her naked, between my sheets and screaming my name in only a couple of hours—”

She held up a hand, clearly irritated with the line of dialogue. Good. “That’s only the tip of the iceberg, though, isn’t it? Drunk driving. Fraternizing with married women. Many of whom are mothers. You certainly don’t have a history of caring if you tear families apart.”

Dmitri bristled at her blatant reference to his most recent scandal. “Lavinia left out some critical information when I took her to bed.”

“That she was married?”

“Oh, hell no. I don’t care about that. I’m not the one who made vows. But I did not know she had children.”

In many ways, he preferred conducting his affairs with women who had other attachments. It allowed him as much detachment as he wanted. Which was essential. He didn’t have relationships, he had sex.

He didn’t sleep with his lovers. That required trust, and he didn’t trust the women he had affairs with.

But that was because he didn’t trust anyone.

Victoria made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Yes. Well. In that case you’re practically a saint, aren’t you?”

“The patron saint of vodka and orgasms, maybe.”

Color flooded Victoria’s cheeks. “Odd. I’ve never seen you depicted on the stained glass at mass.”

“Something to do with my excommunication I’m sure,” he said drily.

“I could solve your problems,” she said, twisting the subject expertly.

“By marrying me?”

She chuckled, the sound like a fork on crystal. “Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t actually have to marry you. I would simply need to hang on your arm for a while, then wear your ring for a while after that. Long enough to get things going.”

“You have thought this through.” And she had ambushed him with no warning at all. A smart woman. Were she a burly man and not a fine-boned female she might have made an excellent fighter.

A worthy opponent.

But she was not a fighter, and not his opponent. And was, in this moment, mainly irritating.

“Of course I have. I was hardly going to storm in here without a plan,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

Just for that, he would make her pay. He was not beneath her. Her or anyone else. And he would not allow her to speak to him as if he was.

“Well, sadly for you, you don’t know my schedule all that well. I have somewhere to be soon, and that means I need to go back to my place, shower and change.”

“Well...where is that?”

“Happily for you, just upstairs.” He had a set of apartments above the gym, an odd choice, he knew. This gym wasn’t in the trendy part of town, but it was where he’d got his start when he’d come from Russia to London and it held sentimental value to him.

Even more now that Colvin was dead. The loss of his mentor was a heavy weight around his neck, and being here made him feel...well, like the old man wasn’t entirely gone.

Fanciful garbage he wasn’t normally given to, but he hadn’t been able to let go of this place.

Colvin had given him choices again. Colvin had given him—not his old life back—but a new life. One that consisted of more than grubby bars, threadbare blankets and foam mattresses on cement floors. One that consisted of more than taking blow after blow, washing the blood off in a dirty bathroom in the back of an underground club and going back for more...

Choice was what Colvin had given him. It was what Dmitri wanted to give to the children who would benefit from the charity.

It was what Victoria Calder was slowly tightening her grasp on, and tugging away from him, as she laid out a finely honed argument that showed him two options. Her, or failure. Dishonor or death.

Much like being back on the streets of Moscow.

It made anger fire straight through his blood, a wall of flame that heated him from the inside out. But he would never let her see that.

He knew better than to expose his weaknesses to his opponent.

“You want me to come upstairs while you shower?” she asked, obviously incredulous. Good.

“Unless it’s a problem.”

She sputtered and shook her head. “Oh no. No. Why would it be a problem? Of course it isn’t a problem. You just...lead the way, then.” She waved a manicured hand and he fought the urge to do something shocking. Grab it. Tug her to him. Wrap an arm around her waist and hold her against him. Prove he wasn’t some lackey she could come in and order around.

Because no one had informed Victoria Calder that not everyone leaped to attention at the sound of her crisp accent. He, however, would not. And she would learn quickly.

But damn her for finding a weak point. He was not given to emotional connections. He had one. And she had found it.

“Right this way, then,” he said, not bothering to look at her as he forged through the workout room and to a door that was nearly hidden in the back. He entered in his code on the keypad on the door and he heard the lock give, then he jerked the door open, holding it. “After you, Ms. Calder.”

She shot him a look he was certain was intended to be deadly, but he continued on anyway.

“You will find I am not wounded by icy glares, Ms. Calder,” he said.

Her back stiffened and she stopped midstride.

“I am not trying to wound you,” she said. “That runs counter to my objective.”

“Of marrying me. Yes. It would not do for you to become a widow before we get a chance to start our new, charitable life together.”

She sniffed audibly. “Indeed.” She started walking again, her high heels clicking on the hard floor.

He forced a chuckle and followed her up the stairs, his eyes pinned to her shapely ass. For now, he wouldn’t focus on the feeling of entrapment that was winding itself around his throat. He would focus on her skirt. That pencil skirt she was wearing was a gift. He’d rarely appreciated what well-cut, high-class clothes could do when fitted just right to a woman’s curves. He typically aimed for obvious targets, not hidden gems like this one.

Right now he was rethinking that.

Then she paused and turned to him again, one pale brow arched, and he immediately remembered why, in spite of how lovely their asses looked in pencil skirts, he didn’t go for women like her.

He liked a good time. He liked a simple time.

Work was hard. Life was hard. Sex, in his opinion, should be easy.

And nothing about Victoria Calder said easy.

“Did you have something else to say, Ms. Calder?” he asked.

She pinched her lips together. “No.” Then she turned and continued on up the stairs.

She stopped in front of the closed door at the top of the staircase, her hands clasped in front of her, fingers curled around the strap of the bag she seemed so proud of.

He positioned himself behind her very purposefully and leaned in, reaching past her to the keypad on the wall, entering a different code from the one he had put in outside. He could feel her indrawn breath, could see the way that it caused her shoulders to rise, then stiffen. He felt a smile curve his lips as he lingered, his fingers still hovering over the buttons after he had finished entering the code, taking a pause before he opened the door.

He didn’t like being surprised. He liked even less the thought that this woman might think she could come into his facility and start issuing demands. He was not a dog waiting to be brought to heel, and she would realize that soon enough.

The power was his. Even if he was intrigued by the idea of making use of her and her offer, it did not mean that she had the upper hand. She had already revealed that she had more at stake than he did, and he was prepared to use that against her.

Because no matter that Dmitri Markin had long ago left the ring, he was a fighter. And everyone who entered his territory was an opponent as far as he was concerned. Victoria was no different. He would not hesitate to find her weaknesses so that in future, if need be, he could exploit them.

“After you,” he said, keeping his hand firmly braced on the door, holding it open.

Victoria didn’t look at him; rather she walked straight ahead and into the room. She was an icy creature, and prideful. It intrigued him. It also provided him with a weakness. She prized her control—that much was clear. It was connected to her pride—that much was also clear. And now he had found her pressure point.

He walked in the room after her, closing the door behind him. It was a sparse room, but much more upscale than one typically anticipated after seeing the gym below. He’d had it remodeled a year or so ago as a place where he could go and be free from the press. Free from any ex-flames. Free of any expectation. That was what the gym had always been for him.

No one bothered him here. At least until Victoria Calder had showed up.

Victoria continued more deeply into the room, her high heels clicking on the high-gloss black tile. She was looking around, likely thinking the same thing he’d been observing. That this room was not what one would expect upon entry to the gym. Clean lines, modern furniture, black, white and stainless steel everywhere. No windows. He was buried too deeply within the gym. And he found he liked it that way. A way to truly be cut off from the outside world, something he’d lacked in his teenage years.

He pushed open the bathroom door. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” He walked inside and stripped off his clothes, not bothering to close the door behind him as he moved to turn the shower on.

If Victoria wanted to beard the lion in his den, she would have to accept the consequences.

CHAPTER TWO

HE HADN’T CLOSED the door. Victoria stood in the middle of Dmitri’s spotless, ultramodern apartment, still holding on to her purse as if it was a lifeline, not quite certain of what to do next.

She could hear the water running, assumed that he was now in the shower.

And he had not closed the door.

He was naked. Wet.

It was inappropriate.

And very likely, all a part of him trying to get the upper hand. His behavior absolutely reeked of that. And she was determined that she wouldn’t let it work. She did not respond to intimidation tactics. No matter what form they took. There was no doubt in her mind that this was, in fact, an attempt at intimidating her. Too bad for him it wouldn’t work. A little bit of wobble in her knees wasn’t going to put her off.

But while she might not be intimidated, she was a little bit uncomfortable. Because her mind kept going back to naked and wet. Which was unusual. More than unusual, it was almost unheard of. She’d been cured of base lust very early on. Once she’d realized how it could be used to manipulate, it had lost its luster.

She let out a heavy breath, feeling exasperated at the turn this had taken. Not that she had expected him to accept her proposal on sight. But she hadn’t expected all this, either.

She was determined to play it cool, determined that she would not allow him to put her on her back foot.

And just as she had made the resolution firm, it broke apart like a sand castle being hit by a wave. Because just then Dmitri reappeared, water droplets rolling down his chest, a towel wrapped around his hips. If she had been paying attention and not been so busy gathering her determination, she might have realized that he’d turned the water off. But she hadn’t. And he had. And he had managed to surprise her again. Of course, she wouldn’t let him see that.

She swallowed hard, her throat parched. Which was odd since he was...wet.

“Do you own a shirt, Mr. Markin?” She looked him up and down, doing her best to keep her expression disinterested. “Because I have yet see evidence of it.”

“I do, but I don’t always see occasion to wear one. Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. I was merely concerned. You are a billionaire, so obviously I assumed that you were more than able to cover the expenses in your life. But if not, I’m happy to take up a collection. Charity is after all my area of expertise.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and rich, and far more off-putting than she would like to admit. “Your concern is very touching. However, you should not worry yourself with my clothing needs, as I find they are adequately met. But you do seem to know one thing I am in want of, and that is a better public image. I am wondering who your sources are.”

Victoria tapped her chin. “A lady never tells. Anyway, don’t worry too much about it. Your part in this will be minimal, all told. As I said, we won’t even really have to get married.”

“I only need to buy you a ring, is that it?”

She arched a brow. “If the implication is that I might be doing this to get a piece of jewelry out of you, then allow me to inform you that you’re very wrong. I have my own money, Mr. Markin, and I’m not in need of yours. I could buy my own damned ring.” She said the words crisply, knowing that she was betraying her annoyance.

After the loss of London Diva her father had withdrawn his support—both emotionally and financially. Her mother had left so long ago Victoria could barely remember her, but it hadn’t mattered because she’d had her father. She’d been the center of his world. And then...it was as though a veil had been torn from his eyes and he’d seen her, not as his princess, but as a flawed, craven creature, who wasn’t even related to the little girl he’d once cherished.

Oh, he hadn’t stopped speaking to her. Hadn’t thrown her out of the house, or openly shamed her. But the disapproval that always hung in the air was palpable.

So, she’d learned to be independent.

She had access to her trust fund. She’d made her own investments with it, paid back the fund and now proudly lived predominantly with her own money.

The break from her family had been what prompted her to get involved in charity work. Initially as an outward show of some sort of virtue, but in the end, it had come to mean a lot more to her than that.

It had taught her the value of independence. Of hard work. It was the one place she could see positive change coming out of her actions. A positive change that helped others. A much-needed outlet when, at home, she was still paying for mistakes of the past.

Not for much longer.

“You want your family business back. I don’t see any point in skirting around the real reason you’re here.”

“Yes, nothing more complicated than that. Nothing more nefarious than that. It’s such a small portion of your empire I fail to see why it would be of concern to you. I want my birthright, my inheritance.”

He said nothing, his dark eyes fixed on her as though he was waiting for more. So she obliged him. “Like I said, a straightforward transaction. My family’s company is returned to me at the end of our agreement, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that your reputation is solid. With me helping in the establishment of your charity you should have benefactors throwing money at you from all corners of the earth. I guarantee you that my presence in your life will improve your standing in the media.”

“You are quite confident in yourself.”

Victoria tried her best to keep her eyes on his...and not on his chest. “I see no point in failing to acknowledge your strengths. I know mine. Shallow, some might call them, or unimportant. But I see them for what they are. I have spent much of my life learning to be a savvy investor, and also donating my time to worthy causes. My reputation is flawless.” She hesitated. “I was very nearly engaged to a prince about three years ago. So that does make for interesting commentary on my past. However, if there was any dirt to be discovered about me, it would have been discovered then. Around the time I was with Stavros the media became quite interested in me, and since there were no scandals then...”

“There won’t be one now. Unless... Why did your engagement with the prince fail?” It was his turn to smile. “Or did he have a similar deal to me?”

“Nothing like that. I intended to marry Stavros. Sadly, he fell in love with someone else. And I wished him the best when it happened. I made not a ripple in the waves of the media when things ended between us. I was nothing but gracious.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing, distracting her yet again. Her eyes followed the dark lines of the tattoos that were inked into his skin, and to the leather band that was tied around his wrist. He was so very different than the kind of men she typically interacted with. Different and fascinating.

“Yes, you do come over as very gracious.”

She nodded in agreement, even though she knew he was being sarcastic.

He uncrossed his arms and waved a hand, beginning to pace around the room. And she was very worried for the precarious position of the towel, riding so low on his hips. Okay, maybe worried wasn’t the appropriate word. Concerned? Fascinated. No, she should not be fascinated. She knew better than to be fascinated by men.

“How long do you think this will take?” he asked.

She blinked, almost unable to believe that he sounded interested. “We’ll need to put in several appearances together. We will need to organize a few galas, where we will collect pledges and let the public know about what you hope to accomplish. We will need to make contact with the appropriate people in high society, and if not in high society per se, those who are part of the one percent. That takes time. In all actuality I’m imagining we will need somewhere around three months to accomplish all of this.”

“A month is a more acceptable time frame.”

Victoria tried to imagine planning something on the scale she was picturing in only thirty days. Obviously the man hadn’t planned many parties. “Yes, but sometimes no matter how liberally you throw money at things time is still a factor. It’s unforgiving, really.”

“You’ve got that right. Time really is quite unforgiving.”

Ironic to hear him say that, since time had clearly been good to him. In his thirties, Dmitri was in peak physical condition, and for a man who had lived the kind of life that he had, he was strikingly devoid of scars.

“I can’t promise it will be a success,” she said, pressing on. “You know I have to allow for variables. I’m not entirely certain what all your past entails, and that might hinder both of us.”

“I do not expect a guarantee—what I expect is effort.”

She shrugged, feigning a casualness she did not feel at all. “As long as you understand that while I can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear I will have a harder time making one out of a horse’s ass.”

He laughed again, his dark chuckle filling the space. “You are amusing—I will grant you that.”

“I am gleeful at the thought of being a source of your amusement.” She was not gleeful, not by half. Her heart was racing, the thrill of possible victory pouring through her. Yes, this must be what it was like to be an opponent on the mats. No, she had not defeated him with her fists, but persuading someone using only her tongue was much more satisfying. “Anyway, I promise I will keep my cleverness under control when we’re in public venues.”

“Don’t. I hardly think the press would be impressed by my engagement to a simpering, unclever female. Moreover, I doubt they would believe it. I like a fight. I like a fight in the ring, I like a fight in the boardroom. And I very much like a fight in the bedroom.”

His words sent a flash of heat through her. And they echoed what she had just been thinking moments ago, minus the commentary about the bedroom, so closely in fact she feared for a second he might be a mind reader. Which would be bad indeed, since she had spent an undue amount of time pondering his muscles.

“And what kind of woman do you suppose the press might expect you to be with?”

He began to pace again. “When I choose opponents in the ring I choose them because I know they’re going to give me a good match. I like someone who is clever, strong and fast. I like someone who will make me believe I might lose, if only for a moment. I like a challenge,” he said, his voice rough, sending a shiver through her. “So just be yourself. That should be enough.”

In spite of herself, Victoria felt strangely complimented. But she wouldn’t let him see it. In fact, now that she was aware of it, she wouldn’t let herself feel it. She only needed the approval of one person, the forgiveness of one person, and that was her father.

Sixteen years of perfection erased by one mistake. And every year since desperately trying to regain it.

Her father was the only one who could absolve her.

“I can be myself, Mr. Markin. Effortlessly, as I imagine most people can, but the question is which version of myself would you like?”

His smile turned feral. “Do most people have more than one version of themselves, Ms. Calder?”

“Everyone does.”

“Not everyone,” he said, his deep voice rolling over her in a wave. “Everything that you see now is all that I am. This apartment, this gym, my work. I have been other things—I have been a great many other things. But this is all that’s left.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.” There was something strangely grim about that. And there was something about it that she couldn’t quite believe, either. For some reason, though, she believed that he bought into it wholly and completely. And she was not certain why.

He seemed to think that he had only one layer, that this was the sum total of what he was, as though you could leave versions of yourself behind like an exoskeleton. Victoria knew better. Victoria knew that the part of herself that had betrayed her family still existed. She knew it, and that was why she kept it squashed. Forgetting what you were capable of doing didn’t do anyone any favors.

And she was capable of great stupidity.

She wondered why it was Dmitri Markin thought he had defeated his old demons entirely. Then she wondered if somehow he had. And for a moment she envied him. Because she would never be free of those past versions of herself. All she could do was try to atone for them.

“I know there are all sorts of people who believe in past lives,” he said, “who believe that when we die we are reincarnated as someone or something else. I’m not sure about that. But I do know that sometimes things in this life change you, burn you, leave everything you were as nothing more than ashes at your feet. And when that happens, you have no choice but to walk forward into a new life. Whether you want to or not.”

“That sounds...bleak.”

“Perhaps. But I’ve had many changes since then. All to do with Colvin. And the reason this charity is so important to me. Thanks to him, I am not the man I was.”

“Who were you?” she asked.

“A very bad man,” he said. His words sent a shiver through her, down her spine and to her feet.

“And now you’re a good man?” she asked, her voice thinner than she’d like it to be.

“I wouldn’t say that. But not as dangerous.”

Her heart bumped hard against her chest. “You were dangerous?”

He did nothing more than flash a smile, and this time she was certain she saw a predatory edge to it. “I find it best to leave the past buried.”

Something about the way he said this sent trail of ice down to the pit of her stomach, making her shiver, causing goose bumps to break out on her arms.

“So...I suppose we should finalize things. I have other appointments.” She was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still standing there in a towel, and even more aware of the fact that somewhere over the past couple of minutes she had forgotten. She would love to feel triumphant about that, love to feel triumphant about the fact that she had obviously mastered whatever thing was happening to her when she saw his muscles. But she knew that wasn’t the case. That was oversimplifying. She was distracted, and that was unforgivable. Because the moment you became distracted, you revealed your weaknesses. She had done it in the past, and she refused to do it now. Something about him had drawn her in, made her lose her sense of time and space, and she could not allow that to happen again.

“As do I. When would you propose we make this official?”

“Tonight. We had reservations at a private dining room at a restaurant on the Thames. It was very romantic. We had a lovely time.”

“You really have thought of everything,” he said.

“I have. Rest assured that several people saw us arrive, and several people saw us leave looking very happy. We came and went by way of the back entrance, so it was only restaurant staff who saw us. Do we have an accord?”

He only looked at her for a moment. Then he nodded his head once, his expression unchanging. “We have a deal. Your family company is yours once we terminate the engagement, provided you help me establish my charity.”

“Excellent,” she said, trying not to betray the utter relief that had washed over her.

“So, what would you have done about your little ruse had I refused you?”

She laughed, ignoring the twist of nerves in her stomach. She had done it. She had got his yes. Got him to agree, and now she could leave. She could see the light at the end of a tunnel that was more than a decade long. She could have sagged with relief. Melted straight into a puddle of Victoria on the floor.

But up front, she stood firm. “Oh, you were never going to refuse. I knew that. And there were safeguards in place just in case, because I’m tidy like that. But they weren’t needed because you were never going to refuse.”

His expression hardened and so did his voice. “No,” he said, “I don’t suppose I was.”

“And with that, I bid you good evening. We will be in touch tomorrow to discuss a ring. I’m very classic. I quite like a white diamond.”

“And I’m old-fashioned, as well,” he said. “I would like very much for my fiancée to be surprised by the choice of ring. Failing that, I shall choose the diamond that is most convenient to me.”

She gritted her teeth, annoyance spiking through her. Clearly, he was going to fight her every step of the way. “Do as you see fit.” She nodded once and started to walk out of the room, holding her breath as she moved past him, trying to avoid breathing in the fragrance of soap, skin and a scent that she disturbingly suspected was unique to him. But she kept her posture straight, kept herself from acknowledging the fact that she was affected by him. And with that, she strode out the way that she came in.

Victoria Calder intensely disliked places like this, but she did love a victory. And this one was so close she could taste it.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.