Red Alpha: A BWWM Russian Alpha Billionaire Romance (7 page)

Petya and Boris, for their part, merely dug into their steaks like animals starved. With a near platoon of guards stationed outside the restaurant they were relatively free to enjoy their meals without being on high alert – a luxury not often afforded to them. Every so often, they would glance over at Cadence, clearly amused that Osip was so taken with someone that he had called a sand rat.

She was really quite well versed, and Demyan, having sipped on vodka all day, was more content to listen to her than he was to pick at his overdone steak. She spoke of the increasingly friendly relations between their two countries and how it was amazing how they’d been able to overcome their sordid history in order to be allies. She praised the Russian space program as well as the economic initiatives that, to her knowledge at least, were the source of their present day success. The more she talked, the more Demyan found himself struggling to contain his laughter. She was such a clever conversationalist that he didn’t doubt that she’d soon have Osip himself believing half the bullshit propaganda that he’d put out about his own policies.

The man got drunker and drunker, basking in the glow that was an American finally giving him his due.

Lichakov barely touched her food, glaring at her competition as her face grew redder and redder. Demyan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more fun – and the game was made more entertaining by the fact that Roksana knew that an untoward word towards Cadence at that particular juncture would most probably get her booted from the restaurant. She had to sit there and stew in all her fury…something she undoubtedly wasn’t used to.

“Really, Prime Minister Danshov, I have to admit: the US is terribly intimidated by you, actually. You’re this emerging world power, you’re quickly rising onto this path to be of even keel with any first world power…I mean, it’s only inevitable that you compete with us and then even someday surpass us…”

Osip was eating it up – all but sprawled across the table as he stared up at her – or rather, into her cleavage, as she continued. “I can’t tell you how many people wonder what you’ll do next: educational reform, megacities…nuclear development-”

“
Osip!
” Roksana had apparently reached her threshold. She shot to her feet, slamming her hands down onto the table as her eyes narrowed. “Are you
really
going to give away matters of national security table at the dinner table with a-a-”

Some of the wind got taken out of her sails the moment she realized that everyone present was focused on her, waiting with bated breath for her to finish. Though Lichakov could be cool as a cucumber while she was ripping someone’s fingernails out, heaven forbid she lose her temper during a dinner party.

As the only one present who was in no way, shape or form inebriated, Cadence merely stared up at her, her gaze wide-eyed and innocent. Demyan thanked God that she couldn’t understand Lichakov’s embittered Russian. “What is it?”

And then Lichakov was deflated completely. Osip was looking at her in obvious irritation, his gaze so intense that the blonde soon sank stiffly back into her seat, her expression furious. The Minister merely took another sip of his vodka before turning his attention back to Cadence. The young woman appeared utterly confused, and her hand fluttered up to her throat as alarm stole over her face. “Oh God…did I offend you? Did I offend Ms. Lichakov? I’m so sorry.” She began to apologize profusely.

“You did
no
such thing.” Osip cut in with his slightly slurred English. “I just think that Roksana has had too much to drink, haven’t you,
kukla
?” His taut tone made even Lichakov flinch. She was scared of nothing so much as being deposed, and knew when she was being put in her place.

“Of course,” She finally murmured, working visibly to cool her temper. “My apologies, minister.”

The only thing that Osip’s wife understood during this entire exchange was that her husband had called another woman by a pet name in front of her. She merely blushed and, as always, tried to pretend that she hadn’t heard.

“Perhaps we’ve all had a bit too much to drink.” Demyan took that as his cue to start herding them all back home. In any event, Osip was supposed to meet Cadence at the Kremlin early the next morning – a meeting that would be impossible for him to make given the amount of alcohol he had imbibed over the past two hours. Nonetheless, Osip would thank him later. “You’ve got an early morning tomorrow, don’t you, Prime Minister?”

Osip muttered some mixed Russian curses that had Petya and Boris snickering while Roksana rocketed to her feet once more, eager to be gone. Before Osip’s wife could even take his arm, she cut in, shoving the woman aside as she led her lover downstairs. Petya and Boris followed closely behind them – and the group was gone by the time Demyan and Cadence made their way to the first floor. The dark-haired man wasn’t surprised. It was clear that Roksana hadn’t wanted to attend the dinner anyway and everyone else was far too drunk for goodbyes. As they watched the Danshov limo pull off, Cadence gazed at the seven or so men who were standing around looking important.

“All of this…” She gestured to them discreetly as she looked up at Demyan, “Security, I presume?”

The statuesque man nodded. He didn’t bother to add that so many men were hardly necessary – merely overkill to intimidate anyone who might be getting any cute ideas. Boris and Petya were more than vicious enough to take down anyone who might come close to Osip.

And if they failed, there was always he himself. Even half-inebriated as he was, Demyan was more than a match for most who might be after Osip’s head.

“Well…that was…lovely.” Cadence smiled up at him and he merely allowed himself the luxury of the chuckle he’d been holding on to all evening.

“The Prime Minister seems to like you.”

The young woman beamed in obvious delight as the valet brought their car around. “Well, why wouldn’t he? It’s obvious that I’m charming.”

“More like…” Demyan took the keys from the young man who tossed them to him, passing him a few bills in payment. “Ingratiating.”

At the term, Cadence shut the passenger side door before frowning over at him without any rancor whatsoever. “
Ingratiating
? What do you mean by that?”

Demyan smirked. Usually, he was in no mood to play women’s games, but just now, he was tipsy enough to let her have her way. “You flatter him. Heap him with praise so that he will tell you everything that you want to know.”

Cadence’s eyes widened as he pulled away from the curb, and the innocence there was striking.
Almost
believable. “All I want to
know
is how to be better at my job. Wasn’t I sent here to be able to speak with Danshov?”

“Of course you were.” Demyan glanced over at her, thinking to himself that the deep V of cleavage her dress showed off was quite attractive in the low light. “And so you shall. You’ll be in the Kremlin all day tomorrow.”

This time, when her eyes gleamed with excitement, it was genuine. “I can’t wait.”

They fell into silence for the rest of the way home and Demyan found himself contemplating if the young woman could really and truly want nothing more than a Russian insight to the world. Somehow, he highly doubted it. But nowhere near as much as he doubted the capacity of the United States to send such an obviously oblivious girl into harm’s way.

When they returned to the manor, Veta still hadn’t come back from whatever debauchery she’d gotten into. It wasn’t unusual for her to disappear for days at a time while she burned off her seemingly endless reserves of anger. The apartment seemed somehow oddly quiet without her or the servants bustling around.

In the front entryway, Demyan stopped to decant a bottle of whiskey that was largely decorative and take a long swig. He didn’t usually indulge himself so much, but it was part of his heritage to be able to hold his liquor; and in any event, he could continue drinking for half the night and still be nowhere near as badly off as Osip when he’d left the restaurant.

“I…would tell you to be taking it easy, but I’ve heard stories about the tolerance of Russians so I suppose I’ll save it.”

Demyan glanced over at her. She had paused just inside the front door to watch him, her slender fingers working at the pins the held her hair back. As she removed them one by one, her curls sprang back into place, almost seeming to defy gravity. The Russian watched her as he drank, until she held a handful of hair pins and her dark locks haloed around her head, resting on her shoulders.

“And what stories have you heard?” He couldn’t resist asking. Some rational part of him knew that by talking so much, he was eroding the air of unapproachability that he worked to keep in place around others – especially strangers.

But at that particular moment, he could give two fucks. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman who knew how to deal with Osip without offering to blow him, and her intelligence was refreshing.

Cadence shrugged out of her coat, slinging it over a slender arm as she walked past him to poke her head down the main hallway. “I don’t know…drinking parties that go late into the night, endless bottles of vodka and all that…”

Another chuckle escaped him as he replaced the bottle where he’d found it. Demyan carried his glass with him, a low sound of surprise escaping him as Cadence’s shadowy figure suddenly loomed up out of the darkness. He all but collided with her, holding his glass aloft to preserve his drink. Even so, some liquor sloshed out of the glass to patter down on the woman in front of him and she jumped before a low laugh escaped her.

“Well, maybe you can’t hold your liquor as well as I thought.”

Demyan reached down instinctively, alcohol having stolen his inhibitions as he felt over Cadence’s downy, dry head of curls. “Did I wet you?”

The silence between them lasted perhaps a beat too long, and when she answered, Cadence’s voice had lost some of its teasing edge.

“Just…just a little.”

“Where?” He demanded immediately, setting his glass aside as his hands lowered to encircle the small line of her waist, feeling along her dress for any damp places. In the dark, her sharp inhalation was magnified ten times and Demyan felt his body responding to the nearness of her. Though the scent of her perfume had faded somewhat, she still smelt of the soap she had used earlier to bathe – that and something else darker and more decadent…something that he found himself longing to taste.

“I’m fine, really.” When she spoke again, the young woman’s voice came out in only the slightest whisper as his palms slid upward along her torso.

What was he
doing
? Demyan wasn’t quite aware himself. All he knew was that she was warm and compliant in his arms, his sister was nowhere to be found and, for once, no one reporting to Osip was looking over his shoulder. “Mr. Boykov…” Her breath hitched when his thumb brushed over the underside of her breast and he immediately regretted how much he’d tailored his suit pants to fit.

“Call me Demyan…” He murmured lowly, his mouth searching instinctively for hers. Before he could find it, however, her fingers covered his lips gently and she stopped him. He could feel her pulse fluttering in her wrist and kissed that instead, making her tremble slightly.

“
Demyan
…” Cadence’s voice was slightly unsteady. “Please...I need to go to bed.”

A hushed Russian explicative escaped him. “
Sem’crugov ada,”
Seven hells, “
You do. With me.”

And there it hung between them – tempting and forbidden fruit. She’d barely been in the country for a day and she roused within him a hunger he almost thought he had forgotten. Of course, Demyan wasn’t ignorant of the liquid courage flowing through him. Perhaps if it wasn’t for the drink, the conversation at dinner…or perhaps if it wasn’t for the way that Cadence Freedman seemed somehow beyond all…
this
.

The circumstances that had entrapped him his entire life…

It only made him want her that much more.

“I think…” He heard her swallow thickly as the blood rushed in his ears. “I think both us of know that’s a bad idea.”

A low groan of frustration escaped him as he took her wrist in a firm grip, removing the obstacle between them. Demyan’s mouth dropped to her throat to taste her for just a brief moment – the slender line of her neck all the way up to the lobe of her ear….

And then he let her go.

“You’re right.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, wanting desperately to ravage her instead.

Demyan Boykov, unlike those he kept company with, however, was no monster. He had never forced himself on a woman and he wasn’t about to start now. “I’ll show you to your room.” It took near everything he had, but somehow he managed to turn from her, the dim lights left on in the house illuminating the long hallway that led to the east wing.

Cadence fell into step behind him without a word – even though the tension between them was palpable. She hadn’t slapped him, hadn’t called him a cad and she certainly hadn’t shoved him away – but Demyan knew that he was drunk. He was drunk and drink made him stupid. Hopefully Miss Freedman wouldn’t become close enough to Osip that she’d divulge his little slip up.

Though it would no doubt amuse the Prime Minister to no end.

“Here you are.” They reached her suite of rooms all too soon and he opened the door for her, revealing the inviting warmth of the darkness within. What he wouldn’t give to slip into bed beside her – to forget his troubles, if only for a fraction of a moment. “Goodnight, Miss Freedman.”

The young woman hesitated only a moment before he felt the curve of her breast press flush against his side. Her mouth brushed against his cheek in a feather light caress a moment before she answered him softly. “Goodnight…Demyan.”

She slipped away, leaving his body raging like that of a teenager, and his thoughts a tangle of half-inebriated confusion.

“How was dinner?” The moment Roksana Lichakov tossed her keys onto the kitchen table of her apartment, she whirled at a low voice from behind her. Withdrawing a pistol from the holster she wore at her hip, she pointed it at the place behind the front door, every muscle in her body tense.