Page 13 of Poisoned Roses

Suzannah does what she can and spends the day fielding calls from well-wishers, accepting flowers, gifts and cards and invitations to open buildings, interviews on the television and parties to people we have never met.

It’s unleashed a storm on the house of Romanov and I am weary of it after just one hour.

I note the electronic diary filling up and sigh inside. It appears that my work will suffer because we are required to attend various functions, charity events and meetings. It’s resembling an unofficial royal tour, and I wonder what Tia will think of this.

She is working today at the Bolshoi. My men are shadowing her, and she doesn’t even realize it. I am taking no chances with her safety because there is something sinister edging those bouquets, and I won’t rest until I discover who is sending them.

I spend the day ignoring anything to do with Tatiana and concentrate on my work instead. It’s important not to lose sight of what matters the most to me and by eight o’clock I am ready to call it for the night. Tatiana is dancing, and it’s probably a good thing to allow her a few days to adjust to the circumstances because I’m under no illusions at all that her life is about to change immeasurably.

It doesn’t even occur to me that I’m ruining her life. I realize she has worked hard to get where she is today, but I keep the bigger picture in mind. She has been offered as my way in and I seized it quickly because as Trojan horses go she is an extremely desirable one.

As I head to the dining room in my penthouse, I note the text flash up on my phone. It’s a reminder of something or someone I’m meant to be doing now.

Fuck!

I completely forgot that I was entertaining tonight and Clarissa Smirnov is not the kind to take no for an answer. I’m not even sure why I agreed to another date with the woman. She was a good fuck but hideous company and will be making her way here already.

As the daughter of one of the Big Five, I must tread carefully because our families do a lot of business together, and that mustn’t suffer.

I head to the shower and change into my preferred black top and chinos and head to the dining room to wait.

At exactly eight thirty, I receive a call from security that she has arrived and say gruffly, “Send her up.”

I pour a glass of vodka as I wait, anticipating the usual shit as she slides into my life with a painted on smile and an open invitation between her legs. Despite what my companions want it’s only ever about the sex with me because my mental needs are catered for in business.

I’m not interested in finding ‘the one.’ My brothers appear to take comfort in that, but not me. It is a distraction I don’t need and would prefer never happened because I don’t have time to consider anyone else, not in the position I’m in.

I’m cold, mercenary and unemotional and I like it that way. There is nobody to consider, upset or anger. Casual dates suit me just fine, but even that has changed in the name of business—for now.

“Titus.”

As soon as the elevator door opens, she heads my way with a seductive smile as she wiggles toward me in black heels and the shortest skirt I have ever seen on a supposedly respectable person.

A whore, most definitely, but not somebody who was brought up to be a lady and rather than excite me, it horrifies me.

“Clarissa.”

She approaches and kisses me three times on the cheek and I step away quickly because she went heavy on the perfume tonight.

“Champagne?” I nod toward the bottle resting in the ice bucket and she purrs, “Of course, darling, is there any other drink?”

I say nothing and pour some into the crystal flute and she smiles as I hand it to her, her lashes sweeping her cheeks and a provocative gleam in her eye.

“I was surprised you didn’t cancel?”

“So am I.”

I point to the seat opposite mine at the table and hold out the chair, more from courtesy than chivalry.

She pouts in my direction and I note her skirt rise even higher, her legs long and shapely that would ordinarily be wrapped around my neck later. But not tonight. Never again, actually, because as soon as Clarissa walked into my penthouse, I wanted her to turn around and leave.

She is nothing like Tatiana. It hit me as soon as I saw her. For a woman who was brought up to be a lady, she is more like a peasant than the woman who graced my arm last night. She dazzled beside me and exuded more class than Clarissa has in her well-manicured little finger, and I’m angry with myself for allowing this to happen at all.

Even more surprising is the sudden need for Tatiana to be the one opposite me now.

I shrug off the thought and head to my seat opposite and buzz for my chef to bring the first course.

“So, Tatiana Pavlov.” She wastes no time and I note the irritation in her eyes as she raises her glass. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

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