Dmitry (The Romanovs Book 3), page 1
Dmitry
Copyright © 2018 by Marquita Valentine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
This was previously published as Moving Target in 2017
Cover Design: Okay Creations
Proofreading: Cynthia Shepp
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Also by Marquita Valentine
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Seducing the Billionaire
Seducing the Billionaire’s Wife
Seducing the Billionaire’s Brother
Seducing the Billionaire’s Daughter
Lawson Brothers
Love So Hot
Love So True
Love So Irresistible
Love So Tempting
Love So Perfect
Love So Right
Love So Wild
Holland Springs Series
Drive Me Crazy
Twice Tempted
Third Time’s a Charm
His Christmas Wish
Just Desserts
Not Over You
Be Mine
Brides of Holland Springs
The Billionaire Bride
The Temporary Bride
The Forgotten Bride
The Christmas Bride
The Scottish Bride
Scored
Scoring Her Heart
Protecting Her Heart
Catching Her Heart
Boys of the South
Live For You
Only For You
True For You
All For you
Wish For You
Burn For You
Melt For You
Kings of Castle Beach
Picture Perfect Lie
Picture Perfect Marriage
Picture Perfect Summer
Picture Perfect Love
Dmitry (The Romanovs)
Some rules are meant to be broken…
Mafia mercenary Dmitry Romanov lives by only two rules. One, don’t ask what’s in the package. Two, don’t open the package. Those rules have made him rich and kept him alive. Now he’s ready to retire, but when a former colleague asks for a favor, he agrees to one last transport.
Widow Chloe Riggs is finally ready to move on and follow the bucket list her husband made her while he was in the last stages of cancer. First up on the list, a European vacation they’d always dreamed of taking. But she gets more than she bargains for when she ends up in the trunk of a car. Unfortunately, Chloe’s only means of escape is with the man who’s driving her straight into danger.
Dmitry has his hands full with the feisty American—not only is she testing his resolve to stay professional, but she’s also making him crave her hot body.
Can Chloe convince Dmitry to break all the rules and not only save her, but also their future together? Or will his loyalty to the Bratva doom them both?
Chapter One
Chloe
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, dressed in what has to be a tailor-made suit, which means one of two things. He’s gay… or taken.
I frown.
“Not gay,” Mario murmurs in my ear.
I glance at my best friend. “Are you sure?”
“Fairly certain,” he says in an even tone.
“Fairly certain? I can’t go with fairly certain,” I protest, even as Mario propels me in the guy’s direction. “Is your gaydar off or something?”
“I don’t have gaydar.”
“You should,” I insist. “You’re my SGBF.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Sassy gay best friend?” Mario and I have been friends since freshman year of college when he saved me from asshole frat boys trying to cop a feel while I was serving their table. Since Mario is six-five and built like a brick shithouse, they had no problem listening to his back-the-fuck-off suggestion.
He mutters something under his breath, turning me around as he does. “Texans aren’t sassy. We’re men, even when we’re into men. Besides, I like women, too.”
I almost snort, and then sober—something that’s a little hard to do considering how much I’ve already had to drink. Okay, I haven’t had that much to drink. Mario’s too protective of me. “What if he’s the one?”
“Then he’s the one.”
I dig my heels in, the four-inch stilettos Mario said would land me a man for my birthday scraping against the concrete floor. “But what about our pact? You know—when we’re thirty and still single because everyone sucks but us, we’ll get married and adopt kids?” Thirty is seven years away, but I’m pretty sure with my luck, Mario will be happily married on a dude ranch while I’ll be surrounded by cats that hate me.
“In the meantime, you need more life experiences. You need to complete number one on your bucket list.”
Like lose my virginity for real. And by for real, I mean not by a doped-up hookup in which my freshman-year boyfriend fell asleep in the middle of sex because he’d taken too many of his allergy meds… Talk about a confidence killer.
“You could be the one to give it to me.”
He smiles, a nice tilt of his lips that does absolutely nothing for me, unfortunately. If only… “Little friend, I love you, but like a sister. That guy has been eyeing you like a dog after a steak.”
“BGS could’ve been eyeing you.”
“Beautiful Guy in a Suit?” he asks.
I nod, but Mario slowly shakes his head. “Not a chance. Besides, I got my eye on a redhead with a tight ass and a short skirt.”
“You’re so greedy.” We’ve talked about Mario’s confidence in who he is. How he doesn’t give a damn about what anyone thinks of his love life. Most of the time, he’s into men, but on rare occasions, like tonight, he’s into women, too.
“Nope. Just feeling a bit adventurous tonight—so should you.” Whirling me around, he gives me a pat on the bottom. “Go get ‘em, sugar.”
Throwing my shoulders back, I strut my stuff straight to the beautiful guy in the suit. Unlike every rom-com I’ve ever seen or read, I don’t trip. I don’t fall into him.
I’m a graceful swan. A lady treading the boards so well that my momma would be proud I actually learned something during cotillion classes.
A guy rams into me, nearly spilling his beer all over my pretty dress. Instead, it hits my arm, running down it like warm water. “Son of a bitch,” I shout, and then turn fifty shades of red. My momma would kill me if she ever heard me cuss like that.
If I don’t get this off my skin, I’ll be sticky when it dries, and that’s something I can’t stand. I need to take a detour to the bathroom to scrub my arms like a doctor going into surgery. Which means BGS will have time to leave before I can make my move.
I narrow my eyes at the half-empty cup of beer. “You couldn’t have been club soda or water, could you?”
“Sorry,” the guy says, leering, his eyes going straight to my boobs. “Be happy to clean it up.”
“She doesn’t require your help.”
I blink, my head tipping back at the same time. BGS has joined us, and dear baby Jesus in a swing, he’s even more beautiful this close. Nearly white-blond hair, piercing green eyes, cheekbones so sharp they could cut my dress right off, and lips so full they could suck… Well, hopefully, they could suck on my skin, the tips of my fingers, my nipples, my clit…
I rub my thighs together, trying to focus on the conversation between BSG and Leering Beer Slosher.
“Hey man, I’m just trying to be a gentleman,” LBS protests.
“Gentlemen don’t purposefully run into women and spill their drinks on them.”
I snap my head around. “You did that on purpose?”
He grins sheepishly. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Trying is talking. You know… initiating conversations. Like this.” I turn back to BGS. “Hi, I’m Chloe. Would you like to have a drink with me?”
BGS’s eyes dance, even while his mouth keeps that perfect line of don’t screw with me. “Nice to meet you, Chloe. As long as you’ll allow me to pay, I’ll have drinks with you.”
Swoon.
Swoon.
Swoon.
I turn to the beer slosher. “And that’s how it’s done, cowboy.” After I lace my arm—the non-beer soaked one—through BGS’s, we walk away.
“Did you really want to have a drink , or was I an excuse to get away from an unwelcome… admirer?” he asks.
“Both,” I admit. “I think he was harmless. Mostly. You never know these days.”
He leads me to an empty private booth in the back, near the VIP section of the nightclub. I look around. Wait, this isn’t near the VIP section. This is the VIP section.
“Da. Some people are not who they seem.” He gestures for me to take a seat on a rather plush-looking sofa. A server rushes over, h
“What can I get for the two of you?” she asks as I set to exploring the VIP section because I’m pretty sure I’ll never be invited to one again.
“Does that suit your taste, krasavitsa?”
“Krasavista?” I can’t help but ask. I have no idea what he’s ordered, but I’d rather know what language he’s speaking. Maybe Russian.
“It means beautiful,” he says, and my heart speeds up at his compliment.
“Miss?”
“Oh. Yes, whatever he ordered is fine with me.” I sit back in the too-die-for-soft sofa and cross my legs. After a heartbeat or three, he joins me. “You never told me your name.”
“Call me Dima.”
“Dima—is that short for something?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he sits there as silent as the Sphinx. Okay, then. “Been here long?”
“Less than an hour.”
I’d meant in this country, but whatever. However—his British and Russian accents are hot. “On a date?” I hope not. I also hope he’s not a perv who wants me to join in on his perving ways.
Dima smiles. “I am now.”
“Oh, so we’re dating?” I slide closer to him, uncaring I barely know him. This is my birthday, after all.
“The man you were with… will he mind if I take you back to my hotel?”
Well, that’s pretty bold. And I’m pretty turned on. “Why would he mind?”
“If you were my woman, I would kill the man who dared to think he could touch you.”
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not your woman because the dude who sloshed beer all over my arm touched the crap out of me.” I press my hand to my bare shoulder, and then wince at how sticky it’s already become.
“Da. A very good thing.”
Our server reappears from out of nowhere, like the butler in the Mr. Deeds movie. She sets up a smorgasbord of food and drinks. Some I’ve seen before and some I haven’t. Most of it, I’m sure, cost more than I paid for this dress.
Dima’s gaze scans the room, as if he’s expecting someone to jump out at us from the crowd or the shadows. While he lounges against the sofa as if he’s all relaxed, he reminds me of a cat. A panther really, ready to spring into action at any moment.
“The man you came with—”
“Mario. He’s my best friend.”
He inclines his head. “He seems to be watching over you, but he’s also hitting on the redhead in the short skirt.”
What is it about redheads and short skirts tonight? Is that a new thing? “We’re best friends.” A blond brow rises, and I hold up my hands, palms facing outward. “Seriously. Have been since freshman year of college. Saved me from some baddies.”
“Ah.”
There could be a lot of implication behind that ah. A lot of meaning I don’t want to be true. “Are you interested in him?”
He laughs. “If I were, I would have found an excuse to talk to him, not you.”
“Oh.” Then his words hit me, like that time I ran smack dab into the middle of a glass door. “You’re interested in me?”
“Obviously.”
I scoot closer to him. “Today is my birthday.”
“Any wishes?”
“They haven’t all come true.”
“Shall I give the birthday girl whatever she wants?” he asks, his voice a husky murmur that sends thrills down my entire body. I don’t think I’ve ever had a case of insta-lust like this before.
Like ever.
Not even with Mario, and I totally crushed on him for saving me from those fratholes before finding out he wasn’t into me that way.
“Yes.”
He tips up my chin with one finger. “What does she want?”
“I want you.” Our lips are inches away. We’re so close to kissing that the anticipation running through my veins has turned straight into liquid fire.
Suddenly, his eyes narrow, and he pushes me back with one hand against my chest. My head bangs against what has to be the only hard place on the sofa—most likely the edge of it.
“Not that rough,” I cry out, my hand going to my head.
“I’m so sorry.” Removing his hand, he inspects my hair and tenses up while I fight the urge to put his hand back on my chest. He was practically cupping a boob—and it’s been a long time since anything other than my bra has done that. “I thought there was a spider falling from the ceiling.”
“You’re smooth.” I pour myself a glass of champagne. When I glance at the label, I nearly wet my pants. “This is like twenty thousand a bottle. I saw an article about this brand on BuzzFeed.”
“Special night,” he says with a shrug, his gaze once again on the crowd.
Meanwhile, my hand is shaking. I’m not clumsy, never have been, but I’ve also never held twenty-thousand dollars in my hand. “Super special. Maybe you should pour yourself a glass.”
“Not drinking.”
“As a rule, or because you’re driving?”
His green gaze cuts back to me. “Always driving.”
“I’m not,” I chirp. “Ubered all the way over here. Well, it wasn’t that far, but no way could I walk four blocks in these heels.”
He flicks his eyes to my shoes. “I will take you home.”
“Don’t live here. Mario and I came up for my birthday weekend.”
“I will take you to my home.”
“You live here?”
“Manhattan.”
“This is my first time in the city. I’m from Virginia—small town outside of Richmond. Went to college at UVA, majored in business, and now I’m a highly skilled admin in D.C. who is highly underpaid.”
He leans into me, his fingers playing with the curls in my hair. “Your first time in the city and this is where your friend takes you?” He tsks.
“You’re here,” I point out before taking a sip of my champagne. It goes down my throat with bubbles popping.
I love it.
“Had a meeting.”
I scrunch up my nose. “In a nightclub?”
“I go where the money is.”
The server reappears in front of us. Dima nods, and she hits a button. Suddenly, we’re moving. The front of our booth is slowly being enclosed.
Panicking slightly, I search for Mario, but he’s on the dance floor with the redhead. His hands are on her ass.
Whipping out my phone, I send him a text.
In private VIP area. Our booth moved. I’m okay.
I know. Ran a check on him. Have fun.
That makes me feel a little better, but the only check Mario can run from here is facial recognition. He has an app for it on his CIA phone—I mean, work phone.
This is why I could never work for the CIA.
The room goes silent. There’s no one here but Dima, me, and a couch. Oh, and the smorgasbord of food and drink. A mirror replaces the wall, showing me our reflections.
“Anyone else you need to contact?” he asks.
“My mom?”
He motions to my phone. “Go on. I’ll wait.”
“A girl can never be too careful.”
“Indeed.” He brushes the side of my face. “Shall we check to make sure I’m not a criminal who was sent to kill you?”
“Since you mentioned it.” I pull up my Internet and do a search for Dima—crap. “What’s your last name?”
With an indulgent smile, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet. “Here is my driver’s license. Use that.”
I take it from him without actually reading it. “This could be anyone.”
“Da, but you’ll have to trust me when I say it’s not just anyone.” He takes my phone from me, and my heart slams against my chest. But instead of tossing it to one side, he starts typing in a number and name. His name.
Dmitry Vasili Romanov
“Your last name is Romanov? Like the director?”
“And the earl,” he says. “Our grandfathers were brothers. Take a look for yourself.”
I snatch the phone back, my hands shaking. “Holy crap. That’s you and—and—and… Holy crap.” Calm down, Chloe. It’s not like he’s the famous one. “Okay, so this proves you’re who you say you are.”
His forehead scrunches. “That’s not a good thing?”
“It is, but—” A hand on my bare thigh makes me breathless. “What are you…?”
