“Wow.” She stared at herself in the mirror, slightly dazzled. Gingerly, she cupped her hand along the perfect pouf up-do. “Thank you.”
Was this typical of the level of attention in Russian boutiques? A shame this didn’t happen back in the States. Then again, maybe it did, but she couldn’t afford such five-star service.
A twinge of concern tightened at the base of her neck. She wished she’d paid more attention to how many rubles went into a dollar. Isaac had assured her American money was all she needed during this trip. Yet she couldn’t begin to calculate in her head what she’d have to pay on the balance of her credit card in order to afford this dress. A rounded guestimate was the best she could do, and another dress like this would likely send her over the limit. Yet never in her life had she worn clothes that fit like they’d been tailored to her body before she’d walked in the door.
In spite of the unexpected pleasure of looking at herself in the mirror, she heard Helen’s marching orders at the back of her mind. Get the lapels of that suit tailored. The gap across your breasts draws too much attention. Why can’t you walk straight in a pencil skirt? Enter a room like you mean business, darling, or people won’t take you seriously.
When Mindy glanced at herself in the mirror again, a smug grin crossed her lips. Well. If Helen could see her now…
The outfitter tousled her hair, lending a little sensuality to the up-do, releasing two shorter strands to frame her face. Then using an old-fashioned glass perfume bottle with a bubble attached to the hose, she spritzed Mindy head to heels with a luxurious scent that hinted at pure class with a touch of sensual intrigue.
Mindy felt like a corporate goddess who could take on the world.
“What do you think?” she asked, stepping into view and turning a circle.
Isaac’s opinion meant a lot to her. She didn’t want to be an embarrassment.
Unlike the last time she’d stepped out from behind the screen, in this instance she had no trouble reading his expression. His eyebrows shot up and his jaw hung open.
With a slow sweep, his gaze caressed her form. Within the black fringe of his lashes, his dark eyes sparkled with awareness…even appreciation?
Though she doubted Isaac would ever notice her as anything more than a colleague. Maybe someday he might see her as girlfriend material. Or at least someone he’d call to go out on a Saturday night. Or heck, she’d take a one-night stand with the sexiest man she knew. The lust he inspired tugged at her core.
Then the heat in his eyes cooled, and the disappointed she’d grown used to returned.
Keep dreaming. She’d have better odds searching for a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow than him suddenly noticing her as a woman, finding her attractive, and asking her out on a date. She’s never had any luck when it came to men. The ones she wanted didn’t want her, while she tended to be a magnet for the most socially awkward male in the room. Such is life. The thought was followed by a resigned sigh.
Isaac cleared his throat. “I’ll call the hotel and have our driver pick us up here.”
She shrugged. “Sounds good.”
What she hadn’t expected was Isaac’s request to have every dress and suit she’d tried on sent directly to her hotel room. She argued and pleaded with him—to no effect. He ignored her protests and had everything boxed, bagged and ready for delivery, along with a few important undergarments the clerk had gathered on her behalf. And footing the bill for it all.
No matter how much she insisted she pay her part, he refused to allow her to contribute to the cost of her new wardrobe. Every time she’d encountered Isaac and seen how much he supported his team and went to bat for his employees, she’d never seen this stubborn side of him. He wouldn’t even listen to reason. While she might not have been able to afford all those dresses, that should’ve been her decision to make. Isaac took the choice right out of her hands, charging the entire purchase on his credit card without even consulting her.
The extent of his stubbornness proved infuriating. But he made it very clear that if she so much as opened her wallet to pay for anything, he’d throw her entire purse away. And he seemed pretty serious, so she decided not to test the level of his persistence.
During the hour-long car ride to their destination, she asked Isaac to share what he knew about the precious metals industry in Russia. A lot, it turned out, as he relayed that Russia held an enormous stake in the gold and silver. The country’s repository in that realm far exceeded South America and even China. The country of Russia held vaster, richer reservoir of mines, minerals, and deposits than the U.S. could even dream of.
“No wonder the Markovs want someone to like Soren Security Bodyguards to help defend them against their rivals,” she said.
“Exactly. The Markov’s connection with their own government only goes so far. They don’t accept trade agreements like we do in America. The United States offers numerous advantages to owning your own business, even if your business thrives off the land. Russia holds no such assurances. To anyone.”
Then he mentioned his family’s ties to major players in the precious metals industry, and she wondered if that was where the famous yet mysterious Atlas fortunes had started.
“I guess it really is all about who you know,” she said.
“Luck and timing have their place in creating success in business,” he replied. A thoughtful expression softened the handsome angles of his face. “Hard work is seventy percent of the equation. Knowledge is another twenty percent. But the most successful people I know won’t hesitate to admit that fate has something to do with the other ten percent of their success.”
“Oh, and that’s so easy?” Luck and timing, two things that seemed to elude her over and over. “No mystical chanting or praying to the gods of fortune?”
He snorted. “No sacrificing small animals either.”
She threw her arms up. “Well, that’s a relief. No telling where we’d find one of those nearby in a Russian city-suburb.”
He laughed, and the sound resonated along her spine. Why did everything about him have to be so darn sexy? It really wasn’t fair.
Out of nowhere, a Helen quote jabbed at her brain. Fairness is what people beg for as a consolation prize, when they don’t do the work required to excel.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“What? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
He slanted her a look that said, If you don’t tell you me, I’ll make you .
Then her shoulders dipped. “My mother,” she said, something she’d never revealed to anyone. “She has a saying for every situation, and they pop into my head at the strangest times. I call them Helenisms.”
He peered at her intently. “Okay. What Helenism were you thinking about?” When she repeated the phrase, he grinned. “I like her already. Maybe I can meet her someday.”
“You might already know her. She’s Helen Sanders, or ‘Slanders,’ as she used to be called when she was the most cutthroat journalist of her time. Then she had a family—well, me and my dad—and blamed us for her stymied creative flow. So she became a lesbian, and my dad still loves her, and I’m still not good enough. And there you have it. I can give you as many Helenisms as you can stand. They troll through my brain on a daily basis.”
“Is she not a fascinating woman?” Isaac asked.
“Hold onto your seat. She’ll take you for an intellectual ride you’ll wish you’d never got on in the first place.”
Isaac cocked his head. “I take it you two don’t get along.”
“An understatement,” she admitted. “We’re the two most opposite people who could ever live under the same roof. I’m a Pisces, and she’s an Aries. They’re too close on the zodiac. The two were never meant to coexist, believe me.”
“So you really take this astrology stuff seriously.”
She folded her arms across her stomach. “You can make fun of me. Most people do.”
“I’m not most people,” he said. Potent enough that she dar
ed to sneak a glance at him. She found his gaze direct and sincere.
“Thank you. For respecting me.”
He reached across the seat and cupped her chin. “I’ll always respect you, sweetheart.”
The touch of Isaac’s hand and his thoughtful words sent a wave of shock through her, followed by a swell of warmth in her abdomen. She wanted to rest her fingers over his, to encourage the unexpected affection, but he dropped his hand before she could. A little thrown by this new intimacy, she took a moment to remember the thread of their conversation. Oh, right. Helen. “Helen Sanders is a featured guest on numerous morning talk shows, a staple on cable news channels, and she’s a Dear Abby on four newspapers.”
“No kidding? Sure, I’ve heard of her.”
“Some days I wish I was kidding.” An old sense of inadequacy twisted her nerves into knots. “Few people see the resemblance between me and my mother. She’s quite famous, and I’m not. I’m nothing like her, though sometimes I wish I could be.”
Reaching out, he tucked a lock of hair behind her. “You have many gifts and talents. You don’t need to be like anyone else.” A mesmerizing look swirled in his dark eyes. “I think you’re great the way you are.”
He did?
The possibility made her brain stutter. Isaac Atlas thought she had gifts and talents? Wonder of wonders.
If he believed in her, then maybe she could help him to seal this sales deal, which she so dearly wanted to do, as a benefit for his career and hers.
The sky had darkened to deep plum with maroon streaks along the horizon by the time the town car pulled up in front of the restaurant where they were meeting the Markovs. “Are we here already to meet them? My gosh, my internal clock is all screwy.”
Flicking his wrist, he nudged his shirtsleeve back and checked his watch. “Five thirty.”
That’s when she noticed for the first time that he wore his watch on his right wrist. “You’re left-handed.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I never noticed that before.”
“There’s a lot you haven’t noticed about me.” His lids lowered halfway in a look of pure seductive appeal.
A bit unsteady from the lingering effects of Isaac’s suggestive stare, she paused before she took his hand. He helped her from the vehicle. Together they entered the restaurant.
They checked their coats at the entryway at the front desk. Carved wooden beams made cross-hatched patterns above them, reminding her of a similar design in an old church they’d visited earlier that day. This structure had to be several hundred years old. She felt like she was stepping into a medieval castle.
They passed under the cross-hatched beams and she stopped to take in the scene in the restaurant. A whitewashed plaster interior with dark beams overhead gave it a rustic feel. A scarred and dented wood bar ran along the entire left side of the long rectangular room. A huge fire roared in the hearth to the right. Tables clustered haphazardly across the slate floor, and booths ringed the outer edges.
She swore she’d walked into a scene from Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ar k. Men hunched over pints of beer and empty shot glasses. Any minute a maniacal Nazi in a bowler hat would demand a rare medallion, the place would catch fire, and Harrison Ford would throw some punches.
Maybe she’d watched that movie too many Saturday nights, when she wished she’d had better things to do with better company. Like Isaac.
Although, a stepping into an unknown bar in the middle of nowhere ought to give her a moment’s pause. Helen had written too many articles about the women sold into the sex slave trade in Russia not to give Mindy a few shivers.
Isaac said something to the hostess in Russian. She waved her hands and shook her head no.
Then Isaac cupped the woman’s elbow and murmured low in her ear, flashing her the same smile that always made Mindy’s knees go weak. Instantly, the hostess backed down from her initial refusal and led them to circular corner booth on a raised platform surrounded by brass railings.
Along the way, Mindy chided herself for thinking she was special. That Isaac’s intriguing statement, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, had meant anything more with regard to her. The same old disappointment came up cold and sharp, nicking her pride. She’d thought maybe this outfit, or this unusual location, or something magical about the day might’ve inspired Isaac to see her as more than a means to an end—her impression on the Markovs sealing the deal. She wished he’d see her as a sensual woman.
Suddenly, she didn’t care about being proper or important or relevant. All she wanted to be was his.
Once they were seated at the booth, Isaac reached out and traced his thumb over the groove between her eyebrows. “The frown is back.”
She shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
He folded his hands on the round table. “You keep saying that. And I keep not believing you.”
“Believe what you want.”
“Another Helenism?”
No, she could butcher her own self-esteem just fine by herself, without her mother’s input. “Nope.”
“Okay…why are you sitting on the edge of the booth so far away from me?”
Because being next to him made her insides quiver and her knees turn to mush. “I want to leave room for our clients.”
“They won’t be here for another half-hour.”
“Oh. Then why are we here now?”
“I wanted to arrive early, so we’d have time to have a drink and talk.”
That had required planning and forethought. Maybe he actually did enjoy her company. A ribbon of lust curled through her at the notion.
Hesitant initially, she decided to scoot closer to him, stopping just shy of the place he’d patted beside him. A waiter stopped by and Isaac gave him their order in Russian. When the waiter left, he turned to her. “I ordered you a grape ice martini. I think you’ll like it.”
The waiter returned with their drinks with lightning speed. “Well. It seems Russians take their alcohol very seriously.”
“For sure.” He lifted his glass of amber liquor. “Cheers to finally getting a minute alone with you.”
She blushed. “And with you. Cheers.” One sip of her grape ice martini, and she was in heaven. “Is this flavored vodka?”
“Top shelf. Only the best.”
“This is divine.” She took another sip, then another. “Do they have this in the States?”
“A knock-off version. What you’re drinking is the real deal, plus a splash of Cointreau and cranberry juice for added flavor.”
“Perfect.” She had no idea what other liquor he’d said was in the drink. All she knew was it tasted fabulous, like citrus-infused grape liquor. In a martini glass. Happy days.
When she set her glass down, he placed two fingers on the bottom rim. “Easy, sweetheart. It’s as potent as it is good.”
Enticed by the fact that he’d called her sweetheart, she nodded and let her glass linger on the table.
Running a long tanned finger along the stem of his glass, he said, “This is going to sound like a pick-up line, but it’s not. Tell me more about your interest in astrology.”
She barely contained a snort. “Are you asking me what’s my sign?”
“Pretty much.” The cute expression on his face made the comment adorable versus when other men used it as a pickup line.
“I’m a Pisces, Gemini rising. And you are…?”
“A Scorpio, I think. Don’t know much about anything rising.”
“What’s your birthday?”
“November second.”
“Yes, you’re a pure Scorpio, through and through. Actually, that makes us highly compatible. Pisces and Scorpio are both water signs. That means we’re very emotional, and we take things people say to heart. We both also have emotions that run far below the surface, and we can usually intuit what other people are feeling. Which is probably one of the reasons you’re amazing at sales.”
“Because I’m a Scorpio. Who knew?”
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“Well, if you had an excellent astrologer, you’d know.”
“I don’t. So who am I, according to you?”
She held up her hands. “Hey, I’m not gifted enough to explain anyone’s psyche. I just know a few tricks of the trade. Like that we’re both water signs. And my rising sign is Gemini which is ruled by the planet Mercury, and as a Scorpio you’re also ruled by Mercury.”
A sensual look stole into his dark eyes. “So what you’re saying is, we’re very compatible.”
She couldn’t help the smile tucking into the corners of her cheek. “Yes. We’re very compatible—according to astrology.”
Suddenly his dark eyes turned pitch black and stared at her with deep intensity. “What if I want better proof?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning forward. Hoping he’d also lean forward and kiss her for absolutely no reason except he couldn’t stand to be away from her for another moment. And she was dreaming.
“I want to know we’re compatible beyond a reasonable doubt,” he said, tucking his finger beneath her chin. “If I kissed you, I’d know.”
Automatically, her chin followed the urging of his finger toward his lips. God, she’d wanted this, hoped for this. She closed her eyes, begging for the feel of his lips against hers.
Then a sudden heaviness thudded onto the seat beside her. She flicked her eyes opened and sprang away from Isaac as the Markovs descended on their corner booth.
Oh, how she’d wished she could’ve known the taste of Isaac’s lips. Even for a second. But duty called, and business was the reason they’d come to Russia in the first place.
Any desire for Isaac needed to be submerged beneath the ultimate goal of winning the Markovs’ overall impression of a good investment. She’d do anything to make this sale happen. Even if it meant suppressing her own desires. The sale was the most important thing, right?
Chapter 3
Sheer boredom didn’t begin to describe Mindy’s experience with the Markovs as Isaac proceeded to speak to them in Russian the entire night. It didn’t help that their dinner consisted of course after course of seafood. Oyster appetizers on the half-shell, then shrimp scampi, followed by lobster—the whole entire carcass sat on the plate in front of her, and she could barely look the poor deceased thing with its beady eyes.
Bedded by Her Bodyguard (Billionaire Bodyguard Series) Page 3
