Page 27 of Dancing With Desire

I clear my throat. “Because, Dmitry, we aren’t together. You aren’t privy to anything I do in my time?—”

His hand slams against the wall, but I don’t flinch. “You’re carrying my fucking child,” he snaps. “Both of your safety is on me.”

I push against his chest, making some room between us. “It’s a shame that shit didn’t concern you a few weeks ago when that witch and your fucking father had me tied-up.”

I step out of his cocoon, but he grabs my arm. I stare at it and arch a brow, and he drops it instantly. “How many times do I have to fucking apologise? I thought I was doing right by you.”

“Well, Dmitry, in case you didn’t get the memo, you royally fucked up. This can’t be fixed by simple words. If you want me in your life, you’re going to have to fucking work for it. And I take great satisfaction in telling you that I won’t make it easy,” I state calmly before storming away and heading back over to Marshall and Phoebe at the bar.

I smirk at myself as I walk away, feeling a buzz of satisfaction. Of course, I love him. I’m crazy to deny that I’m not when my every waking moment is consumed by him. Can we make this work? I have no idea, but should I just give up on him when I’m carrying his child? My family didn’t love me, and although I know Dmitry doesn’t get things right, the one thing he does is love with his all. This child will be cherished and adored, and that’s something I never had.

I place my hand over the slight swell of my stomach as I reach the table.

“Everything okay?” Phoebe asks, nodding in Dmitry’s direction as he stands exactly where I left him, looking like a little lost puppy.

“Yep. All good. Are we dancing?”

Phoebe looks to Marshall, who nods, giving her the all-clear, and I roll my eyes in irritation. She places her arm through mine as we walk to the dancefloor. “Really? We need permission to dance?”

She shrugs. “Well, we are in a roomful of monsters.”

“Your idea,” I remind her.

“One of my best, I reckon. It’s the first time I’ve seen you genuinely relaxed since you came home.”

“And you?” I laugh, nodding in Marshall’s direction. “Why the sudden need to be a rebel? Doesn’t happen to have anything to do with that broad security detail, does it?”

She blushes instantly, as if she’s been caught red-handed. “I like getting a rise from him.”

I throw my head back and laugh, remembering how Dmitry and I came to be about. I loved nothing more than pushing his buttons, getting him to notice me.

Another one of my crazy ideas forms in my head.

“Oh fuck,” Pheobe chuckles. “She’s back. I’ve seen that look before, and it usually ends up with all sorts of crazy.”

“Dmitry needs to know how it feels to be on the other end of crazy, right? To feel like you’re completely losing the plot, to feel that jealous rage I got when Vivian was hanging off him like a cling-on?”

She smirks. “Go teach the fucker a lesson, Tori.”

I feel a rush of excitement course through me. It’s not like Phoebe to get behind my crazy plans, and for once, it feels like we are on the same page.

I turn and head back towards the bar, but as I pass Marshall, he stops me. “Where are you going?”

I roll my eyes. “Marshall, you’ve got half of London’s security detail on me, can I not even go to the fucking bar?”

He eyes the crowded bar. “Stay where I can see you,” he utters in irritation.

I give him a salute as if he’s my sergeant. “Yes, sir.”

He shakes his head at me in annoyance as I continue to make my way to the bar.

The barman is serving other customers, so I wait patiently, allowing my eyes to roam my surroundings until they land on Dmitry. He’s standing close by with some businessmen. They’re talking, but he isn’t really paying attention as he catches my eye. There’s a whiskey in his hand, but it doesn’t look as if a single sip has been taken.

The barman comes over, and I smile wide, leaning over the bar so he can hear me while also making sure he gets an eyeful of my chest. “Just a bottle of water, please.”

“Of course,” he replies, returning my smile. He makes his way to the fridge and produces a bottle. “Glass?” he asks, and I nod. I lick my lips seductively and watch as his eyes fall there. He places the glass on the bar in front of me and pours the water, not taking his gaze from me. He moves the glass closer, and my hand brushes against his as I take it. I let out a flirtatious giggle, and his eyes light up in delight.

“You are stunning,” he tells me.

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