To go with all my workout wear, I kind of bought a treadmill.
When boxes began arriving, Vasili, the hulk of Russian bodyguards, scowled at me from the lobby. Three new security guys were with him, now searching the boxes. They were as impassive as robots, their holsters and guns visible—because they were ready to drop anybody not authorized to be on this floor.
Ha! Do your worst, Edward.
The treadmill delivery made Vasili’s scowl deepen, folds appearing on his bald head. “Not smart.”
“Sevastyan shouldn’t have taken on the responsibility of a new pet if he didn’t have time to watch her. My breed is very destructive.”
In broken English, he said, “Boss not type of man to fuck with.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m not the type of woman to fuck with.” Everyone always underestimated how tough I was. I kept getting knocked down, but I also kept rebounding, every—damned—time. During this enforced vacation, I would run miles in addition to swimming laps, getting even stronger.
I directed the deliveryman to set up the treadmill in front of the wall of windows in the guest bedroom. Ah, a view of the water for my jogs.
After that, I opened packages and tried on my swag for hours. The bathing suits alone were amazing. I’d told Alonzo to get a shopgirl to pick out “crazy sexy,” and in Miami, that wasn’t a phrase to be taken lightly.
I ate my room-service lunch, then moisturized with a light oil that made my skin shimmer. I changed into a scarlet micro-thong that had a little bell on the back. Love! My skimpy black bikini top barely covered my areolas.
On my way to the pool, my boudoir heels click-clacked, accompanying my bell.
Once I’d made sure I had a tan line over my ass to taunt Sevastyan, I rang up Alonzo for a hair stylist to come trim my hair. A manicurist as well. Vasili had glowered at them when they arrived, but he’d let them through.
While Sheila and Vera worked, we three enjoyed room-service piña coladas with ground nutmeg on the top. The cocktail was so delicious I called down to the bar manager to pass on my compliments, or rather, the Russian’s. “All the drinks for the hotel are to be put on his tab today. Tell everyone Salud and Feliz Navidad from Mr. Maksimilian Sevastyan!”
I tipped the girls in Louboutins and dresses that were too big for me.
They departed not long before Sevastyan and his business associates arrived.
I was just returning inside myself. Qué coincidencia! Naturally I tugged down the back of my thong so that the tan line was visible.
The group looked like European businessmen—with an edge. For every man in a suit, there was a tougher, less polished bodyguard.
And still, Sevastyan looked more dangerous than all the others put together.
When they caught sight of me, they stutter-stepped at my getup. Even Vasili raised a brow.
Máxim’s piercing blue eyes promised revenge. So why was I never afraid of him?
In a purring voice, I told the men, “Buenas tardes, señores.” I made a show of turning and shutting the sliding door, knowing how my ass would move, how that little bell would go off.
Ring ring ring . . .
I heard stifled groans behind me and gave them a silly me smile over my shoulder.
“Who is this, Sevastyan?” one asked.
He bit out, “Katya was just going to her room.”
I narrowed my gaze. Oh, it’s on, Russian. Now I was really going to fuck with “boss.” I sashayed away.
In my dressing room, I rummaged among all my drawers of new clothes. I chose a tight black sports bra, pulling it on. My hot pink boy shorts surrendered to the cleft of my ass. I donned running socks and shoes, then pulled my hair up in a high ponytail.
I definitely needed to get water out of the kitchen before I tried out my new treadmill. Hydration is important!
I sauntered out. Though Sevastyan had his back turned and hadn’t seen me yet, he must’ve noticed his associates’ brows-drawn looks of lust, because his shoulders bunched with tension. Vasili stood by, shaking his head at me in warning.
“So sorry,” I told the men. “I needed something to drink. Tanning makes me parched.”
On my way back from the kitchen, one of them said in English, “You don’t have to hide her away, Sevastyan. It looks as if there is plenty to go around this table.”
Another said, “Share the wealth, man.”
A few of the other men made sounds of agreement.
I’d just reached Sevastyan, so I paused and draped myself over his back. “Oh, there’s no sharing. I’m Máxim’s alone. Isn’t that right, mi tesoro?” My treasure. “I’m his baby-mama. Or I would’ve been. So close,” I sighed to the men, my words heating Sevastyan’s ear. His muscles tensed against me. “You see, I’m not very bright. Someone like me wasn’t able to discern the manifest economic inutility of a woman my age getting pregnant with a strange man’s kid.” I giggled. “As my island grandmother always advised, ‘Don’t use your brain, mi preciosa. Use your uterus.’ ”
Between gritted teeth, he bit out, “Are you done, Katya?”
“Por ahora.” For now. I whispered at his ear, “Have fun in your stodgy meeting. And know that once I’ve logged my miles, I’m going to finger myself furiously.” I nipped his earlobe, smiled at the men, then traipsed away.
CHAPTER 21
“Pleased with yourself?”
I whirled around in the shower.
“Sevastyan!”
He was leaning against the doorway in the bathroom, watching me bathe. “I like it better when you call me Máxim.” He wore only an opened shirt and his slacks.