Page 25 of Conquer
She nods, appearing to mull it over. Then she squares her shoulders and hops from the chair.
“Can I go to the garden now? I wanted to help out early.”
“Sure.” I tug one of her braids and watch her skip off. Then I claim her vacated seat and try to give myself my own “lying is for the benefit of society” pep talk. I don’t think I’ve made much progress by the time a commotion rising from downstairs warns of the impending approach of yet another visitor.
Much to my mother’s chagrin.
“Tiffy,” she scolds as I descend the stairs and—sure enough—discover an unfamiliar black car cruising up the driveway. “Is it too much to ask for a bit of forewarning as to when we can expect your guests?”
I murmur some form of an apology as I slip through the front door, beating the pack just in time to head off the figure climbing from the vehicle’s driver’s seat. Vadim, it seems, took the tactical approach of driving himself rather than hiring a driver to do so. His outfit also strikes me as deliberately calculated—a casual mixture of a less formal dark brown suit with a looser white dress shirt underneath and no tie.
The result is a man who looks no less approachable than any other suitor hoping to make a good first impression, be them a billionaire or not.
God. It’s unfair. I can sense every little extent he’s gone through to ensure as much. He probably forced himself to eat something during the plane ride because he isn’t shaking, his features refreshed after days of chronic lack of sleep. His hair has been neatly arranged, and I can imagine him having to physically stop himself from raking his fingers through it.
He eyes me warily as I circle the car and approach him, my arms crossed.
“You don’t plan on staying long?” I ask when he doesn’t move to grab a suitcase from the trunk. His nostrils twitch—he didn’t miss the audible relief in my voice.
“I booked a hotel,” he says. “I was able to schedule some business meetings while I’m here.”
Though he avoids mentioning a timeframe as to when he’ll depart. I sense myself frown, but I decide to leave that battle for another day.
“Tiffy?” I hear my mother calling from the front steps. “Are you going to introduce your gentleman caller or have him stand out in the hot sun all day?”
Here goes nothing…I inhale raggedly. Then I extend my hand for Vadim’s. Any shock he might feel at the gesture is damn near instantly suppressed, replaced by one of his light, quick smiles. He grabs for me in return, and his heat runs through me like a lance, enhancing the aches and pains I’d been able to ignore until this moment.
The soreness of tossing and turning at night—too many nights—while in bed alone. The throbbing awareness of how long it’s been since I’ve had him inside me—such a strange thing to notice, all things considered. A reprieve from passionless sex was one of the many benefits of my separation from Jim, but this…
Being taunted with Vadim’s nearness is a torture I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.
Though maybe I’m alone in that regard. He loosens his grip on my hand, releasing me and turns his attention to the backseat of the car. I’m surprised to find that—in lieu of a suitcase—he did bring a few items with him. A bouquet of gorgeous roses that must have cost a fortune, as well as three neatly wrapped boxes.
I’m flashed back to when I accompanied him to his brother’s home, insisting upon bringing presents. I think I’d explained it away as social etiquette—but I have a feeling he took those words to heart, studying such a concept as thoroughly as his foray into kink.
“Help me with these?” he asks, his tone soft—but he isn’t speaking to me. A small figure bounds to his side, her smile beaming.
“Okay!” she chirps, playing the role of a precocious innocent so thoroughly I almost forget that I’d asked her to. She holds her arms out while Vadim piles each present on top of the other. Then she leads the way into the house as my parents watch on.
I think it should bother me a little, the approval I find in my mother’s eyes as she takes in Vadim’s slender frame and handsome visage. My father, on the other hand, seems more interested in studying the quality of his tailored suit and rented car.
“Mother, Daddy, this is Vadim,” I say once we’re all crowded into the foyer.
“Welcome!” My mother exclaims, drifting forward to plant a French-style kiss on each of his cheeks. “I apologize for the lack of proper fanfare. If I would have known you were coming so soon—” She breaks character just long enough to shoot me a glare, “I would have prepared better. Regardless, I’ll have Gwen whip up a marvelous lunch. Do you plan on staying long?”
“As long as I’m welcome to,” Vadim says, his accent adding an extra flair to his usual charm. “Though, I do have business that may call me away later, unfortunately.”
Smart man, laying the foundation for an easy escape route should the need arise.
“Welcome, Vadim,” Daddy says, eyeing him skeptically. As Magda hovers near his side, I finally make out the telltale signs of dirt stains on the cuffs of their jeans, their hands equally filthy.
“Looks like someone’s been having fun,” Vadim remarks, inspecting his daughter from head to toe.
“I’ve been helping,” she says in response to his questioning look. Her eyes brim with excitement, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so animated. “We’re waging war against those goddamn caterpillars—”
“And, she’s been a good little gardening assistant,” my father says quickly. He places his hand on her shoulder and shoots her a conspiratorial wink.
Meanwhile, my mother’s cheeks flush blood-red, and I half-expect her to faint. “Please, come and sit—Tiffy, show him into the sunroom, will you? I’ll have Gwen prepare some tea. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
