Page 28 of Dimitri
She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you're going to give it to me anyway."
"Take the plunge."
*****
He had known her a brief time but was beginning to know her very well. And realizing that, he was aware she was going to take a hell of a lot of time and convincing. He had studied her and in doing so, he realized she would avoid coming home at a reasonable time.
And he was proven right. When she had not turned up at eight, he smiled to himself, not in the least perturbed. He was a patient man, usually, and was going to wait her out.
He had decided on a course of action. One that was going to make her mad but suited him fine. Parking the jeep around the back of her cottage, he walked up the cobbled driveway like a man out for a leisurely stroll. The wind was whipping through the trees and for a lesser person, the icy cold would have them scurrying for cover. He had put on a jacket to please his grandmother, a thin, elegant cashmere that reached his knees.
And had told her casually that he would be out for the night. His grandparents being the clever people they were, knew where he was headed and wisely did not mention it. He was armed with the necessary tools and was hoping fervently that the cottage was not shielded by some fancy alarm system.
Not that he couldn't get around it, if indeed it was, but he preferred simple and quiet.
Almost clapping his hands in anticipation when he reached the front door, he crouched and examined the lock, shaking his head at the plain design. It did not appear he would have to use his fancy lock picking device. A hair pin or any kind of pin would do. He was going to have a conversation with her about how easy it was to get inside. What if he had been some pervert out to do her harm? Cursing in Russian, he let himself in and had the good sense to lock the door behind him. The foyer light was on, making it easy for him to pick his way through to the kitchen, where he placed the large picnic basket he had charmed the chef into packing. Taking out the bottle of Costa Regal, he put it inside the wine cooler. The rest of the items, he stored in the fridge and pantry.
Shedding his jacket and boots, he made his way into the living room and sat on one of the comfortable sofas, stretching his legs out. The place suited her, he mused as he looked around. Bold colors, burgundy and blue, antique furnishings, rugs instead of carpet, the board floor gleaming from the light shining through the thick drapes.
The place was neat, something that surprised him, considering she had little time to do housework, which meant she had someone coming in to take care of that aspect. Putting his jacket and boots to the side, he eased into the sofa and stretched his legs out. He was looking forward to her arrival. And the burst of anger when she discovered he had made his way inside.
*****
It was not disappointment, she told herself as she drove across the cobbled driveway and saw no sign of a vehicle. It was relief. She had stayed at the club until after ten, with the intention of avoiding him. Jessica had advised her to take the "plunge", but she had no intention of rushing into his arms.
If and when she was ready, it would be up to her. She wasn't going to stupidly fall into his arms like a ripe plum.
Pushing the lever into park, she sat there, drumming her fingers on the wheel, a frown touching her brow. So, all that talk about waiting no matter how long she took to get home was just that, talk. Well, she was relieved. If she had arrived and found him waiting, she would call the cops. Maybe.
Pushing the car door open, she stepped into the chill of the night. Slamming the door shut, she marched to the back and hauled out the briefcase. She had work to do before her court appearance in the morning. So, it was just as well he hadn't shown up.
Fishing her key out, she wondered for the hundredth time if she should change the lock to one of those smart ones with a keypad. She was just going to have to find the time to get someone out here to handle that part of it. But for now, it wasn'ta priority. Letting herself in, she shrugged out of the jacket and meticulously hung it on the coat tree. Next came her boots, which she placed in the closet.
Habit had her going straight to the kitchen. The large picnic basket resting on the cream and pink counter had her stopping and staring. A picnic basket? What the hell was it doing here? Walking further into the room, she opened the fridge and wondered if she was having memory loss. There were items there she was sure she had not bought. Brie, what looked like thinly sliced roast beef, plump green, and purple grapes. More cheese, strawberries and rosy tomatoes.
Slamming the door shut, she yanked open the pantry door and saw several loaves of bread. French and Italian.
"I wasn't sure which you preferred, so I went with both."
There was no mistaking the deep slightly accented voice or her first reaction to it. Closing the door slowly, she took a breath and then another before turning to face him. The damn man had one broad shoulder propped against the doorjamb, hands tucked into the pockets of his ash gray dress pants, and he was smiling!
"How did you get in?"
"I picked your lock. We need to talk about how easy it is for someone to get in and how careless you are. The place is pretty isolated, and you do live alone. I know the neighborhood is safe"
"You picked the lock."
"It was distressingly easy to do." He anticipated her reaction and managed to dodge the tin of sweet corn aimed for his head.
Chapter 8
Anticipating her next move when she yanked open the pantry door and fearing for his safety, he moved with lightning speed and had her hands clamped at her sides.
"Now Krasotka." He held her tight even when she went still. "You don't want to hurt me, do you?"
"You broke into my house."
"I did, yes." He wondered if he could take the chance of releasing her so he could turn her around and decided not to risk it. She might be still, but her body was vibrating.
