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Belatedly she remembered the business and why she was here. All the trouble she’d taken, all the hopes she’d pinned on it. But then there was this man and the way he made her stomach flip-flop…
She gave it a last go. ‘Think of me as free publicity, Mr Medvedev. It doesn’t cost you anything, and I promise not to compromise Mr Rykov’s virtue.’
Plato unfolded his arms and extended his hand.
‘Give me your bit of paper, Rose. And I won’t hold you to the thousands of women.’
For a moment Rose was rolled by the thought that she might be at fault here. She might have misjudged him. If she thought about it, he was doing what he imagined was in the best interests of his players. Until last night he had known nothing about her, and casting her mind back she realised she hadn’t given him a chance to reconsider the blanket ban on his players contacting her.
All she had heard was the word no.
When she probably hadn’t been very far away from hearing yes.
Fumbling with her bag, Rose settled herself on the players’ bench. ‘It’s just in here. I won’t be a moment. It’s very simple. I don’t think you’ll need to have anyone legal run their expertise over it—’
She looked up, official vellum sheets in her hand. Plato took them, his eyes warm with amusement but also something else—an intensity that shortened her breath. Rose could feel a flush starting to move up her chest, but she couldn’t forestall it and nor could she drag her eyes away. Pesky sexual attraction, she thought, her mouth running dry.
He gave his attention to the document. ‘Pen?’ he said crisply.
Rose thought he was speaking to her, but the coach handed over his clipboard. Both the coach and Sasha were observing the rink, the seats, one another—everything but her—and there was a strange atmosphere, as if everyone except Plato was embarrassed. Right now Rose was feeling a little pressure. ‘I think I should tell you Sasha has already shot the commercial. We did it this afternoon.’
Plato said, ‘Da? What happened to Denisov?’
‘Cold feet,’ said Sasha casually.
Rose stared. ‘You knew?’
Plato shrugged. ‘If you’d hung around over dinner last night, detka, we could have cleared it up.’
Rose felt herself blushing a little. Did he just have to announce to the world they’d had dinner? Even if she was just a little bit pleased he wasn’t hiding it.
‘I should thank you, then,’ she said coolly.
There was a pause. ‘You haven’t thanked me, Rose?’
‘No.’
Plato handed the clipboard over to the younger man. ‘You still want to do this, bratan?’
Sasha shrugged. ‘Why not?’
Plato’s dark eyes took up with hers again, and his mouth tilted in a half smile. ‘I’ve been saying the same thing,’ he said, and Rose got the impression he wasn’t talking about Date with Destiny.
If one of her clients had reported a man’s approach as being ‘Why not?’ she would have thrown up her hands and immediately lined up new prospects. Which made the thrill that raced up and down her spine completely and utterly wrong.
Repressing a smile, Rose retrieved her contract and replaced it in her handbag. She smoothed her hair and cleared her throat. ‘Thank you very much, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.’
Plato gestured to the bench. ‘Take a seat, Rose. Rykov, hit the showers.’
Medvedev muttered something in Russian, and Plato grinned and replied in the same language. Rose watched cautiously as something passed between the two men and the coach actually smiled.
‘What did you just say about me?’ she demanded as the older man ambled away, refusing to sit down and let the king of the world dominate her.
Plato gazed down at her, all thick lashes and firm mouth and broody testosterone.
Rose tried not to lose ground just thinking about how that mouth would feel pressed to any pulse-point on her body.
‘I don’t appreciate being discussed in another language in my presence when we both know you said something sexual about me!’
