The Russian's Pregnant Mistress (2 page)

He didn’t even care that some people hated him with an all consuming passion for the way he did business. Everything he did was legal but if the competition was too slow or too stupid to find the cracks in their empire, he was more than happy to show them how their empires could crumble.

Yuri, on the other hand, had been weaker growing up in Moscow, less enthusiastic about business and ambition. His asthma had almost killed him during the bitterly cold nights when they were barely finding shelter for the nights. Warehouses, barns, abandoned stores…anything that would keep a bit of the cold out was fair game during the years after their mother died and they were out in the streets.

Perhaps Damon should have made Yuri fend for himself more often. Maybe then he would have a better sense of himself. Instead, Damon had protected his younger brother, fought his battles, brought him food, watched out for him.

And when Damon’s business sense clicked in, it had been Damon who had succeeded while Yuri preferred the intellectual challenges of literature. Initially, Yuri had managed several of the initial phases of the business, but his true calling was to read, discuss what he’d read, share his insights with students and anyone who would listen and, perhaps in the next few years, write something that someone else might read and discuss. Damon certainly hoped so.

Until then, Damon would keep tabs on his little brother, just like he’d done throughout their whole lives. Yuri was too sensitive and eager to view the world as it was portrayed in his stories. In reality though, there weren’t any heroes or damsels in distress. Just one person trying to get ahead in any way possible, stepping over the smaller person to get that edge.

So here he was, waiting for his brother to show up. His personal body guards, Marco and Justin, standing off to the side to protect his little brother if someone seemed to be too eager to get to know either Yuri if he showed up, or Damon while he waited for his brother to show up. What a mess, he thought and glanced back at the petite brunette across the floor. He stared at her, willing her to look at him. She was cute, completely different than the barely dressed women that were gyrating around him on the dance floor and he was just trying to figure out a way to approach her when she glanced over at him.

The shock that went through him at that moment was intense and he leaned forward, keeping her eye contact for a long moment before she bowed her head and looked away. Damn! She was gorgeous! He’d only seen her profile, but he could see that she had blue eyes all the way from this distance. And her cat-like eyes weren’t even her best feature! Those high cheekbones were worthy of a model and those lips! He wanted to taste those lips, feel them and know what it would be like to kiss her. The fullness of her rosebud mouth was sexy in an innocent, don’t-touch-me kind of way.

When she peeked up through those lashes again, he was still watching her. Normally, he would have approached by now, not wanting to wait for something but going after what he wanted with a powerful force that left nothing to chance. But he was still reeling from the impact of her look, reveling in the feeling of knowing that she was looking back.

Yes. He would have her.

When the two blonds sat down on either side of him, he looked across the room at his little woman. He felt a stab of pain when he noticed the disappointed look in her eyes and immediately got rid of the women and their barely covered breasts. For some reason, he wasn’t interested in the blatant call of sexuality tonight. The shy woman sitting with the group of revelers fascinated him, challenged him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He knew the instant her group of friends recognized him and his irritation increased. He was just about to stand up and ask his woman if she wanted to get out of this place when two of the woman in her group stood up, almost tripping over themselves to approach him.

When they stepped on his woman’s toes, he just about yelled out, but instead, waited patiently for them to approach before waving to Justin and Marco to disperse them. With a simple look, his guards knew to not be polite about the eviction.

He almost chuckled at their offended expressions. He knew they were more embarrassed than anything else. He didn’t care one bit but his eyes moved directly back to his little woman, wondering why she was in that group. About half the women looked like they belonged in a tea shop with pretty little cakes and dainty lemonade while the other half looked as if they were the typical, pointless society women who flitted from party to party without any sense of responsibility.

He was just about to stand up and approach her when he saw the rest of the group address her. His eyes narrowed as he watched her reaction. The lights were dim so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw her face pale as the catty woman spoke.

“Since Damon Petrov seems to be so fascinated with you,” Sylvia sneered, “I’m challenging you to the test. Come back with a drink he’s bought or you’re on the hook for all the drinks.” She paused a moment before saying, “And I think I’m in the mood for Perrier-Jouet next.” She glanced at the rest of the women, half of whom nodded while the other half, the half that Gabby and Maggie normally hung out with, looked uncomfortable and glanced downward.

“I think I’m in the mood for a bit of seltzer water,” Maggie stated. “It’s time to lighten up on the drinks.”

Half of them nodded, relieved to have an excuse to not order a bottle of champagne that could cost several thousand dollars. It was outrageous even for Sylvia’s extravagant allowance.

Gabby looked back at the malicious woman with a wide-eyed look and wasn’t sure what to do. It suddenly felt like high school all over again with the petty competitions for the best outfit or smoothest hair style. She’d hated it back then, and now that she was an adult, she refused to accept that kind of small mindedness.

She turned to Maggie and whispered in her ear, apologizing for her early departure. “I’m sorry Maggie, but this is ridiculous. And as maid of honor, I owe you a real bridal shower. I promise not to let it get high-jacked next time.” She stood up and glanced at the others, but ignored Sylvia’s smirk and Debra’s jealous look. “Everyone, thank you for including me tonight, but I have to head out. This isn’t my kind of scene and I don’t like treating people in this manner.” She received applause and cheers from the more conservative half of the group. Obviously several of the others had been feeling the same thing but were too intimidated by the debutants’ cattiness to say something. That actually made Gabby feel stronger, more in control and powerful.

Maggie laughed and was about to stand up but Gabby put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Maggs. I can get home on my own. Stay and dance, have a great time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

With as much dignity as possible, Gabby picked up her purse and turned on her heel. She didn’t even glance at the smirking Sylvia and Debra, ignoring the way they put their heads together as if they were gossiping about her inability to hook up with a man like Mr. Petrov. With her head held high, she started walking through the crowd but instead of turning towards the man in question, she walked in the opposite direction. She wished she had the courage to talk to him, at least say hello or introduce herself, but that really wasn’t her style. Well, to be perfectly honest, she didn’t really have a style when it came to picking up men. She tended to tread very carefully with the men she went out with, usually accepting dates only from men she knew well and were already friends with.

She grimaced as she headed for the exit, knowing that her current ‘modus operandi’ wasn’t working too well for her since she was twenty-five and still single. Not that twenty-five was old. But she’d only had two significant relationships, and neither had resulted in an intimate, physical relationship because the men hadn’t fascinated her enough to take the plunge into a sexual bond.

She smiled politely at several men who tried to step in her way, but kept on walking, showing them with her body language that she was not interested.

Unfortunately, she might not be interested for a long time after seeing her mystery man. How does one go back to sipping tap water when one has seen the champagne? The men who were trying to stall her exit all seemed like milk toast compared to that man Sylvia and Debra had called Damon Petrov. Even from a distance he had increased her pulse. She didn’t want to deal with any of this, besides, it was late and she wanted to just fall asleep in her warm, comfortable bed and not think about this disastrous evening until tomorrow morning, when she could start planning Maggie’s real bridal shower and not some sham of a dance club fiasco.

“You left a very angry group of women behind,” a deep voice said from the side of the lobby. The music was much softer from this area and Gabby swung around, wanting to find the source of that sexy voice. It couldn’t be him! Could it?

There he was, in the flesh and walking towards her. She looked up at him as if he were some sort of approaching god and she knew she should close her mouth and appear casual, but this man was even more handsome up close. And goodness he was tall! She had to tilt her head back to look up at him when he stopped about a foot away from her.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your friends? They were very angry that you walked out on their fun.” He let that sink in then stepped slightly closer. “You should have risen to their challenge,” he said more softly. “You would have won the bet.”

Gabby tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but she was having trouble breathing with his spicy male scent filling her nostrils. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice sounding as if she’d just run a marathon. She even liked the lilting accent. It was barely there, but still noticeable and it gave each of his words a texture that wasn’t apparent when Americans spoke.

Damon reached down and touched a soft curl that looked as if it were tickling her cheek. “The bet,” he repeated. “The challenge where you have to get a man to buy you a drink or you owe the rest of the ladies a round of drinks?”

She nodded stupidly, ashamed that he’d already understood their game.

“You should have taken them up on the bet. You would have won.” He slid his hand into the pockets of his dark slacks again. “In fact, I would be honored if you would allow me to buy you a drink now.”

Gabby swallowed, not sure how to respond. She was about to shake her head, then thought back to all the men she’d passed on her way out. Was she really going to pass up the opportunity to get to know this man? To sit across the table from him and find out what he was like? “A drink would be very nice. But only under two conditions.”

He smiled slightly, enjoying her soft, flowery perfume. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning down slightly so he could hear her more clearly.

“I get to buy you that drink and we make it coffee or something less potent than the brew I was drinking inside.” She watched his eyes, wondering if he was going to laugh at her. She couldn’t help it. The drinks hadn’t been enjoyable, containing too much alcohol.

He didn’t laugh and she saw only admiration and interest in his eyes. “Coffee sounds great,” he said, not committing to letting her buy him anything. “Let’s go,” he said and took her hand, tucking it into his elbow with an old fashioned flair which Gabby thought was charming.

There was actually a coffee shop right across the street and he led her quickly through the heavy street traffic and into the small, cozy café. She ordered herbal tea and he asked for an espresso, then he found them a small table over by the window so they could watch the traffic pass by.

“I’m Damon Petrov, by the way,” he said as soon as they were sitting down. He stuck out his hand and Gabby tentatively put her smaller one into his large, masculine hand.

“I’m Gabriella Smith,” she said, her heart rate increasing once again with his warm touch. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m also very pleased to meet you Gabriella. I wanted to introduce myself from the first moment I saw you.”

“Everyone calls me Gabby,” she replied, pushing her curls out of her face and tucking her hair behind her ears.

“You’re a very beautiful woman. Why were you with that group?”

It sounded as if he thought she didn’t fit in with them. He was right, but she bristled slightly, thinking that it was criticism. “It was my best friend’s bridal shower. She’s marrying Marc Henslow in a week.”

Damon nodded. “I know Marc. He’s a smart man.”

Gabby’s eyes widened. “How do you know Marc?”

He laughed softly. “I know many people.”

She smiled back at him, starting to relax as the hot tea eased the tension that had accumulated from her venture into the night club. As soon as she started talking to him, she relaxed even more and enjoyed the lyrical sound of his accent. The man might look intimidating, but he was actually a very kind gentleman. She had no concept of time as they laughed and talked about various subjects, one topic rolling to another. She was fascinated by his facial features, entranced when he laughed at anything she said and wanted to make him laugh again and again.

As the night grew old, she thought she saw things in him, in his expressions, that made her want to ease something that she sensed was hurting inside of him. He didn’t talk about himself much, but their conversation revolved more around opinions, politics or various places they’d visited. But something in his eyes told her that he’d lived a very hard life. The man might have anything he wanted at his fingertips now, but instinctively she knew that hadn’t always been the case. She found out that he was born in Moscow but had lived all over the world, but he didn’t share much more than that before he changed the subject.

She saw his hands and they were not the hands of a wealthy man. Taking his hand in hers, she turned it over and examined the roughness she found, amazed that someone Sylvia would describe as one of the wealthiest men in the world wouldn’t have soft, perfectly manicured hands. There were calluses, she realized as her fingers rubbed the rough spots gently with her fingertips. And his fingers were long and lean, but they were also hard, well used hands. She wanted to soothe the struggle inside of him but didn’t know him well enough to even suggest such a thing.