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“No,” objected Natasha. “You weel measure me. I do not allow the hands of peasants to touch me.”
MF frowned.
Damien did not want to be alone with this woman. She seemed like just the type his beast might enjoy “playing” with.
Damien cleared his throat, preparing a very tactful response. “I would be very happy to take your measurements; however, MF is far more accurate than me, and I want your dress to be perfect—”
Boris clapped Damien on the shoulder. “My baby seester want you. You do.”
Boris wasn’t asking.Crap.
“Dah. I do.” Damien dipped his head.
Natasha batted her eyelashes. “I am available now. We go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
So far, this trip was going spectacularly. Damien was about to be molested by a Russian tigress, and MF was down in the gazebo surrounded by organized criminals she fantasized about eating.
Natasha shut the door to her gold-plated bedroom—bed, furniture, picture frames, pillows all gold—staring like a hungry wolf at Damien.
Oh, yeah, baby. I hope you’re going to pound your dick into that, tailor. I’m definitely along for the ride.
He was absolutely not going to fuck this woman, even if he could probably do it without so much as a flicker of attraction. His curse would not even come close to being triggered.
“I am certain you are anxious to return to your guests, so I will be fast.” Damien pulled out his tape measure from his pocket.
“Fast?” She unzipped the front of her leopard bodysuit. “No, you take time. You take long time, dah?”
“Isn’t your fiancé downstairs at the party?”
She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “He is limp dick. I only marry him for money.”
Damien stepped back as she shimmied off the garment.Eesh. Kind of like watching someone peel the plastic off a cheese stick.
Underneath, she wore an orange thong and matching orange bra, one size too small, so her breasts poured over the top.
So irritating.And, frankly, not a nice way to treat her breasts.
She strutted over to the bed, not the least bit shy about what she wanted. He respected a woman who asserted herself, but this was fast becoming a hostage situation.
“Natasha,” he took a seat on the gold love seat by the window, “I am not going to fuck you. I am not going to do anything more than measure your body.”
“You weel do as I say, tailor, or I weel tell my eight brothers downstairs that you try something with me.” She flashed a wicked smile.
“You may tell them anything you like.” He lowered his voice. “But as you know, there are consequences to choices. If you lie to them, and they try to hurt me as a result, not only will you be standing alone at the altar on your wedding day, but the church will be empty, too. Do we understand each other?”
She blinked her thick black lashes. Damien guessed the woman had not been told no in a very long time.
“Now, please get up and come over here so I can measure you.”
She slowly walked over, her expression unreadable.
“Excellent. Now, raise your arms,” he commanded. She lifted her arms in the air.
He stood and then wrapped the tape measure around the upper part of her chest, having to lean over a bit, given her height.
Her body began to shake, and she began bawling. “You think I am ugly. You do not want me.”
