Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers

have her burst into his room and chide him as if he were a naughty child rather than the most dangerous man in St. Petersburg was absurd.

      It wasn’t amusement he felt, however, as his gaze rested on the honey curls that peeked from her scarf to lie against the purity of her ivory skin and the steady hazel eyes that held unwavering strength.

      There was something about her that challenged him at his most primitive level.

      He wanted to loom over her until she dropped her bold gaze in silent defeat. He wanted to bluntly inform her that he was an unrepentant tyrant who expected immediate obedience from others.

      He wanted to haul her against his body until the defiance faded from her beautiful eyes and her lush lips softened in invitation…

      Thankfully unaware of the currents of prickling awareness that swirled through the air, Josef folded his arms over his chest.

      “What did I say? Curdled milk,” he muttered.

      Dimitri never allowed his gaze to stray from Emma Linley-Kirov’s stubborn expression.

      “That will be all.”

      “Are you certain? There is nothing more dangerous than an angry female.”

      “Thank you, Josef, I believe you have done quite enough,” Dimitri dryly assured his friend, waiting for his servant to leave the room before he rounded the desk and perched on the corner.

      His lips twisted as her gaze skimmed down his tailored, cinnamon jacket that he had paired with a cream satin waistcoat. He had tied his crisp cravat in an Oriental knot and a diamond the size of a thimble winked in the perfect folds. Clearly the woman had expected him to be a savage rather than the sort of sophisticated gentleman who could appear comfortable in the finest home.

      “There is a saying that listeners rarely hear good of themselves,” he at last broke the silence.

      An indefinable emotion flared through her eyes before she was jutting her chin in silent condemnation.

      “I am indifferent to your opinion of me, sir—”

      “Dimitri,” he smoothly corrected.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “I am no gentleman as you have so graciously implied. You will call me Dimitri.”

      Her lips tightened, whether in disapproval at the informality or at being given an order, it was impossible to determine.

      “If you insist,” she grudgingly conceded.

      “I do.”

      “Can we please discuss my sister?” she snapped. “I have wasted enough of my day.”

      Dimitri narrowed his gaze, shoving from the desk and prowling toward the woman regarding him with an imperious scowl. A surge of male satisfaction raced through him as she instinctively backed away from his approaching form, even as his more civilized nature was shocked by his fierce reaction to the delicate slip of a woman.

      What the hell was wrong with him?

      Herding her until she was pressed flat against the bookcase, he reached to grasp the shelves on either side of her shoulders.

      “Perhaps we should discuss the nature of our—” his brooding gaze lowered to the tempting curve of her lips “—relationship, Emma.”

      Heat flared beneath her ivory skin, but her eyes shimmered with rebellion.

      “There is no relationship, merely a set of unfortunate circumstances that have forced us to join our resources for the time being.”

      He pressed closer, caught by surprise when a raw awareness of her slender body seared through him. It was inconceivable. He enjoyed his women soft and vulnerable. The sort who depended upon him to offer support and protection. Not aging tartars who smelled of soap and starch.

      “Then let me clarify the joining of resources.”

      Her color deepened at the hint of huskiness in his voice. “What do you mean?”

      “You desire my assistance, then you will have to follow my rules. Otherwise you can turn around and leave now.”

      A tense silence filled the room he had recently converted into his private office, then without warning, Emma was shoving him away and pacing toward the window that overlooked the street.

      Dimitri couldn’t deny a grudging respect for her courage. He knew only one other woman who would not have fainted or fled by now.

      His mother.

      The realization did nothing to ease his potent need to tame the prickly female. His mother’s courage had put her in an early grave.

      “Fine.” Slowly turning, Emma regarded him with an unflinching gaze. “What are these precious rules?”

      “The first is that I will not tolerate an ill-tempered termagant in my presence. If you cannot control your sharp tongue, then I will discover a means to tame it.”

      Her eyes widened. “Tame? If you think I will tolerate being beaten by—”

      He was moving before he could halt the impulse, his hands holding her face steady as he lowered his head and covered her mouth in a soft, coaxing kiss. He had intended to teach her a lesson in controlling her shrewish tongue, but at the first taste of her honeyed innocence his passions stirred, his body hardening. His hands tightened on her face as he deepened the kiss.

      Just for a moment she softened against him, her lips parting in a sweet surrender. Then, with a choked moan, she jerked back, her eyes blazing with a fury that did not entirely mask her startled desire.

      “Why, you…”

      Well versed in the ways of women, Dimitri easily caught the hand she lifted to slap his face, bringing her fingers to his mouth.

      “The second rule is no striking your master,” he could not resist taunting.

      Flecks of gold smoldered in the hazel eyes. “Master?”

      He kissed her slender fingers. “You are in desperate need of my assistance, which means that while you remain in St. Petersburg you are in my power.”

      “I will not be treated as if I am a serf.”

      “You will do precisely as I say and you will do so without complaint.”

      She jerked her hand from his grasp, marching toward the door with her chin high and her back stiff.

      “This is absurd.”

      “If you walk out that door, Emma, I can assure you that you will never find your sister.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      EMMA HALTED AT THE soft threat.

      Dimitri Tipova was not at all what she had expected. She had been prepared for a rough, ill-mannered oaf who used his fists, not his wits, to control the underworld. Certainly, she had never dreamed he would be a sophisticated, well-educated gentleman who was as beautiful as an angel and as wicked as Lucifer.

      And that kiss…

      No. She hastily thrust aside the feverish memory of her first kiss.

      She was suitably rattled without the distracting thought of Dimitri’s warm, seeking lips and the potent heat that speared through her body.

      Slowly turning, she met his ruthless gaze. “You know where she is?”

      “No, but—”

      “Then I will find someone less offensive to help me.”

      He strolled forward, the scent of sandalwood and warm male skin teasing at her senses.

      “There is no one in all of Russia who has devoted the time and resources that I have to uncovering the habits of those noblemen who prey on children.” Halting directly before her, he cupped her chin, his gaze