Page 22 of Dimitri
"I bet you're used to that sort of thing," she remarked sourly.
"Good and prompt service?" he asked with lifted brows.
"Women fawning all over you."
"I'm interested in one woman." He caught her hands before she could put them in her lap and spread the long fingers. "Soft and elegant. Pretty unadorned nails." He played with her fingertips, eyes on her face. "I had a difficult time sleeping when you left that night."
"That's your problem."
"I would say it's our problem. How was your night?"
"I slept like a baby," she lied. He was caressing her fingertips, sending heat shimmering through her body.
"Liar." He chuckled. "Shall I tell you what I have in store for you?"
"I'm not interested."
"I want to cover your body with mine. Just drape over you like a mantle, until we're forged together. My body touching yours, my lips bonded to yours. My tongue exploring your sweet mouth, every corner, until the taste of you is stamped so deep, one could not tell the difference between us." His accent had thickened, his hold tightening. "You want that too."
"No." Valiantly trying to bring up Michael's image, she tugged. "I don't."
"Liar." He whispered something in his tongue. To her relief, their food came over, forcing him to let go of her hand. Taking a deep careful breath, she picked up her spoon. Aware that he was staring at her, she concentrated on the steam coming up from the bowl as if it was the most important thing in the world and held the answer to world peace.
"She hurt you." His deep voice had her lifting her head and what she saw in his expression had her going still. "I wanted to kill her for putting her hands on you. I've never hit a woman, the practice of it is distasteful to me, but I wanted to strangle her." He lifted a hand to brush across her bruises gently. His action belied the iciness on his face. "If that security had not intervened--"
"They would have hauled you off to jail." She had to swallow the lump in her throat and even so, she could barely speak.
"Would they have?" he was still brushing his knuckles over the bruises. "No one touches you. No one."
"I'm not yours--"
"You will be." Dropping his hand, he nodded at her bowl. "Eat."
Letting out her pent-up breath, she glared at him. "I'm not one of your servants."
"No," he agreed. "You're just a woman who does not take care of herself. I will see to it that you do."
His arrogance took her breath away. Instead of arguing, she decided to ignore him. Dipping her spoon into the thick soup, she started eating and realized how hungry she was.
"What's going to happen to the child?"
She considered not answering, but the look on his face caught her attention. He was not just asking out of morbid curiosity.
"I cannot discuss the case with you."
When he simply stared at her patiently and waited, she sighed. "The uncle is the mother's brother and is steady. He has a job as a mechanic and wants to take care of his nephew."
"This apartment, is it convenient?"
"As far as I know." She scooped up vegetables and chewed. "There will be social workers involved, and I'll be checking in from time to time. Simon is too young to have a job, or I would have been bothering your grandparents again."
"I want to contribute."
She gave him a startled look. "How?"
He shrugged. "I happen to have quite a bit of money."
Her expression hardened. "So, like most rich people, you want to throw money at the problem and consider it solved."
