by Kresley Cole
Gram exclaimed, “Oh, thank Lady Luck!”
“What did he write?” Karin scooched closer to me.
“‘I will pick you up for dinner at seven.’” Excitement surged inside me, and I feared our desperate situation was only partly to blame.
Pete said, “I like it. Direct. No explanation. No rehashing.”
“What do we write back?” Mom rose, beginning to pace. “We need more engagement. Lots of question marks, Vice. Flirty, but not too flirty.”
If I was going back in on this con, I’d do it my way. I typed two letters.
Karin said, “What the hell?”
“What did she do?” Mom cried. “What did she do???”
“Vice told him . . . no.”
I glanced up, shrinking from their horrified expressions. “I’m playing a hunch.”
Dad said, “Ballsy, sweet pea. Let’s hope he likes the chase.”
Al took one of Gram’s rooks. “Vee Russian men do like chase.”
Another chime. DSevastyan: Other plans?
Mom clasped her hands. “Please, just be . . . nice.”
Again, I was typing.
Karin translated for everyone: “She wrote that she and her friends might go clubbing. She punctuated her text with emoticons of a martini glass, a prescription pill, and a dripping syringe.”
Al glowered. “Vee raised you better than thees.”
Mom looked like she was about to faint, so I said, “Elusiveness. If I’m going to milk-cow him, I should be elusive, right?”
Gram said, “Elusive, yes. Impulsive, no. Long cons are long because we spend time plotting, my dear.”
I caught my parents sharing a glance. They were . . . scared. As if I’d just taken a dive and shanked our game-winning shot.
Come on, Sevastyan, please text back.
No one spoke. Gram’s sherry bottle clinked against her little glass as Al refilled her.
Please, Dmitri, please, please, please.
Another chime. Relief made me sag.
DSevastyan: Are you busy now?
Karin read the text aloud while I answered. Vice: Not really.
I jumped when my phone rang a second later. “It’s him.”
Karin snapped her fingers. “Paper! Pen!”
Mom scrambled past canvases and sewing materials to toss Karin a notepad and pen. “Put it on speakerphone, Vice.”
What if he mentioned what we’d done? But he was a mark, and we worked these cons by committee. As Mom always said, “It takes a village to play a mark.”
Karin said, “Sound like you’re smiling when you pick up.”
I scowled at her, was scowling as I pushed the speaker button and answered, “Yo.” All around me, my family went mum, not a peep to give them away. Even Cash seemed to be holding his breath.
“What did you think of the gift I sent you?” Dmitri asked.
The sound of his deep, rich voice filled the room, sending an unwelcome thrill through me. “I’m not at home.” I made my tone bored as I said, “What’d you get me?”
“A car. The deliveryman took a picture of it. Would you like to see?”
A freaking car?? I sighed, “I s’pose.”
A photo popped up in my text-message queue—a cherry-red Porsche convertible parked in front of my dusty apartment building, standing out like a diamond in coal.
I texted the pic to the conference line Benji had set up for our consultations and confabs.
Phones all around vibrated. Silent checking of screens; soaring eyebrows. Karin wrote a dollar sign with a question mark and flashed her note to Al. He held up five fingers.
The car was worth five hundred thousand dollars? Then my face fell. “Dmitri, what made you decide to lease a car for me?”
“No lease. The title is in the glove compartment. It is yours regardless of whether you ever see me again.”
I mouthed, Holy shit!
“Though I do hope you will have dinner with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not looking for an affair. And you obviously are.”
Another bout of silence from his end of the line, which anyone on earth would be tempted to fill with babble. I used the move often. I patiently cut and flipped cards. I can sit here all day, Russki.
He finally asked, “Am I, then?”
“I’m not having sex with anyone outside of a committed relationship.”
Karin scribbled: Too soon!
“Understood. I still want to see you.”
“I’ll have to check my plans. And I might be called in to work.”
“Then I will tell Peter not to call you in.”
Sevastyan was assisting in his own grift! “If not an affair, what do you want from me?”
“More, Vika. I will always want more from you.”
Jaws dropped. Gram fanned herself. I saw Mom squeeze Dad’s hand, as if she was too scared to hope.
Dmitri was either the best player we’d ever heard or he was really, actually taken with me.
“Okay. Pick me up at seven.”
“Where would you like to go?”
The prospect of free food awakened any grifter’s appetite. “I like Italian.”
“Then we should go to Italy.”
Mom and Karin shared an awww look, until I said, “I want to stay local—in case I need to bail.”
At that, Gram swayed like she might fall off her chair. Mom glanced heavenward.
“Then I will be on my best behavior, moy ángel. Until then. . . .” He ended the call.
I exhaled a long breath.
Pete ran his hand over his face. “So that just happened.” Then he turned to Benji. “You owe me ten large, partner.”
Al leaned back in his chair, his hands over his belly. “Russian man ees smeeten to our girl. Called you my angel.”
Reminded of something else Dmitri had said, I asked, “What does prosto rai mean?” He’d repeatedly rasped that when we’d gotten off together.
Al chuckled. “Prosto rai means . . . sheer heaven.”
CHAPTER 13
________________________________________
___________________________________
“Should I stay or should I go now?!” Karin and I belted out the song along with the stereo. Top down in our new convertible. The Clash playing. Hair blowing. Sun shining. Singing at the top of our lungs.
“So you gotta let me know . . . SHOULD I COOL IT OR SHOULD I BLOW?!”
I was happy, truly happy, for the first time in forever. We’d just cruised the Red Rock Canyon loop, the Porsche dazzling against the sandstone and red washes.
When Karin and I had driven it by the folks’, everyone had looked at me with new respect. The car wasn’t a seven-figure score, but I had another date with a billionaire, another iron in the fire.
When the song wound down, Karin turned off the stereo. “Now that we’re alone, you want to tell me what he did in the club? Must’ve been pretty bad for him to send you this ride as an olive branch.”
I’d known this question was coming. “It’s one for the sister vault, okay? He . . . he got me off. In front of other people.”
She blinked at me. “And then?”
“And then? That’s not enough? I wasn’t prepared for it!”
Karin looked confused. “Was it good with him?”
“That was part of what freaked me out so bad. I got off harder than I ever have. Harder than I knew was possible.” So help me, if a crazy Russian was my key . . .
Karin waved that away. “So you have a fetish. It’s perfectly normal.”
I did a double take. “I don’t have a fetish. Are you high?”
“You’re an exhibitionist. You always have been, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you were little, I’d dress you up really cute to use as my shill, and the second I turned around, you’d be stripping. I was lucky if I could keep you in a diaper.” She chuckled. “You’ve never noticed all of your baby pics are
of you running around parties naked?”
“Yeah, but by all accounts I was a hard-partying, rule-breaking kid. And what does that have to do with me as an adult?”
“Not the same thing, of course, but you’ve always been a little nudie.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Vice, for God’s sake, I do badger games. Talk about exhibitionism. Benji watches me do stripteases and dance around in lingerie. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get us worked up.”
“So you know about his crush?”
She nodded. “He thinks it’ll be weird.”
“Weirder than a congressman acting like his wife died in a fiery car crash so he can get a piece of ass?” When I downshifted for a stop sign, the engine purred. Giving up this car would’ve been impossible for anything or anyone outside of my pack.
“Benji also thinks I’m still in love with you-know-who.”
“Are you?” I asked, though I knew the answer. Karin was lost for Walker.
She gazed away. “That would be idiotic, wouldn’t it? He made his feelings clear.”
The man had a ready-made family but was too stupid to see it. And if Karin and Benji ever did get together, it’d be too late for the asshole. “Are you holding back with Benji because of his history?”
He’d been sexually abused out on the streets. When I was young and didn’t know better, I had asked him distressing questions like, “Why are you scared to go outside at night?” and “Why do you cry when it’s bath time?” I often wished I could go back and spare him that extra pain.
“He’s worked through a lot of it,” Karin said. “But, yeah, getting with his adoptive sister might spin some things off axis.”
He’d always called me sis, but never Karin. I don’t think he’d ever bonded with her that way.
She frowned at me. “Enough about that. There’s more you’re not telling me.”
I could never fool her. “Say I do have a . . . fetish.” Which I would be looking up online as soon as I was by myself. “It was Dmitri who got me so worked up. Maybe having other peoples’ eyes on me was the seasoning, but the main course was all him. He’s really dominant. I did those things because he told me to.”
“He sounds like a thrall.”
I slapped the gear shift. “Bingo. Everything about him—his voice, face, body, scent, intensity—makes me lose my ever-loving mind. In the same situation with another guy, I wouldn’t have reacted as I did. I felt completely out of control.”
“I understand why that would be so scary. Especially for your first time.”
I exhaled. “I trusted him to take care of me when I was drunk, and instead he pushed me to do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do.”
“Maybe he sensed your fetish. What if he was trying to please you?”
He’d told me, I need to give you pleasure so much I ache. I cleared my throat. “Then I would say I might have possibly overreacted and blamed him unfairly.” The look in his eyes . . . I’d hurt him. That damn sense of protectiveness rose up yet again.
“What if you ended up with him outside of a con?”
Of all the women he could have, Sevastyan was pursuing me. At least for now. “He lives on a different continent. And we have nothing in common.” I refused to believe I could fall for Sevastyan, with his sinful voice and talented fingers. With his lifeline glances, the ones that both lured me closer and scared the hell out of me. “Plus, I could never trust him. I don’t think another man will ever convince me I’d be enough for him. It’s like in the movies, when the lead guy makes a grand gesture, sacrificing everything to prove his love. Stupid, huh?”
“Not stupid at all,” Karin said.
“Catching Brett made me doubt myself in a way I never did before.” Wasn’t I desirable enough for him? Wasn’t I enough woman? “Besides, if I were ever going to settle down, it’d be with another grifter. Which means a tech billionaire is out of the running.”
“You must’ve considered a Peggy Sue by this point.” A wedding con. “I’m sure we all did after that call.”
The thought had tickled at the back of my mind, but I’d mentally scratched it away. “Dmitri’s way too clever. He’d lawyer up with a prenup so ironclad it’d clang when it hit a desk. Plus he’s got those two bodyguards.”
“Hate bodyguards. Still, it’s Vegas, baby. Make him crazy for an hour, and you could seal the deal.”
“Crazy, huh?” He’s got that covered all on his own.
“I could run a badger on him.” That multi-purpose con could be used for more than just blackmail. “I’d mick him, and you’d find us ‘together.’ You’d scream and cry, telling him there’s only one way you could ever trust him again: the bonds of holy matrimony. Give him the ultimatum, and he’d be toast.”
I could cry on cue, but the idea of Karin even “fake” getting together with him made my fingers clench the steering wheel. “I’ll stick with the milk-cow.”
“Then wear the man-eater.”
I’d cut that sleeveless gown from scarlet body-hugging silk. The overall look was simple yet sultry. Illusion straps and a plunging neckline bared plenty of skin in the front, while the back cutout dipped almost to my ass. The hourglass silhouette gave way to a thigh-high slit.
When a woman wore a dress like that, it told men: I’m getting laid tonight. And when I do, some lucky bastard’s balls will scream for mercy. “You don’t think it’s too soon?”
“No, but he’s going to be all over you.”
At the idea, my body purred like the Porsche’s engine.
Whatever she saw in my expression made her lips thin. “You cannot sleep with him, Vice.”
“Listen to me.” I met her gaze as we made the Strip. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to sleep with the Russian.”
CHAPTER 14
________________________________________
___________________________________
Okay, I might sleep with the Russian.
When I opened the door for him, lyrics from the incomparable Madonna sprang into my thoughts:
I’m in trouble deep.
He was just so . . . so unimaginably beautiful. His tailored dark gray suit emphasized his height, the wide set of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips. His understated tie had a thread of amber through it, highlighting his eyes. My fingers itched to touch his clean-shaven jaw and chin.
He stared at me as if he’d forgotten how to blink. I guessed he liked the man-eater.
Pete had already called to tell me when Dmitri left the casino and what my date was wearing (my cuz had warned me Dmitri looked “excruciatingly hot”). Thanks to intel from Giovanni, the concierge, I also knew our destination: Murano’s, a romantic—and extravagant—Italian restaurant.
“Am I dressed appropriately?” I asked as I turned in a circle. “You didn’t say where you were taking me.”
Dmitri’s gaze drifted down, then slowly ascended, as if he were committing every inch of me to memory. His answer was a curt nod.
Not a word about my appearance? I’d painstakingly braided my hair into three plaits, then pinned them into a crown atop my head. My makeup was expertly applied—kohled eyes, curled lashes, glossy lips, vamp nails. My only jewelry was a pair of onyx earrings. I carried a matching clutch for my keys, phone, and gloss.
When I’d donned the man-eater and the clinging material had glided over me, my nipples had stiffened; the dress had done nothing to disguise them. Now his inspection was making them peak again. By the time his gaze reached my face, my cheeks were on fire. I waved in his direction. “Uh, you look great.”
Another nod.
Wow, cocky much?
“Come.” He placed his big palm on the bared small of my back. His nostrils flared and his fingertips dug in a little as he led me toward his limo.
I got a hit of Dmitri’s aftershave and caught my customary buzz, my lids growing heavy.
When we passed my new car, I said, “Thank you for the gift.” Al already had a buyer interest
ed.
Dmitri scarcely acknowledged it. “I have another one for you.”
Oh, do you?
One of his bodyguards, the brown-haired one, opened the door for us. A blond was behind the wheel. I dubbed them Starsky and Hutch (not quite eighties, but close enough). Starsky shut the door behind us and got in with Hutch up front. With a low hum, the privacy divider closed.
Dmitri didn’t sit close to me. Weird. As we started off, he didn’t reach for me and drag me into his lap.
I’d thought my bared thigh would merit a glance, but he seemed determined not to look down. Puzzled, I fidgeted with my clutch and stared out the window. . . .
I frowned when we passed a white Yukon like the one Brett drove. I only got a glimpse of the driver but suspected it was my ex. No matter how many times I’d told him our relationship was over, he continued to cruise my neighborhood. How could I get him to stop with the e-mails and drive-bys and move on?
I didn’t need to be thinking about Brett; I needed to be working. I sank back in the seat, watching Sevastyan out of the corner of my eye.
His shoulders were rigid. When he subtly blew out a breath, as if trying to get a handle on himself, I relaxed a fraction. Had I thrown him for a loop?
With more confidence, I asked, “So what do your bodyguards do when you’re on dates?”
“Dates? I have no idea what they do when I’m not around.”
“Any particular reason you travel with a pair of them?”
He shrugged. “They buffer me from irritations.”
“With their holstered weapons?” I’d spied a flash of one.
No denial. “Better safe than sorry.”
“An enigmatic answer from an enigmatic guy.” I turned to face him more fully. “Before we get to the restaurant, I want to talk about last night. I had a chat with my sister, and it helped me realize some things.”
“Like what?”
Two tears in a bucket . . . “Apparently, I have a . . . fetish. This is going to be hard to believe, but I didn’t know I’m not, um, vanilla. I got spooked by the intensity and the situation, and I overreacted, blaming everything on you.”
