CHAPTER Three
Alek
She uses too many curse words.
A woman who has a mouth that can put a man’s to shame means trouble. Always. Every time. But damn if I can’t get the image of her gorgeous skin, her perfectly shaped breasts, and those fiery red underwear out of my mind. Erin Angelo.
She’d be horrified if she knew I was thinking of her in this way. I can tell. But I’m proud of myself. I did something I’ve never done with a woman before. I played the gentleman card, something a nice guy would do, a concept that’s foreign to me. I even handed over my jacket to cover her body.
What’s wrong with me? Erin Angelo. Her name rolls off my tongue just as easily as I’m sure the other parts of her body would do.
“Aleksandr. You’re so far away. Where did you go?” Nadya asks. She’s my partner at the moment, a woman my mother set me up with. I glance across the dinner table at her. Blonde. Pretty. She should be the perfect distraction. “I was saying that my favorite stone is the pearl. I think it would look fantastic set in a golden band. What do you think?”
That question rips me back to the situation at hand. I don’t need to stall. I always hate when we get to this part of the game. It’s that awkward point when one of the swingers want to settle down and take a seat on a charming little park bench while the other one is all set to run like hell.
Sighing, I gather my thoughts and say, “Nadya, this isn’t working. You want things I can’t give you.”
Her smile fades at once. “I knew this was coming. You’re breaking up with me?”
“No, I’m dissolving our deal,” I correct. “We were never a couple in that way. You know it’s true.”
Slamming her glass down on the table, she swipes at her lips, pursing them. She takes so long to say anything that I feel as though she’s about to slam her glass against my head. “Fine. But just know there’s no other woman alive who can keep up with your insatiable appetite, Aleksandr.”
“You could be right. But I just turned twenty-three-years old. I’m not ready to discuss bands of any type yet.”
“You’ll come groveling back to me, once you discover there’s no one out there for you but me,” she hisses.
I don’t think so. “Maybe. I’m sorry,” I say truthfully.
She gives me an incredulous look, gathers her things, and storms out of the restaurant, bumping into a waitress who’s unfortunate enough to get in her way.
In her place, Nikolai, my most loyal comrade and faithful coordinator of all things dance related, steps through the door followed by my mother. “Shit,” I groan and prepare to receive the kind of scolding only my mother knows how to do. I take a large gulp of my Campari, a fruity liquer that’s exactly what I need to sweeten this moment. Closing my eyes, I wait for the sting to ease up before opening them again.
“Aleksandr, whatever are you doing?” Mother asks as she sits in the seat Nikolai has pulled out for her. The white fur in the vest she wears highlights the silver in her hair. She recently stopped trying to cover the gray and let it go all natural. She only did it because she claims the owner of Milan’s Prada house wears hers in the same shade.
Nikolai bumps fists with me before taking a seat across the table. We’re total opposites in appearance, but loyal comrades all the same. Where I have dark hair and these funny colored blue-brown eyes, Nikolai wears his shoulder length blonde locks in a ponytail most times. He’s the dancer, and I’m the musician. We hacked out a tough living as teenagers back in Moscow, but somehow we made it through the fire of an existence that most people only read about in books.
After spending some time in a gang, we both vowed to have one another’s backs. Nikolai rescued me from a vicious knife attack, and I saved my comrade from himself. Now we’re both stars in our new careers. We have money, fame, and women groveling at our feet.
I should be happy.
I am happy. No, I’m not.
The only thing holding us back from achieving total success is ourselves. And women like Nadya, the kind who would rather know how much you paid for their designer handbag than sit through one of your long, drawn out performances as she puts it. I think they probably have a role in all of this, as well.
“Was that Nadya I bumped into looking distressed?” Mother asks right away.
“You know that it was,” I answer, feeling annoyed. I motion for our waiter. I’m going to need one more drink to survive the Mother Inquisition.
“What did you do this time? I told you we need to form an alliance with her family. They’re absolutely reeking of real estate. They own properties all over the world,” she informs me for the hundredth time.
“I could care less about Nadya’s parents and especially their money,” I say, cowering under Mother’s hard look. She still knows how to make me feel like hiding under a table when she glares at me that way.
“I know what we all need,” Nikolai interrupts, “a fat glass of wine to celebrate Alek’s success. Congratulations, comrade. You’re the first male in your family to get a tenure inside of a prominent university. One of the youngest to accomplish such a thing, I hear.”
“I haven’t gotten it yet, Nikolai. There’s this matter of a production coming up in six weeks. I need to have a clear head so I can pull it off.” I emphasize my last sentence for Mother’s sake. She purses her lips, picks up a glass of peach schnapps the waiter has just set beside her plate, and chugs it. “Mother.”
“If my son can be reckless and careless then so can I.” She motions for the waiter to return almost as soon as he walks off. “Another please.”
We’re staring at each other when a female’s voice jerks me out of our invisible showdown. “Guys, I’m so late. I know. But the teacher worked our derrieres off this evening,” my younger sister, Adriana, says as she bends over to kiss Mother’s cheek and then mine. Nikolai stands up right away and pulls a chair over for her to sit in. She’s completely wired and hasn’t noticed the tension swirling around the table or that Mother has now downed two shots of pure alcohol.
“Guess what? I got the lead ballerina role in Seraphine. I’m going to be a dancing mermaid,” Adriana says in an excited voice. Both my sister and I live for the arts. No, things weren’t always this way for us, but since Mother took over as the agent for Nikolai, Adriana, and me, gigs have been coming in easier than ever before.
“Can I be your merman?” Nikolai asks, his bright face beaming with mischief.
“Hey, remember who you’re talking to,” I warn.
“I’m only joking. She’s like my baby sister too,” he assures me. “Relax, Comrade.”
“That’s wonderful, darling. At least one of my children is living up to my expectations,” Mother says as she gives me a relaxed, but sarcastic look.
Adriana glances back and forth between Mother and me. “Can somebody fill me in on what’s going on, please?”
“Alek broke up with yet another good woman,” Mothers answers, her American drawl starting to come through as the alcohol changes her mood from enthusiastic to bitter.
“Mother, please. She was nothing more than a f*cking buddy, and you know that,” I remind her.
“As if that were ever a problem for you in the past. It certainly wasn’t for your father,” she says as she stabs at the salmon on her plate. There’s so much pesto piled on top, I can smell the herbs inside it from where I’m sitting.
“You should be so lucky to have such support from a parent. How many mothers do you know who set their sons up with quality ass? I could very well have chosen one of those horrid escorts, but no. I made sure my son had a good woman.”
Here we go. It’s humiliate the hell out of Alek by comparing him to his father time. Adriana and I exchange glances. We’ve been living in Italy for the past four years, ever since my parents split up. I consciously try not to remember the screwed up parts of the life we left behind in Mother Russia. And I sure as hell don’t want to be compared to the man who’s most responsible for our sudden departure.
“Speaking of your dead beat father, I hear he’s on yet another one of his secret missions. This one happens to be in China,” Mother says. “Something about acquiring business partners in the eastern countries. Sergey may be many unmentionable things, but even he knows where the future of this world lies. Unlike his son.”
“Nadya and I are over, Mother. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone who wants to be a professional shopper for the rest of her life.”
“I don’t approve,” she says.
“You never do,” I say.
“Hey! Doesn’t anyone want to hear about my new role?” Adriana interrupts. The arguments between Mother and me always put her on edge. For her sake, I back down.
“I will listen to you, Adriana,” Nikolai begins. “You’ll never have an ear too far away with me.”
“Oh, Nikolai, that’s such a sweet thing for you to say,” Adriana gushes.
“Yes, Nikolai, maybe you can give my son a pointer or two on how to keep a woman satisfied outside the bedroom,” Mother chimes in.
I’m about to say something to retaliate, but my heart skips a few beats when the usher leads a group of two men and two women dressed in all black toward a table across the room from ours. Erin Angelo. I straighten up and try to calm my thudding pulse. I’ve had women falling at my feet for as long as I can remember. Hell, I just broke up with one. But Erin has the uncanny ability to take me to a place I’ve never been before. I can feel that about her. And she reminds me of someone I can’t quite place at the moment. Sure, the way we met wasn’t normal, and the way we keep running into each other leaves me with memories I can’t shake, but there’s much more to this thing. It has to be.
Both Nikolai and Adriana follow my gaze over to where she sits with both Martuccio brothers and the mousy-haired girl named Carla who runs behind Erin like a desperate puppy.
“Excuse me,” I say to my family.
“Where are you going, Aleksandr? We’re not done with this discussion,” Mother blurts as I stand up and head over to where the group has been seated.
What will you say to her? You don’t have a reason to crash her dinner party. But I can’t stop myself. It’s like this invisible force has taken over me. I have to speak to her, and I don’t even know why. Maybe that’s not entirely true. There’s something about seeing a woman expose herself in the way it happened with Erin. I am still a red-blooded male. I don’t want to disrespect her with my crude thoughts. She’s worth so much more than that, even if she did flat out refuse my dinner invitation.
About halfway to the table, I experience a change of heart. I stop walking. No one notices me standing there looking like a desperate fool. Something, or rather, someone collides into me from behind. Adriana.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“Duh! Following you. Are those the designers? The ones you hired to make the costumes for Nikolai’s dance troupe?” Her face beams with excitement.
“What makes you think they’re designers?”
She rolls her eyes and says, “They’re wearing all black, my dear brother. So am I right?”
“Yes, they’re the ones.” Glancing into Adriana’s face is like looking through a mirror. We have the same features. The only differences being that she’s twenty—three years younger than me—and her eyes are a deep sea blue like many other Russians.
“I want to meet them.” She steps around me and heads over to the table before I can do anything to stop her.
She prances right up to where Luca Martuccio’s sits. ”Hello, I’m Adriana Dostov.” She holds out her hand for him to take. He stands up at once, his gaze locked on my sister’s face. I smirk and hold back a laugh.
“Luca Martuccio,” he answers, looking lovesick and stupid. I steal a glance at Erin whose gaze is locked on me. I shake off the image of her lying on her backside. Instead, I choose to focus on the hot pink scarf she wears. She averts her eyes almost as soon as I turn toward her.
Rafe Martuccio stands and shakes my hand. After I introduce my sister to all of them, we briefly discuss our enthusiasm over our proposed business arrangement. I pretty much have to force Adriana to end her conversation with the younger Martuccio brother who gushes over my baby sister. I remind myself to keep an eye on him in the future. Guys like Luca have mastered the hook, charm, and throw them in the sack move. I would know because I’m one of them.
“Have you considered an answer?” I ask Erin who has kept quiet the entire time. Her eyes briefly scan the others sitting among her group.
“To which question, Sir Maestro?” she answers, smirking. She’s the smart ass type. I love it. “There were a couple of things you asked me about, remember?”
Shit. This is definitely the kind of woman I like, strong and witty. “I have an excellent memory, Ms. Angelo.” Blush rushes into her cheeks. “Do you have the answers to both questions now? Or just the one?”
Glancing around the table, she turns back to me with a smug grin and says, “Well, it seems the issue of dinner has already been handled. I mean, you’re sitting right over there. Not too far away from me. That kinda takes care of issue number one. Do you agree?”
“Points to you for being sneaky and evasive,” I answer.
“Evasive? How so?” Erin raises her left eyebrow and gives me a slight smile. She’s enjoying her ability to make me squirm. Strangely, I can’t ever think of a moment when anyone has ever made me this nervous in the past.
“You’re the one who created the Gothic ballerina costume? So exciting! It totally and completely rocks. So awesome, I’ve heard.” Adriana and her overdone American idioms rescue me. She steps over to Erin’s seat and holds out her hand for Erin to shake. “Alek talked about it all day yesterday.” Then again, maybe she’s not rescuing anything. I’ll remember to strangle my sister later on.
“Yes, Erin has outdone herself on Black Butterfly’s new line,” Rafe says, beaming. “But then, I always knew someone with such talents was destined for great things. She was an absolute delight to have in my class. All the other students looked to her for guidance. It’s like she was born with the eye for design.”
The older Martuccio brother has a thing for Erin, and it’s pretty bad. His lines sound even more desperate than the lend-an-ear statement Nikolai used on my sister a while ago. Competition—I never dodged it in the past. I sure as hell don’t intend to do so now.
“Okay, everybody, please. You’ve all made your point now,” Erin says, her cheeks are filled with blush again. With her exotic dark looks, the color in her face gives her a raw, but innocent kind of appeal. I can barely take my eyes off of her. I don’t even want to. “Luca also had a part in the designs. They aren’t just mine.”
Luca shrugs and makes a whirling movement with his hand. “Very little. I only attached lace to the bodice. The design belongs completely to our rising star. I don’t know why she’s acting this way. It’s about time you got noticed, Erin.”
Time to rein the Martuccio brothers back under my control. I am the one who commissioned them to create designs for my show. I turn to Erin and say, “I expect you to have found a name for my new proposed line soon. And then we can discuss it over a proper dinner together.” She opens her mouth, but Rafe speaks for her.
“Of course Erin will have a name for her line. She’s also available to discuss your design needs anytime you wish, Mr. Dostov,” Rafe says, almost choking on the last few words. It hurts him to move over and share this spotlight with me. But I’m Alek Dostov, the world renowned maestro who has made a name for himself by the age of twenty-three. That’s some pretty big shit and I know it. The Martuccio’s need my name attached to one of their lines to survive in this sea of fashion sharks.
“I look forward to it,” I say to Erin and then return to my seat, dragging my sister along with me. When the Black Butterfly design team finishes dinner, Erin walks out behind them without even a glance in my direction. I notice because I couldn’t look away.
* * *
I ease the Aston Martin to a stop behind her taxi. The car that has followed hers ever since she left the restaurant passes by the driveway leading up to what I assume is her apartment building. I wanted to see what the mystery driver was up to which is how I ended up sitting here outside my newly hired designer’s house.
Shortly after Erin’s group left, Mother backed down. The alcohol had done a number on her, and she started mumbling something about my father being in China. I won’t lie. I was relieved. Adriana and Nikolai agreed to ride with Mother while my attention was ripped toward an argument going on between two men standing just outside the doorway, Rafe and his brother Luca.
They say Russians have the stealth in war, the ability to separate our minds from all things emotional. But Italians have the tempers of the gods. And these two were going to it so shamelessly; they didn’t even see Erin and Carla walk toward their separate cars. That was when I noticed the one parked behind Erin’s taxi.
As soon as hers pulled off, the black sedan moved away from the curb. Call it instinct, or maybe it’s just that I spent enough time learning how a gang targets someone. Either way, the warning going off in my head wasn’t going to leave me alone until I pacified the cause of it. And right then, something was pounding inside me, telling me that Erin was in danger.
After briefly saying goodnight to my family, I rushed toward my car and headed in the direction I saw the sedan last move toward. Swallowing hard, I exhaled when I caught up with both the taxi and the sedan at a stoplight. Whatever plans the driver had for Erin were obviously thrown off by my arrival.
She’ll either peg me as one of those strange men who follow women home, or she’ll think I’m a desperate bastard who doesn’t know how to handle the word no. That last part holds some truth in thought. I won’t deny it, which is why I’m about to make a fool out of myself when I get out of this car.
She tells the taxi driver goodnight and then does a double take when her gaze turns toward me stepping out of the car. I stuff my hands in my pocket and walk up to where she stands on the sidewalk running along the outside of the building.
“You followed me home?” she asks, an incredulous look on her full lips. Hell no, I won’t vocally answer that question.
“I don’t do the stalker thing,” I say, sounding weak. “You left without seeing me first, the way I asked you to do.”
That statement brings a sarcastic smirk to her face. “Oh, that’s right. I remember who you are now. The great Aleksandr Dostovsky wouldn’t be caught dead doing something like that, now would he?” she teases.
“I told you before, it’s Alek Dostov. That name is easier on the less acrobatic tongue,” I explain. Her cheeks turn a deep pink color. I can’t help but to smile.
“Less acrobatic? As in, your shorter name is easier for us Americans to say? That’s pretty mean, teasing me that way.”
“I’d never mock you for being American. Mother would rip me apart for doing something like that to one of her people.”
“I see. Your mother’s American?”
“Born and raised in Austin. What do you call Texas? Ah yes, the Lone Star State.” I’m flattered by her intrigue with my dual heritage.
“That explains your odd accent, and your sister’s vocabulary. She’s a bit over the top with the way she uses American slang.” She’s lost in an afterthought of some type. I don’t think she realizes that she’s smiling to herself.
“There’s not a thing wrong with being on top every now and then. What do you think?” I ask, watching the color in her cheeks deepen to a deeper shade of pink. I enjoy saying things to make her blush.
“I think we need to stick to the reason you stopped by,” she mutters without looking directly at me. I can’t help but feel a tad frustrated. An image of her full breasts, and the wondrously delicious things I could do to them flashes through my mind. I clear my throat and pull out my diversion tactic.
“Your contract,” I say, holding out the paper.
Her face droops. She’s disappointed; but she’s trying to hide it. Everything about her is so controlled. I wish I could act that way. Then maybe I’d make Mother happy by settling down with a wealthy woman and giving her a lot of little Aleks to enjoy. The thought terrifies me.
“This says you’ll have exclusive rights to the Black Butterfly brand,” she reads aloud. “I don’t know, I…”
“Only for this line. Meaning you can’t sell the ideas to my rivals.” I like the way the wind teases the loose strands of hair blowing around her face.
She tucks her full bottom lip in and frowns. After a short moment, she says, “I’m going to need some time to look over this. And I’d rather Luca gets a chance to see it before I give you a solid answer.”
“Understandable,” I mutter and stuff my hands back in my pocket. What is it about Erin that does this to me? I’ve never had a woman bewitch me before. I always hear my friends talk about stupid things like that happening to them. Even Nikolai has experienced a bewitching moment before. But this is the first time I’ve ever felt the urge, the desire to protect a woman I barely know. It’s time to run. I can’t. There’s something about her eyes. I guess it’s only appropriate that a spell start inside the soul’s windows. Hell, listen to me. I’m even reciting poetry in my head instead of using my charm to rope Erin Angelo in for the goal.
“Geez.” She bonks her head. It’s a cute gesture. “Why didn’t you just tell me about how rude I’m being? Seriously, where are my manners? Would you like to come in for a drink?” she asks, her dark eyes scanning my face as though she can read my thoughts.
“I have somewhere I need to be later on. But I will take a check rain for dinner tomorrow night.”
She bursts out laughing. “You mean to say rain check?”
I feel like a dumb ass. This is why I don’t use American idioms. I’ll leave those to Adriana from now on. Even I start laughing. Joking around with a woman like this is new to me.
Why am I turning down her invitation to come inside? There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than going inside her apartment and throwing her down on her bed. I bet her sheets are made of silk and the light fragrance drifting around her covers them. I could easily get lost in the world of Erin Angelo.
“What about dinner?” I ask again.
“I told you, I don’t date bosses, of any type,” she begins. “Besides, I have a yoga session tomorrow afternoon. It’s a 3 o’clock class. That doesn’t give me much time for a life outside of the design house.”
She’s turning me down, pushing me away. I can’t ever remember a time a woman has ever done so. Erin might not realize it, but she now has my complete attention.
“I have a solution for our dilemma, I do believe.” I turn up the charm in my smile.
“Is that right?”
“I’m a Maestro. We always know how to fine tune the beginning of a song. F*ck!” My line didn’t exactly come out the way I’d hoped.
Erin holds back her laugh. The longer she tries to hold it in, the more her face crumples. Even I make a whispery laugh. “That was pretty bad, huh?”
“No. I mean, I do appreciate your efforts. I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to a song before,” she says, giggling. I like the way it sounds.
“Good. I’ve never used such a weak line, either.” We both laugh after I admit to my inability to play her.
“I wouldn’t say your line was bad. It’s cute.”
“That’s even worse than being considered weak.” I shake my head, lowering it and feeling embarrassed, another emotion I don’t normally experience at this stage of the game.
“No, really, I get it. I kinda see how meeting someone new would be like the beginning of an opera song. What’s that part called again?” She massages the right side of her face while she’s thinking. Even that small gesture touches me.
“The prelude,” I answer for her.
“That’s right. I remember now.” A sad look crosses her face after she agrees with me. I want to reach out and take her in my arms. “You should probably be moving along to your appointment. Don’t let me hold you up.”
“What appointment?” I ask, still caught up in what could’ve brought on her mood change. “Oh yes, that meeting. I’m waiting on your answer about dinner, yes.”
“Alek, I truly appreciate you believing in me and giving my design group the chance of a lifetime. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Alright then. On to my solution.” Stepping toward her, I lift her hand and brush my lips across her knuckles, inhaling her fragrance. The scent contains a mild mixture of something both floral and sweet without either one overwhelming the other. “You’re fired. I’ll see you tomorrow. And do wear something other than a black dress. I’m sure you’d look gorgeous in a happier color.”
She smirks and twists her nose up at me. “Not going to happen, Mr. Maestro,” she says with a smile. I’ve made some progress. Good.
I head toward my car. At the door, I turn toward her and say, “Remember, Madam Angelo, you now officially belong to me.” I get inside my car and pull off, leaving her standing on the doorstep.