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Authors: Caridad Piñeiro
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worries. I’ll show Peter around the rest of the casino and the hotel. It’s only a couple of hours until dinner anyway, and I know I’d like to freshen up.”
“Thank you, Princess,” he said, and with a short bow of his head, he left.
“Want to go up to the room now?” Peter asked. “I could walk around by myself to get a feel for the place.”
She shook her head. “You must be tired, too. Let’s just do a quick walk through the lobby and main casino floor and then head up to the suite.” She grimaced at the thought of the accommodations, still angry about the situation.
“While I’m pissed at Alexander’s meddling in our lives, there’s a great hot tub in the suite. I’d love a long hot bath and fresh set of clothes before we eat tonight.”
With a bow that mimicked Tony’s earlier action, he replied, “Of course.”
“Please don’t do the bow thing with me, Peter. You’re not an employee,” she said quickly, annoyed by his actions. Although Alexander had offered to pay him, Peter had refused any compensation for his assistance. Now she understood why.
“Thanks, Tatochka,” he teased with a grin.
“Now you’ve gone way too far. You’re not a friend or family,” Tatiana shot back, not feeling the least bit lighthearted about the situation they were in.
But Peter obviously couldn’t resist baiting her. His grin broadened, displaying an endearing and enticing dimple on one side. His gold-green eyes glittered with even greater amusement. “Sure thing, solnyshko moyo .”
She wrinkled her nose. “My sunshine? Do you think that’s the way to win a girl’s heart?”
He shrugged and walked off the stage in the direction of the lobby. “Actually, if the girl’s got half a brain, she won’t fall for such bullshit.”
“Really? So what will she fall for?” she asked, intrigued despite all the reasons it made no sense to be attracted to him. Trying to fight his allure, because even though he had betrayed her trust, she did find him incredibly hot and sexy.
He winked at her over his shoulder. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
Chapter 7
As he had during their first meeting in London, Prince Sergei barely glanced at the contents of the padded envelope containing the bracelet and tiara before slipping them into the briefcase sitting at his feet.
Shea couldn’t hold back his annoyance—or his concern at the emotionless reactions of the prince. Only psychopaths could be that cold-blooded, which made him wonder if there wasn’t something else going on with the prince. A deadly and dangerous something else.
“For a man who is so eager for my products, you seem quite disinterested in the quality of what I’ve delivered to you.”
The prince took a sip from his glass of wine. “I trust you, Mr. Smith.” He picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating the cassoulet for which the little bistro on Île de la Cité was known. He ate mechanically, as if he ate because he had to and not because he enjoyed what he was tasting.
Shea wondered if he was always so detached, and decided to push a few buttons.
“Seems to me, Prince Sergei, that someone who has gone to such great lengths to regain their family history—”
“Silence,” the man said, glaring at him with cold venom. The cutlery rattled against the terracotta bowl as his hands trembled with rage. “How do you know who I am?” he demanded.
Shea lifted a corner of his lips. “I told you. I’m very good at what I do. Knowing who I am dealing with is part of being very good.” He tilted his head. “So is absolute discretion.”
The prince ground his teeth, then resumed eating. “Besides, what can you know of family? I may not know your real name, but I know what breeds men like you. Motherless, fatherless curs, no better than one of the mongrels running loose along the Seine.” He jerked his knife in the direction of the river flowing nearby.
Shea’s anger rose up, in part because he was so right.
“Thank you, Princess,” he said, and with a short bow of his head, he left.
“Want to go up to the room now?” Peter asked. “I could walk around by myself to get a feel for the place.”
She shook her head. “You must be tired, too. Let’s just do a quick walk through the lobby and main casino floor and then head up to the suite.” She grimaced at the thought of the accommodations, still angry about the situation.
“While I’m pissed at Alexander’s meddling in our lives, there’s a great hot tub in the suite. I’d love a long hot bath and fresh set of clothes before we eat tonight.”
With a bow that mimicked Tony’s earlier action, he replied, “Of course.”
“Please don’t do the bow thing with me, Peter. You’re not an employee,” she said quickly, annoyed by his actions. Although Alexander had offered to pay him, Peter had refused any compensation for his assistance. Now she understood why.
“Thanks, Tatochka,” he teased with a grin.
“Now you’ve gone way too far. You’re not a friend or family,” Tatiana shot back, not feeling the least bit lighthearted about the situation they were in.
But Peter obviously couldn’t resist baiting her. His grin broadened, displaying an endearing and enticing dimple on one side. His gold-green eyes glittered with even greater amusement. “Sure thing, solnyshko moyo .”
She wrinkled her nose. “My sunshine? Do you think that’s the way to win a girl’s heart?”
He shrugged and walked off the stage in the direction of the lobby. “Actually, if the girl’s got half a brain, she won’t fall for such bullshit.”
“Really? So what will she fall for?” she asked, intrigued despite all the reasons it made no sense to be attracted to him. Trying to fight his allure, because even though he had betrayed her trust, she did find him incredibly hot and sexy.
He winked at her over his shoulder. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
Chapter 7
As he had during their first meeting in London, Prince Sergei barely glanced at the contents of the padded envelope containing the bracelet and tiara before slipping them into the briefcase sitting at his feet.
Shea couldn’t hold back his annoyance—or his concern at the emotionless reactions of the prince. Only psychopaths could be that cold-blooded, which made him wonder if there wasn’t something else going on with the prince. A deadly and dangerous something else.
“For a man who is so eager for my products, you seem quite disinterested in the quality of what I’ve delivered to you.”
The prince took a sip from his glass of wine. “I trust you, Mr. Smith.” He picked up his knife and fork and resumed eating the cassoulet for which the little bistro on Île de la Cité was known. He ate mechanically, as if he ate because he had to and not because he enjoyed what he was tasting.
Shea wondered if he was always so detached, and decided to push a few buttons.
“Seems to me, Prince Sergei, that someone who has gone to such great lengths to regain their family history—”
“Silence,” the man said, glaring at him with cold venom. The cutlery rattled against the terracotta bowl as his hands trembled with rage. “How do you know who I am?” he demanded.
Shea lifted a corner of his lips. “I told you. I’m very good at what I do. Knowing who I am dealing with is part of being very good.” He tilted his head. “So is absolute discretion.”
The prince ground his teeth, then resumed eating. “Besides, what can you know of family? I may not know your real name, but I know what breeds men like you. Motherless, fatherless curs, no better than one of the mongrels running loose along the Seine.” He jerked his knife in the direction of the river flowing nearby.
Shea’s anger rose up, in part because he was so right.
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