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Then the game would really be on.
He downed his second shot and was contemplating ordering a third when a sultry voice sounded from his left.
“Now I understand why we haven't run into each other more often,” Valeriya said.
Roman didn’t love that she’d found his happy place, but he tried to hide his surprise. Surprise was an advantage in any battle, and while he had nothing against Valeriya Orlov per se, she was on the side of her father, and her father was on the side of Roman's father.
In his eyes that made them enemies of a sort.
“Yes well, variety is the spice of life,” Roman said.
She didn't look as out of place at Basil’s as he might have expected, which led him to believe she’d prepared for the meeting in advance. She was certainly beautiful, in that icy homogenous way, her svelte figure poured into black jeans and a glittery top that bared her midriff and mimicked the outfits of eighty percent of the women in the bar.
“Is it?” She sounded genuinely curious.
“What brings you here, Valeriya?” He wasn't in the mood to banter with Valeriya Orlov. In fact, her presence was about as interesting to him as the spilled liquor on the floor, the mating game playing out all around them.
“I thought it wise to get to know my future husband on his terms,” she said.
Not very long ago Roman might have found her suitable for an entertaining evening. Now she was a nuisance, a fly in the ointment of his plans for the future.
“I haven't yet agreed to a marriage,” Roman said. “Or anything else for that matter.”
Her ice-blue eyes betrayed no sign of emotion. She waved down the bartender, ordered a vodka neat, and returned her gaze to Roman’s face. “I sensed your hesitation at our first meeting. I must admit to finding it intriguing.”
“It's not intended to be intriguing,” Roman said. “I'm simply not certain the marriage is aligned with my plans for the future.”
Valeriya picked up the glass set down by the bartender and took a long drink. “Your father made it sound as if your future plans involved a lot of money,” Valeriya said. “And my father hasn’t made a secret about the fact that his future plans involve the kind of power wielded by the bratva. It all sounds very straightforward to me.”
They were leaning in toward each other, practically shouting to be heard over the music, but Roman wasn’t concerned about being overheard. Basil’s wasn’t a place frequented by their crowd, and even if it had been, the music was too loud for anyone to hear anything of import.
“My father doesn't speak for me,” Roman said.
Valeriya lifted her finey arched brows. “Doesn't he? Now I'm even more intrigued.”
Roman was bored. He wanted to make his way downstairs to the fight club where he would undress and exorcise everything from his mind with a series of kicks and blows that would leave his body drained, his mind blissfully clear.
Then he wanted to go home and think about Ruby Bishop, about the way her skin had felt under his palms last night, the way her pussy had tasted on his tongue, the way she’d cried out when she’d come again and again.
“What can I do for you, Valeriya?” he asked.
“I simply thought it might be a good idea for us to meet without our matchmaking parents in the mix. Although I did notice your mother wasn't in attendance at our first meeting,” she said.
The mention of Roman’s mother rankled. She’d developed her own strategies for surviving his father's wrath and those strategies had not included defending Roman.
He understood it but he wasn't sure he would ever come around to accept it.
“Nor was yours.”
“My mother is a shell of a woman,” Valeriya said. “As, I imagine, are many women in our culture.”
“I'm not sure we share a culture,” Roman said.
Valeriya's smile was knowing. "I think you'll find my world and yours has more in common than spoiled offspring. Do you have any questions for me? Anything that might settle your… uncertainty about an arrangement between us?”
“I suppose there is one question," Roman said. "Although it won’t make a difference in the outcome.”
She waved her hand. “Ask away.”
