You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) (11 page)

‘I wonder how you would have crowed if you had won.’

‘I wouldn’t have.’

‘Well, we’ll never know,’ he says carelessly, and pushes me down on my back.

A sheaf of papers and a pen press into my flesh. I close my eyes and hear the metal rasp of his zipper. Fresh desire tightens my belly. I want his flesh inside me, and he knows it too. He grips my bare ass with hot, rough hands and pulls my hips towards him. He forces his cock between my thighs and he rams it home, stretching me. I gasp. So full.

‘You’re so fucking tight,’ he growls, his breath rough and ragged, and his fierce eyes kindling like live coals.

He begins to thrust. Hard and slow, then faster and faster. The force makes me breathless, and my body arches and jerks on the desk. Hell, the man’s a demon. With a great roar and his whole body shuddering, he comes. His fluid mingles with mine, hot and sweet.

For a few seconds longer he remains inside me. Then he withdraws and I lift myself up. As he pulls up his trousers and zips up, I hop off the table, do up my bra and pick up my shoes. Wordlessly I start walking towards the door.

‘By the way I don’t like the way you dress.’

The cheek of the man. My temperature shoots up. I turn around and look at him with a withering expression.

‘Noah has arranged for a personal dresser he knows to come and point you in the right direction. Tell her you need an entire wardrobe. Evening dresses, beachwear, casual wear. The whole works.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Get something for tonight. I’m taking you to dinner.’

I don’t respond. Let that be my little rebellion.

Zane

I shake out a cigarette, tap it, light it and take a deep draw. Nicotine fills my lungs. I turn my chair around to face the window. The vista beyond is my favorite part of the garden.  No one ever goes in it except my Japanese gardener, Akio. Most people who stand at my window and look out will see a bunch of rock, some shrubbery and some stones, but if they looked, really looked, they’d see its real beauty.

They’d see a waterfall.

They’d see that the rocks and the stones have been composed to look like water cascading through shrubbery. Sometimes I watch Akio working, meticulously and lovingly raking his plot of small white stones as if he is combing his lover’s hair. The teeth marks left by his rake are faultlessly straight. There is never a moment when he falters, hesitates or dithers.

His dedication to detail is impressive. He is bent over with age, but even the smallest stone rolling away does not escape his beady eyes. It is picked up and returned to its exact place.

A place for everything and everything in its place.

I take a few more puffs and grind out my cigarette. Fuck it. She’s just a stone that has rolled away from its proper place. I need to get her back to where she belongs.

She’s just a bit of pussy. Nothing more. The hunger will pass and the sooner I get that through my thick head the better.

Dahlia Fury

B
ack in my room I clean up, don a baggy T-shirt, and notice that Stella has left a text message.

U won’t believe. Crazy Richmond bitch finally came through with her rich and famous contacts. Got me an appt. with Andre Rieu next week!!!! :) xxxxxx

I have no idea who Andre Rieu is and quickly Google him. Turns out he is a famous Dutch violinist and conductor. I call her immediately.

‘Congratulations, babe,’ I shriek. ‘You’ve arrived. I’m so impressed.  Your dainty fingers will soon be dancing over the A-List!’

‘Nobody is more impressed than me,’ she says bashfully.

‘Soon all kinds of celebrities will be flying you all over the world as part of their entourage,’ I tease.

‘If they know what’s good for them,’ she jokes.

I laugh and sit on the bed. ‘So what are you up to today?’

‘Nothing much. I’ve a dance class in an hour and three sessions this evening. What about you? How’s sexual domination working out for you?’

‘It’s …’

‘Actually don’t tell me. I’m not ready to hear.’ There is an awkward pause. ‘How’s Noah?’

‘He’s fine. I don’t think—’

At that moment I hear a sharp buzzing sound. ‘What the hell? Hang on a minute. Can you hear that noise?  Do you know where it’s coming from?’

‘It sounds like the intercom system. Go pick up the phone by the door.’  

I look towards the door and notice a wall phone next to it. ‘Don’t go away. I haven’t finished talking to you yet,’ I tell Stella and pick up the phone.

Noah says, ‘Lunch will be served at 1 p.m. and your appointment with your personal shopper is at 2 p.m. Her name is Molly Street. Wait for her in the living room. The one with the big painting of fish.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘See you later,’ he says and rings off.

I return the receiver to the wall and put my mobile back to my ear.

‘What’s going on?’ Stella asks.

‘I’ve got a woman coming at 2 o’clock to help me revamp my wardrobe. Apparently Zane doesn’t think much of my fashion choices,’ I explain sourly.

She giggles. ‘Did you wear your striped blouse and grey skirt?’

‘Yes,’ I admit reluctantly.

‘They’re truly awful. I warned you not to take them,’ she scolds.

‘I know, but they are so comfortable.’ Well the blouse was until Zane tore it.

‘You get to keep the new wardrobe, right?’

‘I don’t know, but I guess so.’

‘Get some sexy stuff and get something in my size too.’

I laugh. Then she has to go because the postman is at the door, so I end the call and work until lunchtime. Lunch is roast duck with apples, vegetables, roast potatoes, and some kind of creamy salad. I eat alone. I leave the door open so I can hear the staff in the kitchen eating and talking animatedly, but I don’t attempt to join them. They’re all talking in Russian, and if I go in there they will be forced to start speaking in English, when it’s clear they are more comfortable speaking in their mother tongue. Besides, I’m just a temporary installation. No point in getting too close.

After lunch I go into the living room with the painting of the fish and wait for Molly Street. There’s a glossy racing magazine on the coffee table and I flip through it without any real interest.

I don’t hear the doorbell, but the living room door opens and Noah shows in a pretty lady with shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a cute button nose. She is dressed in jeans, a pink sweater and a darling pair of pointy, two-inch high ankle boots in black suede.

‘Thanks Noah,’ she says.

He nods and closes the door. She turns towards me and smiles broadly. ‘Hello. So you’re Dahlia Fury. Sensational name,’ she says chattily.

I smile back.  ‘I think your name’s rather special too.’

‘Well, it’s not really my name. I made it up,’ she confesses with a wide grin. 

I laugh. I think I’m going to get along just fine with Molly Street. She looks around her. ‘God. Isn’t this house gorgeous?’

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

There is a knock on the door and the woman I had met coming up the stairs yesterday comes in. She offers us refreshments. I shake my head, but Molly asks for tea. After the woman goes out Molly comes towards me.

‘Right, let’s have a little look at you,’ she says and walks around me quickly casting a professional eye over me. She stops in front of me.

‘Here’s how I normally work. You tell me what you want to achieve: three inches taller, three inches slimmer, impress a new boss, seduce an old boyfriend, seduce a new boyfriend,’ she smiles, ‘then, I’ll run around tomorrow, find the clothes and accessories that I think will suit your needs best, and bring them over to you. You’ll try them on and if you like them you keep them and I’ll bill you, in your case, Noah for the clothes and my time. Is that OK with you?’

‘Yeah, great.’

‘So, what look are we going for today, sophisticated, smart, sexy, casual …?’

‘I’d like to look more …’

She waits expectantly.

‘Glamorous and sexy,’ I finish.

‘With a smoking body like yours, piece of cake,’ she assures confidently.

I blush to the tips of my ears.

‘Believe me, sometimes I have my work cut out for me. Having said that though, I haven’t had a single client who hasn’t been left standing in front of a mirror admiring the change in her appearance.’

‘With that kind of job satisfaction you must really love what you do,’ I say, thinking what a lovely job that must be. So much better, I think, than leaving coffee ring stains on manuscripts and sending out sterile rejection letters all day long.

‘Well,’ Molly says with a sunny smile. ‘I love finding beautiful things, sometimes rare things, and putting them all together with the right accessories.  I love making my clients look the way they always dreamed of. I also come across a lot of snooty cows that I want to bitch slap even as I am saying, “And what about this lovely coat Madam? It’s so this season.”’

I laugh.

Her phone rings. She looks at me. ‘Do you mind? It’s my fiancé Mark. He needs some information. I’ll only be a second.’

‘No. It’s fine. Go ahead.’

I walk away from her towards the windows thinking of my Mark. Since I told him that Daisy has been found by Zane, I have not spoken to him again. He’s a nice guy. I wonder how he is now. I should call and thank him for all his support. Then again, perhaps it’s better I leave it alone. I never felt a fraction of what I feel for Zane. It would never have worked.

‘Yeah, OK. See you there tonight,’ Molly says.

I turn back to face her with a smile. ‘Going anywhere nice tonight?’

She crinkles her nose. ‘His mother’s place. She hates me.’

‘I can’t imagine why. Any man would be lucky to have you,’ I say.

‘Oh bless you. What a sweetie you are. No, she thinks her son can do better. Where were we?’

‘She’s dead wrong.’

She smiles gratefully at me, then claps her hands decisively. ‘Now for the most difficult part,’ she says.

I grin. ‘There’s a difficult part?’

She reaches into her back pocket, snaps out a tape measure and says, ‘I’m afraid most women hate this part.’

I scrunch up my face. ‘I’m not too hot on it either.’

‘You have a stunning figure. I know a lot of women who gladly suffer weeks of pain and suffering and bandages to achieve the kind of figure you have.’ She sets about measuring me and recording the information into her phone.

‘What’s your shoe size?’ she asks as she measures the thickest part of my calf, presumably as a guide to shop for boots.

‘UK 6,’ I tell her.

‘Now a quick photograph. This is for my color reference. Smile.’

I smile awkwardly.

‘Looks like we’re all done here for today.’ She looks up. ‘I’ll come around tomorrow with a whole load of things for you to choose from.’

‘What if I need something for tonight?’ I ask.

‘What’s the occasion?’ she asks, flipping her phone closed.

‘Dinner.’

‘Where?’

I bite my lip. ‘I have no idea.’

She flicks her phone open again, scrolls down it and calls a number. ‘Hey Noah,’ she says. ‘Where is Dahlia being taken to tonight?’ She listens then thanks Noah and ends the call.

‘You are going to Uncle Ho,’ she announces and smiles mysteriously. ‘You won’t believe this, but I have just the thing outside. Come on,’ she says, and starts walking towards the door.

‘What’s Uncle Ho like?’ I ask as I hurry after her.

‘Very smart and very in. It has a wonderful Vodka Bar, and some of the tables in the restaurant have this new-fangled Le Petit Chef thing.’

‘What’s that?’ I ask curiously.

‘If I tell you I’ll spoil it. It is much better if you simply go and enjoy it,’ she advises.

We go out of the front door to where her white van is parked. She opens the back doors and it’s like Aladdin’s cave in there. She hops onto the steps and goes in.

‘You’ve got a mini shop in here,’ I say in an awed voice.

‘It’s what I’ve collected over the years. Some of it is from second hand shops, some are things designers have handed down to me, and some I’ve wheedled from customers who simply didn’t have the figure for them.’

I watch her professionally running her hands through two rails displaying a beautiful variety of clothes. There are hangers of chunky jewel-colored knitwear, camel coats, silk dresses in a rainbow of colors, leather jackets, velvet wraps in a selection of rich colors, luscious cream woolen trousers, tweeds in salmon and purple, a racy red miniskirt. There are boxes crammed full of belts and scarves, a glass case with hundreds of pieces of costume jewelry, and shelves filled with shoes. Stella would think she had died and gone to heaven.

Molly pulls out a long silver-grey cashmere coat that looks like it must have cost the earth. She comes to where I’m standing and holds it out to me. ‘This will go perfectly with your hair and the dress I have in mind for you.’

‘Oh it’s lovely,’ I breathe.

The label says, Lolita Lempika. I stroke it and it’s deliciously smooth and luxurious as the velvety tummy of a puppy.

‘It will be perfectly cozy in this weather,’ she says with her back turned to me. At the end of the second rail she finds the dress she is looking for and pulls it out triumphantly.

I shriek. For the first time in my life I actually shriek.

She beams like a girl. ‘I know,’ she gushes. ‘I’ve been saving this one for ages. I knew it was special, but I never found the right customer for it. It’s vintage Valentino. It’s even got a bra built into it. I found it in a carboot sale in Weybridge. Can you believe it? Weybridge!’

I stare in amazement at the black silk, art deco confection. It has short spaghetti straps covered with narrow, delicate frills, and filled in with a panel of sheer organza material to form the illusion of a boat neckline. An enormous flower bow fashioned of thin strips of velvet sits over the top of the right breast. The dress is form fitting until just below the waist then flares out into an A-line skirt.

I don’t know where the hell Weybridge is, but it is truly unbelievable that anyone would ever want to part with such a glamorous dress, let alone take it to a carboot sale.

‘It had a small tear near the hem, but I had it taken up by half an inch and voila,’ Molly explains.

I take a step towards the dress and touch the panel of transparent material.

‘That’s the sheerest organza you can find,’ Molly says quietly.

‘Is it my size?’ I can’t believe how much I want to hear her say yes.

‘Down to the last half-inch.’

‘It’s mind-blowingly sexy, isn’t it?’ I whisper back.

She waggles her eyebrows. ‘It is, but just in case anybody thinks you haven’t got morals, we have these.’ She dips her hands into a plastic drawer and comes up with great handfuls of pearl ropes and necklaces.

I laugh. ‘Molly Street you are brilliant.’

She throws her left hand in an arc in front of her face and snaps her fingers. ‘Tell me something new,‘ she sings with a grin. She pulls out a pearl choker and a matching pearl bracelet and puts them aside. ‘You will be putting your hair up, won’t you?’

‘Well …’

‘Here. This will make it easy for you.’ She passes me a pearl pin. ‘Put your hair into a simple bun at the nape of your neck and stick this in anywhere. Can’t go wrong.’

‘Thanks,’ I say taking the pin from her.

‘Now shoes. The thing about vintage dresses is never to pair them with vintage style shoes. You’ll look like you’re going to a fancy dress party. What’s the time now?’

I look at my watch. ‘Nearly three.’

‘I know the perfect pair. They are to die for. Very, very high, in pewter with silver heels and a velvet trim all the way around. The curving straps in the front are held by tiny silver buttons. They’re a work of art. I’ll go pick them up now and drop them off before four. How’s that?’