Page 5 of Dancing With Distraction

Dmitry

We are seated at our usual table in the corner, away from listening ears. The chef is a personal friend of mine, meaning I always get treated well. Although with my reputation, it’s standard practice wherever I go.

We’re handed menus, but I don’t take mine. I already know what I’ll order because it’s the same each time I come. Vivian takes hers, like always, and she’ll spend the next ten minutes reading it, only to stick with her usual dish.

I scan the room. It’s something I’d been raised to do, never letting my guard down no matter where I am or what I’m doing. And even though I have my men outside in the car, I’d never solely rely on them to protect my safety.

My eyes still on a familiar face, and a smile tugs at my lips. It’s the crazy bitch from last night, only today, she looks different, more reserved. There’s no expensive dress or face full of makeup. She’s much more of a plain Jane, blending into the background. Maybe alcohol makes her brazen, which is the reason I avoid women like her.

She stands out for one reason only, and that’s the sunglasses covering her eyes, they’re the large sort that hide half her face and I snigger. Clearly, she’s suffering a hangover, which serves her right after last night’s tantrum.

Across from her sits a man, and I can’t help but notice he’s punching well above his weight, because even without her night-out makeover, she’s stunningly beautiful.

The man leans across the table and says something to her, and she whips off the sunglasses, slamming them on the table.

Vivian looks up from the menu and catches me staring. She follows my line of sight, just as the enigma glances my way. Our eyes lock for the briefest of seconds, and my first thought is fear . . . I see fear in her eyes.

Vivian clears her throat to get my attention. She looks pissed, but she wouldn’t dare say anything that could be seen as testing my authority. I like control, and the consequences for pushing my boundaries would not work out well for her.

“Pretty little thing,” she murmurs, pretending to scan the menu a second time. Her tone is doused with jealousy, but I choose to ignore it. “I recognise her but can’t think where from.”

“She’s a fashion designer, apparently. Also a loon in her spare time. She’s the psycho who decided to take her heel to my car last night.” My mind wanders back to last night and the feel of her body against mine. The way she responded to my commands and the excitement it sent through my body was almost addictive. My fingers itch to touch her again, and I ball them to control the urge.

“Hmm . . . she could never handle you, though. A pretty little thing like that, you’d break her into pieces and discard her like yesterday’s trash.” Vivian places the menu down and fixes me with steely eyes. “No, you need someone who can handle all your crazy,” she says, adding a knowing smile.

I see what she’s doing. She’s marking her territory, trying to get my focus solely on her. Our families have been talking about us joining in marriage for some time now.

My father is head of the Bratva back in my home country of Russia. He’s a sick, unforgiving bastard, which is exactly how he needs to be to stay at the top. Someday, I’ll take his place, but in the meantime, I’m taking over here in London.

Vivian is the princess of one of London’s biggest firms. She’s all for the idea of us marrying because joining the families would make us unstoppable. It’s not unheard of in our way of life to have arranged marriages and marriages of convenience, just like my parents and their parents before them.

I need a woman who understands the life I lead and doesn’t question me or get sentimental. She’ll also need to provide me with an heir. It just so happens that Vivian is also a business associate. She’s beautiful, classy, and already takes my commands with such ease. She also enjoys the same things as me, so it makes perfect sense.

The waiter comes over to take our order, but Vivian is still undecided. I reach over and snatch the menu from her in irritation. She looks up, surprised at first, though her surprise quickly turns to rage. She’s not ready to give up control of some things and she’s told me many times she hates when I order for her.

“The usual, please,” I say, and the waiter takes the menu and nods without so much as a word.

“I’m quite capable of ordering for myself, Dmitry.”

I bring my hard stare to her, and now, it’s her turn to smirk. She knows exactly what she’s doing and how I won’t tolerate being challenged.

“Careful, Vivian,” I scold. “I’m in no mood to fight with you here, where you can’t be punished.” I feel her foot against my ankle, and she slowly drags it up my leg, resting it gently against my crotch. I narrow my eyes. “Did I say you could touch me?” My eyes bore into hers until she looks away in regret. I crave control just as she craves being commanded.

“No, Sir,” she almost whispers and lowers her head. I smile, pleased she’s seeing sense.

I take the opportunity to look over at my hungover beauty just as her company stands and makes his way to the restroom.

She drops her head into her hands, letting out a long exhale. Even like this, with little makeup and baggy clothes, her beauty lights up the room as if there is nobody else in it. If only she was this quiet last night, I might have invited her to join me. Her blonde hair frames her perfect face, and I wonder what it would feel like grasped in my fist, wrapped so tightly, she’d be unable to move.

As if sensing me, she looks over, and we’re locked in a stare again. I notice her straighten her shoulders, and her tongue darts out to lick her lips slowly, almost like she’s teasing me. Then she turns to look out the window as if I don’t interest her at all. She piques my curiosity, and I grin, which hardly ever happens.

“Really, Dmitry? Stop eye fucking her across the room,” Vivian spits.

I grit my teeth, wondering why all the women I’ve encountered in the last twenty-four hours have spoken to me with no respect, as if they own me. “I’ll eye fuck whoever the fuck I want. Just because you adorn me with your sweet little cunt doesn’t mean you get to call the shots.” Vivian visibly shrinks back into her seat, not used to me pulling rank out in public, mainly because I don’t need to—no one ever questions me. But it pleases me to see her think better of her outburst, and I begin to think up ways in which I can make her pay for her jealous attitude.

We eat in silence, part of my tactic to make her think about what’s to come. And while we wait for the bill, I watch the interactions between my little bit of crazy and her partner.

He suddenly stands, and she visibly shrinks as he swoops to kiss her on the head. She doesn’t appear to be comfortable with the way he strokes a hand down her hair before he leaves. She remains in her seat, staring at the table and knotting her fingers together. I get the impression she’s waiting for him to be long gone before she follows, and I wonder if they’re having an affair, because why else would there be so much tension radiating from them?

---