“You’ll never go to that club again,” he said in a low voice, barely audible over the roar of the engine.
“I’ll do as I please.”
“Promise me right now, or I swear to God I’ll turn around and burn the place to the ground.”
She felt his body tense beneath her grip as he waited. His deliciously hard body felt so good beneath her hands. It was enough to make her lose all rational thought.
Perhaps she could give in to this one request, she thought. She didn’t want to go back to the stupid club again, anyway. She had no intention of letting Victor paw at her more on the dance floor.
Next time she’d meet him somewhere else. Like a library.
“All right,” she said. “I promise.”
She felt his body relax slightly. “Good.”
A few moments later he pulled the motorcycle beneath the brilliant marquee of L’Hermitage Casino Resort.
Like the Parisian and Venetian hotels down the street, L’Hermitage’s architecture was an imposing fantasy. Much of the design had been based upon the stately nineteenth-century palaces of St. Petersburg, but the centerpiece of the building was a reproduction of St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square, with its distinctive onion-shaped domes.
Tossing his keys to the valet, he took her by the hand—more gently this time—and led her through the front door for her first inside look at the finished project that had consumed them both for nearly four years.
She gazed upward at the high ceiling as he led her through the main floor of the casino. The architecture had triangular shaped Russian arches over doors, watched over by painted angels. Soaring above the slot machines and roulette tables, a simulated horizon held the breathless hush of a starlit sky on a cold winter night.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
He smiled at her then, an open, boyish smile, and it nearly took her breath away. “Wait until you see the rest.”
On the other side of the main casino floor they entered the Moskva Shopping Complex, which was built like several outdoor streets within the casino. The storefronts and streetlights, the ambient light and even the sounds of birds far overhead, made Anna feel as if she was walking through a fairytale Russian city.
“It’s just like I dreamed.” She looked at the expensive shops, Gucci and Prada and Tiffany, and her fingers tightened around his. “You made our dream a reality.”
He stared at her, then slowly shook his head. “We did it together, Anna. I couldn’t have created L’Hermitage without you.”
She blinked as tears filled her eyes. He appreciated all the work she’d done, the heart she’d poured into her work.
He looked her full in the face. “I’ve missed you.”
Anna felt her heart stop right in the middle of the ebb and flow of the busy street. The chic people hurrying into the stores seemed to blur around her. Could it be true? Just by seeing her with Victor, could Nikos have realized he missed her? Needed her?
Loved her?
Her heart gave a strange thump. Words trembled on her lips. Horrible words she couldn’t possibly say, because they couldn’t possibly be true. Could they?
“You...you’ve missed me?”
“Of course,” he replied. “No other secretary has ever been your equal.”
“Oh.” The thump moved from her heart to her throat. She turned to face the large building behind her.
“Matryoshka,” she murmured, over the miserable lump in her throat. She stared up at the restaurant’s imposing domes of unpainted wood, like a miniature cathedral tucked inside the fairytale street. She had to change the subject before he realized what she’d been thinking. Before she despised herself more for being foolish enough to think he actually cared for her.
“Wait until you see the inside,” he said, taking her hand. “You’ll think you’re inside the Terem Palace.”
A slender, well-dressed maître d’ stood at a podium just inside the restaurant.
“We’d like the table by the window,” Nikos said.
The maître d’ didn’t bother looking up from his reservation page. “That particular table is booked for four months,” he said, sounding bored. “And we have nothing available for tonight—not a thing—not even if you were the King of—”
Mid-sneer, the man glanced up. He saw Nikos, and his jaw went slack. He suddenly began to cough.
“One moment, sir,” he said breathlessly. “We’ll get your table ready, for you and for your lovely lady, straight away.”
Two minutes later the maître d’, now fawning and polite, had left them at the best table in the restaurant. A little awed in spite of herself, Anna looked around.
The interior of Matryoshka had been designed in seventeenth-century Muscovite style, with intimate low ceilings made of stucco and covered with frescoes of interweaving flowers and the nesting dolls that inspired the restaurant’s name. Elaborate tiled ovens and kokoshnik-shaped arches were lit by flickering candles on the tables and torches on the walls.
As a waiter came to tell them about the specials, Nikos cut him off. “We’ll both have the salmon with caviar and champagne sauce,” he said, closing his menu. “And Scotch—neat.”
“Wait.” Anna stopped the waiter with a hand on his arm. “I would like Chicken Kiev, please. And kulich for dessert,” she added, referring to the Easter fruitcake. “And sparkling water to drink.” She closed her menu, matching Nikos glare for glare. “Not Scotch.”
Caught in the crossfire, the waiter glanced nervously at Nikos, who nodded.
After the young man was gone, Nikos bit out, “I didn’t mean the Scotch for you. I know you’re nursing.”
“Even if I weren’t nursing I wouldn’t want it. Or caviar, either. Ugh.”
He gave her a humorless smile. “A Russian who dislikes caviar? Next you’ll be telling me you have no taste for vodka.”
“I don’t appreciate you trying to order for me. I’m not a child.”
“I was treating you like a lady,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair.
“Oh? And is that how you justify telling me who my friends can be?”
“Sinistyn’s not your friend,” Nikos bit out. “He’ll use you and toss you aside.”
She gave him an angry glare. “And you want to be the only one who does that to me?”
As the waiter placed their drinks on the table, Nikos looked affronted, furious. “You cannot even compare—”
“Save it. I’ve known Victor since I was eighteen. Our fathers were friends—although they chose to make their living in very different ways. I was Victor’s secretary for five years. I know him better than you do.”
Unfortunately she understood him well enough to know that everything Nikos said about him was true. But she wasn’t going to say that.
Nikos’s hands clenched on the table. “Just how well do you know him?”
Anna tilted her head and watched him narrowly. “He’s asked me to marry him several times.”
He glanced at the stained-glass window. The expression on his face was half hidden, but his jaw was hard. “What?”
“I’ve always said no, but that might change. I won’t be your pawn, Nikos. I won’t take your punishment forever. I won’t allow you to threaten me with losing my child. And if what it takes to match you is to marry Victor...”
She let her voice trail off.
Nikos blinked, very slowly. When he opened his eyes, for the first time since he’d dragged her back to Las Vegas, they were wary. He was looking at her not as a victim to punish but as a challenging adversary. “What do you want?”
“You know what I want. My freedom.”
“I won’t let you take Michael from me. Ever. Get that.”
“Then you can expect a very prolonged custody battle. If Victor and I take you to court, it’ll be splashed in the papers. A full media circus.”
“Is that really what you want?” he said in disbelief. “The two of us pulling at our child like a rope in a tug-of-war?”
“Of course not!” She had no intention of starting a romance with Victor, let alone making him Misha’s stepfather, but she was praying Nikos wouldn’t call her bluff. “I don’t want to ask Victor for help, but what choice have you given me?”
The torches around them flickered in silence for several seconds before Nikos tossed his napkin down on the table. “Fine. You win.”
Nikos abruptly rose from the chair. Anna watched in amazement as he strode across the restaurant and out the door.
She’d won?
He was going to give her joint custody? He was going to let her leave Las Vegas? Let her have her own life back?
She could hardly believe it. In a few days she’d be back in New York, looking for a new job. She knew she wouldn’t find anything as invigorating as working at Stavrakis, but at least she’d be able to take pride in supporting herself and her son. Nikos would insist on child support, of course, but she’d put that money into a trust fund for Misha later. That way it would be clear to everyone, including herself, that Nikos had no hold on her. She’d never give him power over her again.