Demyan shook his head and failed to suppress a frustrated grin that he eventually scrubbed away with the palm of his hand. “God, you’re your mother all over. Stubborn like nothing. Roman’s gonna give me a stroke before he’s thirty but you—”
“Was she like me?” Vera asked, then.
That stopped her father right up.
Demyan tipped his chin a bit higher as he eyed Vera and the way she hugged her oversized cardigan close to keep the cold away from her bare legs and arms. She hadn’t bothered to change out of the tank top and cotton shorts she wore to bed.
He nodded at her instead of answering the question, and said, “Why don’t you get in the house? I managed to keep the fireplace going last night. You don’t need to be out here.”
She didn’t move. “I meant Gia, not Claire.”
Demyan swallowed audibly while his lips pressed together, and he stared out at the lake. Anywhere but at Vera for more than a handful of seconds. “Yeah, I know,” he said, emotion thick in his hoarse voice. “Frankly, she never liked to listen to me, either, Vera.”
Huh.
“Your brother bet me a thousand dollars I wouldn’t be able to even get a vacation out of you.”
Vera’s brow dipped. “A vacation?”
“Like a date and time. Even a plan, Vera.” Demyan rolled his eyes and slapped a hand against the top of the post as he pushed away from it. “I should have shut my mouth; Roman likes taking my money too much. He gets a complex from it.”
“In the spring,” she said suddenly.
Demyan’s head snapped up at that. “For what?”
“I’ll come home to visit in the spring.”
That declaration only had her father staring toward the arch of overhanging trees where the dirt road entered the drive of the private guesthouse. Without saying anything at all, his gaze said it all. Says who?
“Maybe I can convince Vaslav to take a late honeymoon to the states,” Vera said.
Not seriously.
Demyan barked out a laugh. “Right, I’ll believe that one when I see it. From what I hear, that man doesn’t leave this country unless he has no other choice. People watch, see ... he’s known for making it very hard for anyone to find him in the first damn place. If you think he’ll be seen within fifty miles of me, you’re not as smart as I gave you credit for.” Gesturing at their surroundings, he added, “Why do you think he’s put me in a little bubble where only he knows I exist for the moment? It’s not even personal. He just doesn’t do business that way. And a ring on your finger won’t change any of that, I promise you.”
The news didn’t shock her.
His account of it, however, did.
“Men in familiar circles, right?” she asked, knowing her father would understand perfectly fine. Of course, he’d have an intimate look at Vaslav Pashkov, the international criminal. Birds of a feather flocked together. Wasn’t that how the saying went?
Demyan openly frowned. “I never hid the things I did from you. I didn’t pretend to be a different man from who I was. Can he say the same? Do you even know what bed the beast is making for you?”
She hated that he was right.
And that it still didn’t make a difference.
“What does it matter about the bed,” she returned, wanting this to be the last time she had this conversation with her father, “as long as he’s in it with me?”
*
It was closing in on lunchtime before Vera finally learned the truth about Vaslav’s lack of appearance that morning. She didn’t pretend to be pleased about the sight that greeted her inside the man’s master bathroom, either.
Clearly hungover, besides his grey pallor, the dark circles under his eyes gave away his ill feelings and exhaustion, Vaslav reclined in a free-standing bathtub of steaming hot water. With his eyes closed, he didn’t notice her approach. At least, that’s how it seemed.
Steam clung to the air.
No bubbles or oils offered any scent. There wasn’t even a candle lit on the counter, so she had to flick the lights on herself.
Not that he liked that.
The water sloshed violently as he jerked to awareness. Vera didn’t move from her spot in the doorway while Vaslav blinked away his confusion and settled on her figure across the room.
“Mira told me you got drunk last night,” she said.
“Mira has a big fucking mouth,” he grumbled as he settled back into the tub with his arms falling limp over the outer edges.
“Any reason you felt like you needed to drink two liters—”
“It wasn’t the entire bottle. And if you don’t mind, when you bitch your voice feels like someone is hammering nails into my goddamn ears.” He squeezed his eyes shut again, but she could see the lines of tension on his forehead that spoke of pain. “Shut up.”
Vera sucked in a sharp breath at his viciousness. “The migraines are back?”
“The migraines don’t stop.”
Right, right.
Vera had to remember that.
She quickly flipped the lights back off, but opted not to move from the doorway of the bathroom. “I didn’t walk up, by the way. Igor gave me a ride when he came down to check on things at noon.”
“Hmm.”
“I was serious about the date, Vas.”
That cracked his eyes back open. “What?”
He didn’t look at her, but rather, focused on the wall of tiles at the foot end of the tub. At least with his attention partially distracted from her, Vera didn’t feel like it was such a dangerous thing to let her own gaze wander over the man. From his damp, tattooed chest to the strong line of his shoulders covering the rounded run of the head of the tub. Even his muscular thighs dusted with dark hair, both visible as he sat with his knees bent above the water, dragged her focus in and twisted her thoughts with the thread of lust.
If he asked her to, she’d join him. Hell, if he said the right words, she’d probably crawl across the floor naked just to get inside that tub with him. It wasn’t even sex that called her to him. Something else entirely curled around her waist like an invisible rope, tightening and tugging, though she pretended like she didn’t feel it.
No doubt, he’d make the world disappear.
And she’d like it.
It didn’t take Vaslav long to realize she hadn’t answered him. He caught her staring, and she couldn’t even be bothered to pretend as if she was ashamed.
He wagged a finger her way, asking, “What’s all that for?”
“What?”
“You know, that look.”
Vera preened the shorter strands of hair framing her face as a way to avoid what he said. “Are we talking about the date for the wedding or—”
“Your birthday. The first. December. I know it.”
“Yes, but do you like it?”
“It’s soon enough,” he returned. “It works.”
Less than two months.
It didn’t leave a lot of time for planning.
Not that she cared.
Vera nodded. “Okay. I’ll just ...” She gestured toward him and the tub; his bath, really. “I’ll let you get some rest. My father finished the posts along the side of the lake that faces the house, by the way, if you’re feeling up to coming down to check it out later.”