Vicious Protector by Maggie Cole

9

Adrian

Nothing has changedbetween Dasha and me. She makes my blood boil as much as the day she left for Europe. I haven't seen her in years. She looks slightly older but not much. Time has done nothing to change my thoughts about her.

Skylar's eyes widen. "Your ex-wife?"

I sigh. "In the flesh."

"When did you get divorced?"

This isn't the conversation I want to have on my first date with Skylar, but I don't see how to get out of it. "We separated when I was twenty-seven, and our divorce was final five years ago."

She raises her eyebrows. "That's a long separation."

"It's complicated."

"How?"

"Do you really want to talk about this?" I drag my finger down the side of her throat. "I can think of much better topics."

She inhales slowly. "Maybe you should tell me now and then you don't have to tell me later."

"I'd rather talk about you, not her." It's true. There's nothing about my years or relationship with Dasha I want to revisit. My time with her was a product of our age, explosive chemistry, and my developing rage and pain over Natalia that made me into who I am today. Dasha didn't understand me then, and she sure wouldn't today. When things got rough, she bailed on me. I loved her, and she didn't love me enough to stay with me. It took a lot of time, but I don't have any feelings left for her.

Skylar tilts her head. "Adrian, you pried until I told you what you wanted to know last night. I think you owe me."

My pulse increases. Skylar still doesn't fully trust me. This is a perfect event to ruin the progress I've made. I cave. "What do you need to know, my printsessa?"

"She seemed interested in you."

I snort. Dasha made it clear she is, but I don't want any part of her. Anything with her would be purely physical, and I've done my rounds with her. I'm not the same guy who can't resist her advances. "There's nothing about her I miss or want to revisit."

Skylar doesn't look convinced.

"I'm divorced for a reason," I state.

"How long were you married?"

"I was twenty-three when we got married. We separated, and I haven't seen her since I was thirty-five."

"You tried to work on things for seven years?"

I shake my head. "No. She kept stalling. I had several investments Maksim had Obrecht and me make before I got married. They took off, and she wanted them. We finally agreed on a settlement."

"So you only stayed married that long because of financial reasons?"

And the fact Dasha knows I became a killer and kept coming back to me, declaring her love, then throwing me away again.

I choose my words carefully. Finances were the only reason we didn't split between those times. "That was what held it up, yes."

"Where did she go? She left Chicago?"

"The last time I saw her was when we signed divorce papers. It was five years ago. She said she was leaving for Europe. I assume that's where she went, but honestly, I don't know and don't care." It comes out harsher than needed. Dasha knows my secrets and all the mistakes I made. Maksim and his brothers had to help me clean messes up when I first sought out revenge for Natalia. Almost all the men who raped her, I killed. There are only two left I need to finish. Wes and Zamir Petrov will eventually have their day with my cousins, Obrecht, and me. It doesn't make me comfortable that Dasha is back in town. She wants to reconnect, but I'm not falling for her trap this time.

"Why did you get divorced?"

She couldn't handle what I became. She didn't love me enough to stick by me.

"We were young. We shouldn't have gotten married. Can we change the subject? I didn't ask you out to talk about my ex-wife. She's not part of my life anymore and is never going to be again. I'd rather get to know you."

Skylar looks away.

My chest tightens. I put my arm around her and slide closer. "Is it a problem I'm divorced?"

She meets my eye. "No. But I don't like how she seemed interested in you. I'm not looking to get involved with someone who has something going on with their ex."

I have to give Skylar credit. I appreciate her honesty instead of going around her feelings. "She can be interested in me all she wants. It isn't going to change my mind about her." I lean closer to her lips. "There's only one woman who's gotten my attention in a long time, and I'm staring at her. She's the only one I'm interested in getting involved with."

Her cheeks flush.

"Good evening. I'm David. Can I get you something to drink? Perhaps a bottle of red from the chef's choice?" the server says.

"Do you drink wine?" I ask Skylar.

"Sure. That would be fine."

I nod to the server. "We'll take a bottle."

"Good choice, sir. The chef has prepared a five-course meal. It starts with a pesto and brie canape, followed by English pea soup and red snapper ceviche. The main course is lamb with minted asparagus. Dessert is strawberry shortcake with lemon cream. If you don't want the special, the menu has all our regular and seasonal items." He points to the papers in front of us. "I'll get your wine and give you a few minutes."

"Thank you," Skylar and I say at the same time, and he leaves.

I turn to her and rub my thumb over her hip. "What do you do for fun?"

"The girls and I do yoga together sometimes. I like art, especially the fairs where I can discover someone new. Of course, I love fashion shows. My taste in music is pretty diverse, so I'll pretty much go to any concert. If something big is happening in the city, I'll usually try to attend. I run on days I don't do yoga."

My eyes drift down her body. "Yoga and running look good on you, my printsessa."

She elbows me.

"Ouch! What's that for?"

"Your perverted stare is distracting me."

"Perverted?"

She smirks. "Are you claiming you don't have a perverted stare or know what I'm talking about?"

I take a sip of my water. "Perverted means two things."

"Oh?"

The waiter arrives with our bottle of wine. He opens it and hands me the tasting glass. I pass it to Skylar. "What do you think?"

She takes a sip then licks her sinful lips. "Delicious."

The waiter fills our goblets then we order the chef's special. When he's gone, I twist a lock of Skylar's hair around my finger. "Perverted is characterized by sexually abnormal and unacceptable practices or tendencies. There isn't anything abnormal I'm going to do to you that any man who looks at you wouldn't dream of doing."

Her face turns the color of our cabernet. "You said it has two meanings. What's the second?"

"Having been corrupted or distorted from its original course, meaning, or state." I move my thumb to her inner thigh so my entire palm is on her leg. "Sex is for pleasure. There isn't anything corrupt or distorted about it. Nothing has changed about what I want to do to you, and it doesn't involve hiding my intentions or pretending not to know what I want." I check her out again.

Her lips twitch. "You seem to be an expert on perversion. Is there a reason you know the definition? Too many women point out what I did?"

I grunt. "Nope. I learned it in school."

"Wow. Did you memorize all your vocabulary words?" she teases.

"Only the interesting ones." I take a sip of my wine. Blackberries and currents mix with a smoky flavor. I set the glass down and slowly swirl the liquid. "What's the strangest word you know the definition for inside and out?"

"Gobbledygook."

I snort. "Gobbledygook isn't a word."

"Yes, it is. It's in the Oxford dictionary, and the definition is meaningless language, made unintelligible by excessive use of abstruse technical terms, or in the simplest of terms, nonsense."

"Guess I learned something new," I admit. "When I first came to America, I felt everyone was speaking gobbledygook."

She lightly claps. "Bravo." She pouts her lips. "But I feel bad you had to go through that. I bet it was tough."

"I learned quick."

She smiles. "What's your strangest word?"

I drag my finger over her hand and up her arm. "Agastopia."

Amusement fills her face. "Aga-what?"

"Agastopia. Admiration of a particular part of someone's body. The visual enjoyment of the appearance of a specific physical aspect of another."

"This is in the dictionary?"

"Yep. The urban one, not sure about others."

She laughs. "Sounds like it could mix well with pervert in the same sentence." She straightens her back and holds out her chin. Her long lashes bat against her blue eyes, and my dick twitches. "My agastopia causes me to be a pervert."

I linger on each body part as I slowly reply, "My agastopia has me going crazy for your eyes, lips," I trace them then move my hand over her chest, "perfect breasts," I rest it on her lap, "and the most delicious piece of heaven I've ever tasted."

She holds her breath for a moment. Her voice cracks when she breathes out, "Well, nostrovia for agastopia." She takes a long sip of her wine and sets her glass down.

I lean in to her ear and take a nibble then say, "You know Russian, my printsessa?"

She turns her face so our eyes meet. "Only nostrovia."

"I like how it rolls out of your sexy little mouth." I steal her lips, which are sweet from the wine. Within seconds, her tongue plays with mine. She palms my head. Our kiss perfectly syncs. We're yin and yang, and not one part of our bodies doesn't fit together. It's another reminder of how good we are together. I've enjoyed many women over the years. No one has kissed me and made my veins pulse with fire until Skylar.

"Adrian."

"Yeah," I mumble and stick my tongue back in her mouth.

"Mmm." She kisses me back and murmurs, "Don't leave any tittynopes in your wineglass."

I freeze. "Titty-what?"

Her lips turn up. "Tittynopes."

"What are those?"

"The few drops remaining in the glass, or if you were eating, the crumbs that remain."

I return to her lips. "Impressive. I'm glad our date is going well, and I don't need to worry about my kakorrhaphiophobia."

She pulls out of our kiss. Her eyes light up. "What is that?"

"Fear of failure."

She bites on her lip then says, "I require a jentacular cup of coffee." Her hot mouth of perfection presses into mine, and my pants suddenly feel very restricted.

I ask, "Jentacular?"

She flicks her tongue inside me again, and I groan. She replies, "Anything breakfast related."

"I'll serve you any kind of coffee you want, my printsessa, as long as you're naked."

She softly laughs. "I like how you don't have typhlobasia."

"Now you're showing off. No clue what that means."

"It means you only kiss with your eyes closed."

"I'm multitalented," I claim, and between more kisses express, "I have to admit I’m relieved you love what my clatterdevengeance can do for you."

She retreats. "Your what?"

I suck on her lobe. In a low voice, I reply, "It means dick."

"I didn't know dinner was going to be so educational," she mumbles.

"I'm ready to teach you—"

"Pesto and brie canape," a server chirps out.

I release Skylar and turn to the server. "Thank you." He refills our wine and leaves. I pick up a canape and hold it to Skylar's mouth. "Try this."

She bites into it. "Mmm." She licks her lips then pats her napkin over them. After she swallows, she says, "I need to use the ladies' room."

I rise. "I'll show you where the restroom is."

She shakes her head and smiles. "It's okay. I saw where it was when we walked through the restaurant. I'll be right back." She leaves, and I sit back in the circular booth. Dasha strolls past our table with another couple, gets them situated, then slides next to me.

"What are you doing, Dasha?" I bark. Her rose perfume flares in my nostrils. I used to love it. Maybe it's another reason I can't stand the thought of giving Skylar roses and looked for something else. They always remind me of Dasha, and I don't care to think about her. The scent now annoys me.

She speaks in Russian. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm back?"

I switch to Russian. "No. I don't care. Now get out of the booth."

She laughs and reaches for my cheek. I freeze. For years, I would have paid money to have her touch me. "So, you're still stubborn, huh?"

I jerk my face away from her and scoot to the edge of the booth. "I'm not interested in you or your games."

She smiles and moves closer. "I missed you, Adrian. I've had a lot of time to think about us."

"There is no us. You didn't want us, remember?"

"We were young."

I scoff. "We were thirty-five when we finally divorced. You strung me along for almost eight years."

"No, I didn't. I tried to make it work."

My heart thumps harder against my chest cavity. I wish Dasha still didn't get under my skin, but she does. I'm not sure what she's trying to achieve with this conversation. "Believe whatever you want, Dasha. I was there. You didn't like who I became, remember?"

She puts her hand around the back of my neck. "I can deal with it now. I'm a different person. Things...things have happened to make me look upon..." She picks up my glass of water and takes a sip. "I…something happened. It gave me a different perspective."

The hairs on my arms rise. I don't want Dasha anymore, but I don't wish harm on her. "What happened?"

Her face darkens. "Can we get together and talk? Please?" She leans closer, so her lips are next to mine. "We're good together, Adrian. We made a mistake, now let's fix it."

How many times have I heard that?

Nothing happened to her. It's all part of her game.

I take her hand and remove it from my neck. In a low voice, I reply, "We aren't good together. We didn't make a mistake. We won't be getting back together. I wish you well, Dasha, but don't come looking for me. You may be back in Chicago, but you didn't return for me. Don't make things up to try and pull me in. It isn't going to work this time."

She scrunches her face. "Something did happen." She traces the L-E-V letters on my chest, and my stomach painfully twists with my heart. "There isn't anyone else I could even talk to about it. You're the only one who would understand."

Is she telling the truth? What could have happened?

It doesn't matter. We aren't together anymore.

I rise and put my napkin on the table. I pull out my wallet then toss cash near the candle.

"Adrian, don't dismiss me. I'm your wife," she claims.

Anger bubbles inside me. I put both hands on the table and lean closer to her, so I don't make a scene. "You gave up the right to be Mrs. Adrian Ivanov. Remember? You didn't want any part of me. Stay away from me, Dasha. Nothing good can come from pursuing me. I'm not the man who wanted to keep you. He's gone. The one you're staring at doesn't want any part of whatever it is you're offering."

"Adrian?" Skylar's voice rings in my ear, and I don't miss the smug expression that crosses Dasha's face when she glances behind me.

I pick up Skylar's purse and put my hand around her waist. I switch to English. "We're going."

Skylar glances at Dasha.

"She doesn't even know Russian?" Dasha asks in our native tongue, as if it's a reason for me not to date Skylar. "You're trying to make something work with someone who can't handle you, Adrian. Look at her. She can't deal with the truth of who you are or what you do."

Unable to control my rage, I spit back in Russian, "Don't you ever talk about my woman or what I do again. And you better watch it, Dasha. You seem to have the impression I care about you or what happens to you. Let me reiterate. I don't. The next time you see me, walk the other way." I guide Skylar through the restaurant. When we get outside, I turn to her, with rage burning my bones. "I'm sorry, my printsessa. I didn't mean to ruin our dinner."

Skylar cups my cheeks. "You're upset. What did she want?"

I don't reply. I stare at her lips.

Something passes in her eyes. She softly asks, "She wants you back, doesn't she?"

I snort. "Just the typical Dasha game she plays."

Skylar bites her lip and looks away.

I turn her chin toward me and pin my eyes on her. "It's not happening. There isn't any part of me that wants her. I don’t want you questioning this."

Skylar exhales. "Okay. Good to know."

I fist her hair and kiss her. "I'm sorry I messed up our dinner."

Her lips twitch. "I prefer taco cones to lamb."

"Taco cones?"

She points to a food truck. "We happen to be several feet away from the best taco cones on earth."

"I've never had one," I admit.

She gasps. "How have you survived?"

I chuckle. "I guess I'm going to find out."

We order taco cones and eat them on a bench overlooking Lake Michigan. It's night, so the water is dark, but the waves crashing along the shore are loud. I try to concentrate on Skylar and forget about Dasha, but a nagging feeling overpowers me.

I'm not sure what Dasha's ulterior motives are for coming back to Chicago, but I'm going to find out. Her claim to want me is only a smokescreen for whatever she has up her sleeve. It's her typical move. She's done it at least a dozen times, but I’m not the same man I used to be. This time, I'm not going to sit back and wait for her to show her cards.