Page 60 of Fortress of the Heart

I remind myself to have a word with Clary about keeping things simple until Katiya is gone.

I avoid going into the kitchen since my chef, Hank, likes to not be scrutinized when he’s creating a new dish and I respect that.

He used to work at the family Bistro but he had to take it easy after his stroke. I looked after him and begged him not to return to work, but being a chef is in his blood. It’d kill him not to make food. I have him here three nights a week, plus he freezes meals and leaves enough for the weekend.

There is nothing that man cooks that I’ve ever not liked.

The smells coming out of the kitchen make my stomach growl, but I have to go find a bottle of wine that will complement the salmon.

I walk down the stairs off the kitchen to my cellar, another place in my house that I love.

I didn’t do much to it, preferring the vintage feel to the old brick and mortar, but I did have to redo the floor in cherry oak.

After perusing the inventory for a while, I choose a 1992 Chardonnay by Havens Cellars. It’s one of my favorites from Napa Valley. I’ve visited the winemakers at Sine Qua Non, and I snapped up as many bottles that were available.

It’s not overly expensive, but I like it more than some bottles that cost thousands.

I do have a chiller down here for the white wine that I drink often.

Walking back up to the main room, I’m pleased to see an ice bucket at the table that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Then Maurice appears. “Good evening, Sir,” he says.

“Hello, Maurice, how was your day?”

“Splendid,” he replies.

I frown when I glance at my watch, it’s 8:12, and still no sign of Katiya.

My patience is usually relatively thin, but today it’s non-existent.

I’ve had a fucking long day and now, thanks to Angelo, I’m expected to entertain as well.

He’s actually going to owe me big time for this, though he will never see it like that or understand what an inconvenience this all is.

This was never part of the deal and way beyond what I would consider necessary. Sure, I get it, I’m the better option to watch over her than my younger and somewhat wayward brothers. Although am I trustworthy right now?

If she doesn’t quit looking at me the way she has been and letting her robe fly open, then I can’t promise how much more trustworthy I can be.

A man only has so many limits before he cracks under pressure, and I’m like a pressure cooker right now, I could blow at any minute.

I strum my fingers on the table impatiently.

That’s what this infuriating Russian does to me. She’s even making my generally steady and calm composure lose traction. I’m sure she’s doing it on purpose … maybe she won’t even come down to eat after all.

While I’d love nothing more than to go another round with her ... or better still, go up there and drag her down here, I’ve got better things to focus on.

I have things to work on later in my office with the casino, so if she wants to starve, she can go right ahead. I’ve already given too much thought and energy to this whole babysitting job.

In saying that, talk is cheap, and every minute seems to stretch on like a lifetime.

I’m just about to push my chair back and storm up there to see what the fuck she is doing when I hear Maurice clear his throat in the doorway. I glance up.

“Sir, Miss Petrov is making your acquaintance…”

I’m not sure why Maurice talks like he’s still in mid-century England, he’s always been like this. Maybe that’s why he fits in so well here.

He steps aside, andMiss Petrovherself stands behind him. I see she’s disrobed and is now wearing a soft-looking sweater set. No matter what she wears, my mind digs up the La Perla she was swinging around, and now I’ve got the added bonus of picturing her naked body, too.

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