The Platinum Collection: A Convenient Proposal. Maisey Yates

you walk in and propose marriage, then demand a portion of my business. And what will you do for me in return?”

      “You may have seen some of my charity work in the media. They speak quite highly of me. Some outlets have made comparisons with Mother Teresa, though I think that’s selling her a bit short. It isn’t as if I’ve given up all of my worldly possessions,” she said, flashing her expensive-looking handbag. “But, though I’m not a paragon, I am, compared to you. And I have something you want. Something you seem incapable of buying.”

      He waved a hand. “Foolish woman. I have yet to find anything I can’t buy.”

      “Except a better reputation.” The expression on her face was almost comically angelic. He imagined she would look innocent of a crime just as she was about to cut a man’s throat.

      He liked that.

      But what he didn’t like was the fact that she had his balls in a vise. And was tightening it slowly. His reputation as a businessman was flawless. His reputation as a human being had some issues. “And why do you suppose I need to improve my reputation?”

      “Because if what I’ve heard is true, you want to launch this charity for children. Gyms offering free and reduced-rate lessons in martial arts and other physical fitness activities for children in high risk situations. But no one trusts you to be involved in anything concerning children. Because let’s face it, who would have you spearheading a charity for children. You are, by all accounts, cantankerous, ill-tempered, foulmouthed and hotheaded. Did I miss anything?”

      He took a step toward her and took a great amount of satisfaction in watching her shrink a bit. “Yes. I’m also something of a womanizer. That doesn’t help my cause. I mean, what with all the rumors flying around about how I meet a woman, take her to dinner and have her naked, between my sheets and screaming my name in only a couple of hours—”

      She held up a hand, clearly irritated with the line of dialogue. Good. “That’s only the tip of the iceberg, though, isn’t it? Drunk driving. Fraternizing with married women. Many of whom are mothers. You certainly don’t have a history of caring if you tear families apart.”

      Dmitri bristled at her blatant reference to his most recent scandal. “Lavinia left out some critical information when I took her to bed.”

      “That she was married?”

      “Oh, hell no. I don’t care about that. I’m not the one who made vows. But I did not know she had children.”

      In many ways, he preferred conducting his affairs with women who had other attachments. It allowed him as much detachment as he wanted. Which was essential. He didn’t have relationships, he had sex.

      He didn’t sleep with his lovers. That required trust, and he didn’t trust the women he had affairs with.

      But that was because he didn’t trust anyone.

      Victoria made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “Yes. Well. In that case you’re practically a saint, aren’t you?”

      “The patron saint of vodka and orgasms, maybe.”

      Color flooded Victoria’s cheeks. “Odd. I’ve never seen you depicted on the stained glass at mass.”

      “Something to do with my excommunication I’m sure,” he said drily.

      “I could solve your problems,” she said, twisting the subject expertly.

      “By marrying me?”

      She chuckled, the sound like a fork on crystal. “Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t actually have to marry you. I would simply need to hang on your arm for a while, then wear your ring for a while after that. Long enough to get things going.”

      “You have thought this through.” And she had ambushed him with no warning at all. A smart woman. Were she a burly man and not a fine-boned female she might have made an excellent fighter.

      A worthy opponent.

      But she was not a fighter, and not his opponent. And was, in this moment, mainly irritating.

      “Of course I have. I was hardly going to storm in here without a plan,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

      Just for that, he would make her pay. He was not beneath her. Her or anyone else. And he would not allow her to speak to him as if he was.

      “Well, sadly for you, you don’t know my schedule all that well. I have somewhere to be soon, and that means I need to go back to my place, shower and change.”

      “Well...where is that?”

      “Happily for you, just upstairs.” He had a set of apartments above the gym, an odd choice, he knew. This gym wasn’t in the trendy part of town, but it was where he’d got his start when he’d come from Russia to London and it held sentimental value to him.

      Even more now that Colvin was dead. The loss of his mentor was a heavy weight around his neck, and being here made him feel...well, like the old man wasn’t entirely gone.

      Fanciful garbage he wasn’t normally given to, but he hadn’t been able to let go of this place.

      Colvin had given him choices again. Colvin had given him—not his old life back—but a new life. One that consisted of more than grubby bars, threadbare blankets and foam mattresses on cement floors. One that consisted of more than taking blow after blow, washing the blood off in a dirty bathroom in the back of an underground club and going back for more...

      Choice was what Colvin had given him. It was what Dmitri wanted to give to the children who would benefit from the charity.

      It was what Victoria Calder was slowly tightening her grasp on, and tugging away from him, as she laid out a finely honed argument that showed him two options. Her, or failure. Dishonor or death.

      Much like being back on the streets of Moscow.

      It made anger fire straight through his blood, a wall of flame that heated him from the inside out. But he would never let her see that.

      He knew better than to expose his weaknesses to his opponent.

      “You want me to come upstairs while you shower?” she asked, obviously incredulous. Good.

      “Unless it’s a problem.”

      She sputtered and shook her head. “Oh no. No. Why would it be a problem? Of course it isn’t a problem. You just...lead the way, then.” She waved a manicured hand and he fought the urge to do something shocking. Grab it. Tug her to him. Wrap an arm around her waist and hold her against him. Prove he wasn’t some lackey she could come in and order around.

      Because no one had informed Victoria Calder that not everyone leaped to attention at the sound of her crisp accent. He, however, would not. And she would learn quickly.

      But damn her for finding a weak point. He was not given to emotional connections. He had one. And she had found it.

      “Right this way, then,” he said, not bothering to look at her as he forged through the workout room and to a door that was nearly hidden in the back. He entered in his code on the keypad on the door and he heard the lock give, then he jerked the door open, holding it. “After you, Ms. Calder.”

      She shot him a look he was certain was intended to be deadly, but he continued on anyway.

      “You will find I am not wounded by icy glares, Ms. Calder,” he said.

      Her back stiffened and she stopped midstride.

      “I am not trying to wound you,” she said. “That runs counter to my objective.”

      “Of marrying me. Yes. It would not do for you to become a widow before we get a chance to start our new, charitable life together.”

      She sniffed audibly. “Indeed.” She started walking again, her high heels clicking on the hard floor.