Page 67 of Wrapped in Perfection

"What about the fact you're my boss?"

His eyes twinkle. "I told you, I don't think we need to worry about HR."

"Are your brothers going to think differently?"

Dmitri snorts. "All they care about is making sure you get the job done. Beyond that, it's not their business. Besides, none of them are saints."

"Meaning?"

He slides his hand in my hair. "If we see something we want, we go after it. That's how my parents raised us. None of us sit back when we see a woman we want."

"Do you normally date women you work with?"

Amusement crosses his face. "I haven't before. My brothers have." He leans closer. "You're my one and only, kotik."

It shouldn't matter who he's been with in the past, but I have to bite back my smile. I like being his one and only.

He opens the door. "It's now or never. Last chance to stay in the car."

"Don't tempt me," I tease and slide off his lap.

As always, he reaches in for me. My heart flutters. His chivalry makes me feel special. My brother and his friends all hold doors open and do nice things for their wives, but I've not been on the receiving end from someone I dated in years.

Something about Dmitri is different. Almost old world. Maybe it's the Russian culture in him or his sexy accent, making me feel that way. I'm not sure, but he pulls me out of the vehicle. His hand slides to my ass, and he tugs me into his body.

I never imagined a man's hand on my ass would feel so electric. Or I would be comfortable walking around in public that way. But nothing about Dmitri's palm on my cheek feels derogatory. He's showing the world I'm his, and I don't want him to remove it.

It's dark out. The neighborhood we're in doesn't look the best. Boarded-up buildings and bars on windows line both sides of the street. Another man gets out of the front of the car. He's bigger than Dmitri and has a scowl on his face. He's one of the scariest men I've ever laid eyes on.

I shudder and lean closer to Dmitri. "You brought two drivers?"

Dmitri palms my ass harder. "That is not a driver. Viktor is a bodyguard."

Viktor steps behind us. I peek behind Dmitri's shoulder. Viktor's eyes are slits, and he scours the street around us.

"Why do we need a bodyguard?" I ask.

"You don't ever come down here without me, kotik. This is not a good neighborhood."

You don't need to worry about that.

Another man stands near the door, wearing all black. He's as wide as a refrigerator, but I'm pretty sure it's all muscle. His neck is thicker than anyone's I've ever seen.

Steroids anyone?

"Boss." He nods and opens the door.

"Leo." Dmitri motions for me to go through. "After you, kotik."

I'm suddenly nervous. I hesitate, and Dmitri pats my ass.

I step into the stairwell of brown walls and worn carpet. Sweat-filled air becomes thicker the closer I get to the top. Russian and Irish male voices echo in my ears.

There is one open room and two small offices. A wall of windows faces the main area. Several dozen men are punching bags or working with trainers. A ring with a black-and-white rope sits in the middle of the space. The dark mat has the same letters and design as Dmitri's chest tattoo.

No past, no future.

Dmitri resumes his position next to me, places his hand on my ass, and guides me toward the offices. As we walk through the gym, fighters and trainers glance at us. Some nod. Others exchange greetings with Dmitri. But he moves us across the room quickly.

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