by Tara Pammi
From a dingy, neon-lit back alley to the sophisticated elegance of The Chatsfield, London, it was as if she had fallen through a tear in the fabric of the city.
Chauffeured luxury vehicles rounded the courtyard even at this time, designer-clad men and women making their way to the entrance.
Her neck craned back, she took in the majestic building and then looked down at herself. Dressed in washed-out jeans and a thin, baggy sweater, she felt like a mangy dog that the liveried bellboy would shoo away any second.
With a masculine elegance, Dmitri got off the bike and handed the keys to an eagerly waiting, uniformed valet. He came to stand next to her and instantly, a storm of butterflies unleashed in her belly.
Heat crept up her chest as she remembered the restrained power in his leanly coiled body.
After years of dreaming about getting out of that life, the reality of it happening had hit her hard. Driven by a growing sense of freedom and fear at how fast he had been going, she had wrapped herself around him. She had only sought comfort in a distressing moment, and yet now it felt shameless and weak, smacking of a familiarity that she didn’t want him to think she presumed.
He hadn’t pushed her off the bike, so that had to count for something.
The frigid air that met her nostrils was coated with the scent of him, and somehow became the familiar anchor in a sea of strangeness.
“You should have told me where we were going,” she said, aware of the belligerence in her tone and not able to stop it.
She hated feeling as if she didn’t belong. And the sad truth of her life was that she belonged in that dingy alley rather than here. She belonged more in that club that catered to the most basic sins than in this posh elegance, with men like Noah and John rather than the man Dmitri had become.
He took her elbow and pulled her forward. “You don’t sound happy to be out of there.”
Keeping her gaze ahead, which was sure going to break her neck, she quipped, “More like not happy to be out here. I don’t want to go in there, Dmitri. I just need a few more minutes of your—”
“We’re going to need a lot more than a few minutes to sort things out, Jasmine. And if I can belong here,” he threw at her arrogantly, “then you can.”
“Sort out...what? Why?”
His long fingers dug into her flesh as if to jostle her. She pulled at his grip with her fingers but he didn’t relent. “You will not look at me. Why?”
She angled her head and caught a quick glimpse just to defy him.
Piercing gray eyes held hers in an open challenge and she turned away.
The doorman held out the door for them, a familiar smile on his face. Dmitri greeted him by name and Jasmine followed slowly. He had been so close all these years. And she had never known.
“You stay here regularly?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize you visited London anymore.”
“And you would know because you have kept in touch?” An impression of contained energy and a barely civil smile hit her. “Stavros prefers to look after the Athens side of the business.”
Entering the brilliantly lit lobby from the dark, hushed luxury of the outside was like stepping into a different world. Jasmine blinked and stared around, losing her bearings for a few minutes.
Black-and-white art deco flooring complemented soft beige walls while a stunning, magnificent chandelier took center stage in the vast space. Bold lines and sweeping curves made the hotel look timelessly elegant.
And Dmitri stood in the center of it all.
Black jeans and black leather jacket made him look effortlessly breathtaking, the long, lean lines of his body drawing looks from more than one woman even in the predawn hours.
He might have started where she did, but there was an aura of casual power and panache that made Dmitri not just blend, but stand out amidst the extravagant grandeur of the hotel.
At five-ten, she matched his six-three stride easily. She only wished she could say the same of her clothes and more important, her insides. The vast foyer felt as if it would take forever to cross and all she wanted to do was to fade away from the brilliant lights.
It was not that she thought herself plain. On the contrary, she had heard all her life, and felt nauseous, that she was exotic, lush, possessed of perfect voluptuousness for her vocation. She was stared at six nights of the week and earned her living making love to a pole, but it was how she felt next to the casual elegance of the man next to her that bothered her.
The shame that always clung to her, as if it was etched into her very skin, was amplified when she stood next to him. Just as it stung her that he had seen her at such a weak moment.
As if suddenly he was a measure of her looks, her world, her very life.
She flinched when he pulled her away from the reception area toward the bank of elevators. He held her loosely and yet a thread of his emotions, not so contained, brimmed within him.
Beneath that polite smile, she had a feeling he was ragingly furious. And she was afraid of finding out why.
“The hotel is fit for a king,” she said, trying to keep the utter awe she felt out of her words.
“I have a feeling that you’re the opposite of impressed.”
The doors of the lift closed with a soft ping, trapping them inside. Her heart beat like the thundering hooves of a horse when he hit the stop button.
“You have to look at me now, Jasmine” came his soft command.
“You’re making a big deal out of...”
“Are you afraid of me, thee mou?”
Shaking her head, she looked up.
The four walls of the lift were glittering mirrors that showed her a stunningly gorgeous face.
Her femininity, beaten down and stuffed into a bag, roared a primal scream of joy at the sight of the magnificent man in front of her. Every inch of her—from her skin to her breasts, from her cells to her core—stood to attention.
His legs crossed at the ankles, his hands gripping the wall behind him, he filled the space with his masculinity. Something else burst into life in that enclosed space, swelling and arching, until Jasmine felt as though there was a hum inside her every nerve.
Even at sixteen, he had had arresting features, but now...the power he exuded and his command of the world filled the planes and angles of his face, making him a lethal combination of stunning looks and effortless masculinity.
Long, curly lashes kissed cheekbones that were honed so sharp that it was like looking at the work of a master sculptor. Deep-set gray eyes studied her just as hungrily as she studied him. As if he knew her volatile reaction to his nearness.
Of course he knew, Jasmine scolded herself. There couldn’t be a man alive who looked like Dmitri and didn’t know it, didn’t wield it to his advantage. And the fact that she, too, with all the rules she had set in place to be able to face herself in the mirror, was staring at him with googly eyes, measuring herself against him... That woke up Jasmine like nothing else could.
Now she understood the sense of danger that had skittered through her very blood when he had held her from behind so intimately.
The danger to her didn’t come from him. The danger to her came from her reaction to him.
CHAPTER THREE
DECIDING THAT HE would protect her at any cost was one thing, Dmitri thought as Jasmine devoured him with those wide eyes.
The actual logistics of what he would do with this wild creature were quite another. With lush breasts and narrow hips that swayed with every step she took, from the way she tucked that tumbling jet-black hair behind her ear to the pouty mouth that came from no injection, Jasmine was not simply beautiful, but stunningly sexy.
Was that the reason for that ridiculous auction? Had some man coveted her because of those Arab genes that she ha
d inherited from an absentee father, and Noah had turned it to his advantage? What horrific scheme had she caught herself in?
Round jet-black eyes, dark arched eyebrows that suited perfectly those big eyes, a sharp, bladelike nose and a pointed chin.
There was not an ounce of extra flesh on her face, giving her a lean, sharp look. As if every bone in that face had been sculpted by years of hunger and sleepless nights. Her hair, jet-black and thickly curling, was pulled back tightly, exaggerating the feral sharpness of her features. One curl dangled alongside a sharply defined jawline.
There was an alert look in her eyes even now, just as there had been in that warehouse. The straight, tense line of her shoulders, her sharp breaths... He realized how alien this was to her.
How alien he was to her...
When he had seen her five years ago, she had barely turned eighteen, and had looked nothing like this...except for that wary distrust.
It had been there then, too. But where she had barely glanced at him then, her bold gaze drank him in today.
He had never experienced such a thorough, artless appraisal. Women came on to him all the time and he enjoyed it, but Jasmine’s searing gaze was more than basic female curiosity.
It was as though she was looking for something, or someone. And instead of that shallow echo he was so used to, he felt something inside him vibrate in response to her look.
As if a part of him that had lain dormant and unfeeling for so long suddenly uncoiled itself at the sight of her. Dangerously tempting and thoroughly unwise... He wondered how to distance himself from it.
Because as hungry as he’d been to feel something like that, he had nothing to give her.
“No one would know you were from the streets,” she said with a brittleness that he wouldn’t have associated with her.
“And why do you sound as if that’s the worst thing in the world, Jasmine?” He would not call her Jas even though it fluttered on his tongue. Which was strange, because how could a woman’s name have so much power over him? “It’s a pit of desperation and addiction and violence. Why should I ever want to look as if I belonged there once? Why should anyone who had a chance to get out of there still cling to it?” Steel resonated in his voice at the end there but he couldn’t help it.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and he had a feeling she was trying to calm herself down. She failed. When she looked at him, she fairly bristled with aggressiveness. “Of course not. And God forbid anything stand in the way of you leaving the past behind, Dmitri, anything even remotely dirty and poor taint your extravagant lifestyle now.”
He pushed off the wall, furious energy burning through his veins. Instantly, she flattened herself against the wall. And the startled look in her eyes more than anything calmed him down.
Let her think what she wants, he told himself.
He had never cared what the world thought of him. Why would he care about what Jasmine said? But he couldn’t allow her to taunt him like that; he couldn’t allow her to think even for a second that she knew him.
He turned all the energy in him into cutting scorn, delivering it in a silky-smooth tone. “Before you castigate me for wanting out of that life, let’s not forget how this night started, thee mou. Let’s not forget whose money and power saved whose ass in this story, ne?
“Maybe you believe your life is not valuable enough to get out of there, but I will not feel guilty for thinking mine is. Nor will I feel guilty about enjoying the fruits of my hard labor. Giannis might have—”
“Pulled you out of the hellhole that was our life, but I know that it was you and your friend...”
“Stavros Sporades,” he added.
“That it was you two that put his textile company on the global map, especially when everything else is folding in this economy,” she added, as if she was offering him recompense for angering him. “I have followed your—” he had a feeling she wouldn’t say the actual word that she wanted to “—success the past few years.”
And suddenly, it was as though a hard fist jammed into his throat. She had known he was rich, then. She had known that he could have helped. Even as she refused to admit it, she had known, all along, that he would come if she asked.
And yet, she had waited so long... Which night would have made it too long?
Fury, reminding him of broken bones and painful fists, flew hot through him. “Have you? Gratifying to know that I held your interest for so many years, pethi mou. And a little shocking that you have somehow lost the good sense I thought you possessed.”
The lift opened just then and he walked out without checking to see if she followed.
* * *
By the time she walked past the dramatic reception hall into the sitting lounge of the suite, Jasmine felt numb to the extravagance of her surroundings.
It was a toss-up between the electricity that burned between Dmitri and her and the reach of his wealth and sphere.
A finely carved wood and marble fireplace dominated the lounge, which was decorated with black leather furniture.
Her running shoes sank into the thick carpet with a soft hiss.
Jasmine had barely caught her breath when a woman walked into the lounge. Her hair was mussed around her fragile, sleep-ruffled face, her long legs bared in shorts.
“Dmitri?” she whispered, her shocked glance taking in the both of them. “You took so long...”
“Leah? What are you doing here?” The concern in Dmitri’s voice was as unmistakable as the lacerating sarcasm when he addressed Jasmine.
Suddenly, being a spectator to a romantic reunion between Dmitri and his latest girlfriend was the last thing Jasmine wanted to be.
The woman crossed the last few steps, genuine worry etched on her brow. Dmitri enfolded her so gently that it sent a pang through Jasmine. “When you were taking so long, he dropped me off here. He’s been calling every fifteen minutes...” Her gasp pierced through Jasmine.
“Dmitri, you’re bleeding.” With that, Leah clicked her cell phone on and left the room.
The sharp hiss of his exhale, the way he had held himself so rigidly on the bike... Her gut heaving, Jasmine turned him around roughly and lifted his leather jacket.
A patch of red stained the tear on his pristine white shirt around his abdomen, a stark contrast against the rest of it.
Jasmine stared at the dried blood and the way the shirt clung to his skin. Bile filled her throat as the metallic scent washed over her. Shivers set forth from the base of her spine. As if her attacking Dmitri when he had come to save her was the last straw...
Pressing her hand to her forehead, she tried to breathe past the rawness in her throat. “I could have killed you... I thought John would sneak in in the middle of the night and I was just being cautious... I never...”
“I did not ask why you attacked me,” he said in that monotone voice again. He sounded angrier at her being upset than that she had wounded him. “Theos, I don’t care that you tried to protect yourself. I care that you have led a life that requires that you sleep with a knife under your pillow.”
She flinched at the disgust in his words.
For as long as she had known, men had only looked at her cheaply, with lust glimmering in their eyes. And once she had started working her current job four years ago, it had only gotten worse, shame and self-disgust her only companions.
So why the hell did she care what Dmitri thought of her?
His hand under her chin, he lifted it up. She clutched her eyes closed to lock away the tears. The depth of her reaction to him, his words scared her.
“Look at me, Jasmine.” Something rumbled in that soft command. She would have called it desperation if she thought she could hold together one sane thought at the moment.
His hands moved up and down her arms as if he was calming down a spooked animal. “Y
ou’re shaking again. Theos, stop being afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, opening her eyes. Dark stubble surrounded that carved mouth. “I’m so sorry, Dmitri...”
He shook his head. “You grazed me really good with the serrated edge but it’s only a flesh wound.”
She ran a shaking finger over the mended bridge of his shattered nose, a tendril of desperate emotion engulfing her.
“I don’t remember ever being so terrified as that night when John punched you,” she said, remembering the horrific night when John had broken Dmitri’s nose. “I thought you would kill him.”
A haunting memory flashed through those deceptively calm eyes. “If not for Andrew, I would have.” A smile cut his mouth then, transforming his face again. It was like seeing someone intensely familiar slip on a mask and become a stranger. “For a woman who defends that filthy world, you’re acting strange at the sight of a little blood.”
Her finger moved down his nose, hovered over his mouth, her heart thundering in her chest.
“Jas...” Her name was a raw warning on his lips.
An immense stillness seemed to come over him, the faintest of shudders moving his narrow seamed mouth. His fingers clasped her wrist tight, as if he was truly afraid of her touching his mouth. “You’re still in shock.”
Was he convincing her or himself? she wondered. She had seen her mum waste herself away in a bottle of rum, had seen Andrew breathe his last... Grief and fear for her life had all been consuming her since Noah’s men had arrived at her doorstep three days ago, and yet it was this moment that threatened to shove her heart out of her chest...
This craven yearning to touch him, to discover if there was anything left of the boy who had treated her as if she was the most precious thing he had ever held... It was madness.
Because he had left that boy behind a long time ago when he had walked out with his godfather. Leaving Andrew and her behind.
Far, far behind.
“Dmitri?” a man’s deep voice called.
