The Platinum Collection: A Convenient Proposal. Maisey Yates

she muttered. “You’re from Russia. I would’ve expected you to melt by now.”

      “I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He turned his broad back to her, the sun glinting off the black fabric of his suit jacket. She was roasting just looking at him. He began to walk in toward the hotel entrance and she followed, dodging the dips and dents in the sidewalk. She had read online about the sidewalks in New Orleans being notoriously bad, but she had still worn high heels for travel day, and she was starting to question the sanity of that. Fortunately, she had brought an entire suitcase filled with sensible shoes for when she would be walking outside the hotel. The kinds of shoes that did not ask a man to bend her over anything and do anything to her.

      The memory of that interaction made her face burn.

      Her face still burned even when they walked into the very ornate lobby. The air was cool inside, but it did nothing to make her feel any less hot and bothered. Though, she imagined that the heat Dmitri made her feel was completely independent of the heat outside. It had to be, because she’d been hot since before they left England.

       Acknowledging it is the first step to dealing with it. So deal with it, Victoria.

      She had to; she had no other choice. Because the only other option was giving in. And she had already vowed that she would never do that, never again.

      * * *

      Dmitri found himself fascinated by Victoria, and he found that fascination annoying. She was icy, she was prickly—in short, she was a female version of himself. Though, he knew how to be softer with a lover. Victoria seemed capable of being only one way with him. She did not seem capable of playing a part. It should bother him because it put their entire ruse in jeopardy. But it didn’t, or rather, it did, but only in the sense that it made him determined to figure out a way beneath the hard shell exterior she wore around her like armor.

      They had gone their separate ways once they were inside the hotel, Victoria saying she needed a shower to get rid of the film of stickiness she had accumulated over her skin since landing in Louisiana. He had not seen reason to argue, though he had wanted to stay with her, not wanting to give her reprieve, not wanting to give her the chance to rebuild her control. And he could have stayed with her, seeing as they were sharing a multiroom suite in the interest of keeping up appearances, but he had not.

      Because he felt as if every time they parted she had her walls back up even more firmly than before they left each other.

      Because the fact was, he seemed to be breaching them to a degree. A triumph if ever there was one, though, only depending on how you looked at it.

      He should not want to be intrigued by Victoria, not on a personal level. But the fact remained that he was. She was as beautiful as she had been the moment he had first seen her, and as bad an idea as she had been from that moment, too. His body did not seem to care. His body seemed to think that because she was wearing his ring, no matter the terms, she should also be in his bed.

      His stomach tightened, blood flowing south, making him hard.

      Yes, there was no denying that he was physically intrigued by Victoria.

      Though right now she seemed intent on denying him her presence. He had asked her to meet him down in the lobby, where he was currently waiting for her, and she was most definitely late.

      He looked around the room, at the marble walls and floors. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He was used to this kind of ornate architecture. It was everywhere in London. Finely done architecture, intricate stonework. Everything that glittered most definitely gold. And yet, every time he was in a new place, he found himself admiring it all the same. As though it were the first time.

      He found that no matter how much he wanted to be, he could not be jaded about this kind of beauty. The same way he could not be jaded about the type of beauty Victoria had.

      He had been with many women, most especially since his rise to fame and fortune. And at this point, one beautiful woman should be same as the next. But they weren’t. They never were. Soft luxuries in his life he appreciated, every time, without fail.

      Victoria all the more. Because she had a particular quality of luxury to her that was almost indefinable. She was the painting in the museum flanked by guards. Cordoned off by thick velvet ropes and signs that warned you it was okay to look but never to touch. She was the next level of luxury. And she was everything he craved, whether he should or not.

      The fact remained that when there was art around that could be touched, could be purchased easily, it made no sense to covet the piece that was unattainable.

      It made no sense, but it was human nature.

      Which was why he desired Victoria, though he should not.

      The plane ride over had not even been helped by the fact that she had spent most of it hiding in the bedroom. He had still been intensely aware of her presence. As he had been intensely aware of her in the car. That awareness had caused him to lower his guard. Had caused him to spill forth the kind of honesty he rarely allowed.

      His past was not impossible to discover. Even so, he often avoided speaking about it. There were no happy memories back in the mists of time. Nothing he liked to revisit.

      With her, the story had seemed easy to tell. He had wanted to tell her, and he could not quite understand why. To make her understand? To make her see the gravity of it all? Why he needed things to work out as he did. Yes, that made sense, and he could not be faulted for that. Because this charity felt essential to him, and he did not want her to view it as having any less importance.

      He felt her come into the foyer before he saw her, every muscle in his body tensing, his nerves on high alert. And then he saw a fine-boned, pale hand resting on the banister, followed by a slender ankle on the stairs, then her foot in a pair of elegant, flat shoes pressing down on the rich burgundy carpet of the bottom step.

      And then finally the rest of her was in sight. Her golden hair cascading around her shoulders, slender curves outlined to perfection by a pair of ankle-length pants that conformed to her curves and a flowing top in a slate gray.

      The outfit was demure in every sense of the word, and yet, perhaps for that specific reason it was unspeakably arousing. It revealed not a flash more skin than was strictly necessary, and that false sense of the demure managed to capture his imagination in ways that something more revealing never could.

      That made him wonder if perhaps he was a bit more jaded than he had ever given himself credit for. If the endless array of models and flashier women had finally become monotonous. If his array of choice had spoiled him.

      Though, until meeting Victoria, he had not been aware of them seeming monotonous. No, in fact he had been very happy with his sex life. And with his choice of sexual partners. It was only since meeting Victoria that he experienced a different desire. As though discovering delicacies he had not known existed before. Delicacies his body had now decided it craved beyond all else.

      “So,” she said, the pristine crystal tone back firmly in place, as formal as their surroundings. “Are you going to take me for that drink you promised?”

      “I had thought we might take a few moments together. If for no other reason than to make sure we are on the same page when it comes to the gala.”

      “That seems like a good idea.”

      “And yet, you seem annoyed with me.”

      She waved her hand, his ring glittering on her fourth finger, catching the light from the chandelier and putting the crystals above their heads to shame. “Not any more than usual. I should have liked to recede into my bed and enjoy a little bit of room service, but I will not be seriously wounded by going out, either.”

      “Well, I’m glad to hear that. That you would not be seriously wounded, that is.” She had a look on her face that he had come to recognize as being very practiced. It was not a natural facial expression—that was for certain. It was one that was pulled tight, schooled into a smoothness that simply didn’t ring true. He had seen it break so