The Player (The Game Maker 3)

In a milk-cow, a temptress would whip a mark into a sexual frenzy, teasingly withholding intercourse to maneuver him into buying jewelry, cars, even real estate.

"Not a single word." Pete shook his head. "Even though Dmitri was dateless, and she was on."

If Karin couldn't get the Russian to engage, then he wasn't engage-able. But I'd talked a big game. "Then I won't be wasting a potential mark, will I?"

"Don't be pissed."

I handed Pete my purse. "Pissed? Me? Haven't you heard?" I started toward the stairs, saying over my shoulder, "I'm cold as ice."

In reality, I was so pissed I almost stomped up the steps. But I controlled my temper, keeping my heels from striking the tile surface. Maybe I could sneak up on Dmitri and observe him unawares.

I knew the basics about him from Pete's copious notes. Thirty-two years old, a resident of Russia, raised in Siberia. Youngest of the three brothers. A computer and math prodigy.

He'd graduated at the top of his class from Oxford, then founded a company that revolutionized aspects of business computing. He'd cashed out with a couple of patents, retiring a billionaire. Yet there were few mentions of him online--and zero pictures.

As I stepped onto the deck, I raised my brows at the beast's extravagant lair. Fire pits lit the area. A hot tub steamed under a wisteria-covered trellis, and a mosaic-tiled fountain sloshed against the back wall. A fully stocked bar stood off to the side, unmanned.

I spotted Dmitri at the railing, taking in the city's vista. Not another soul was up here.

I silently approached, noting details about him. He had a muscular build and stood well over six feet, even taller than my ex's six foot three.

My grandmother would call Dmitri Sevastyan a mountain of a man. He'd tower over my five feet four.

His expensive clothes were so well made, I nearly salivated. He wore tailored gray slacks that highlighted his narrow hips and tight ass. His charcoal-colored shirt clung to his back and arm muscles.

Beneath the thin material, I could see his triceps bulging as he white-knuckled that railing. Like Bruce Banner warding off the Hulk.

Pete had told me he'd picked up intermittent tension in Dmitri and Aleks, the oldest Sevastyan brother. Perhaps they'd fought and Dmitri was taking out his frustration on others?

If Dmitri was so angry, why not go back to his room? Why not take his fortune and fly somewhere else?

In the next second, everything I speculated got turned upside down--because Dmitri's head tipped back, and his broad shoulders rose and fell on a breath. Even from this angle I could tell he was gazing at the full moon.

People didn't normally do that when stewing; they did it when they felt regret, or even longing.

A flare of pity arose. His family was right downstairs, but he remained here all by himself.

That was the thing about the beast from fairy tales; he didn't want to be a beast. He didn't want to be alone.

Dmitri finally released his grip to rub his temples.

Curiosity to see his face won out, so I headed toward the opposite end of the railing, letting my heels click.

He dropped his hands, and his muscles tensed even more. "How many times do I have to fucking say this?" he bit out, his accent thick. As he turned toward me, he snapped, "I--AM--NOT--GODDAMNED--INTER . . ." He trailed off, looking staggered.

I knew the feeling. Dmitri Sevastyan was . . . magnificent.

His flawless, masculine face swindled your breath and left your lungs holding the bag.

Thick black hair, chiseled cheekbones. Proud, slim nose and a rugged jaw. His eyes were blazing amber.

Beautiful, beautiful beast. I nearly reeled on my feet. I never did that, except as a ruse for pick-pocketing.

Once the angry set of his jaw eased, his lips went from thinned to oh-so-kissable. That vivid gaze of his roamed over my body from my heels to the top of my head. "You . . ." he breathed.

Make the talk, Vice. "Me?" I knew we hadn't met. Because his face would've been seared into my brain forever.

". . . are stunning. The sight of you has defeated my wits."

Huh? Guys thought I was pretty, but in the land of long-legged showgirls and surgically enhanced models, it took a lot to stand out. (I'd always told myself I would crush it in Reno.)

And what about Karin? Maybe he'd forgotten his contacts last night.

Instead of chasing me away, the beast strode over to join me. I had to crane my head up to meet his gaze. Well, hello there, big guy.

He stood so close I could feel the heat coming off his body. I caught a hint of his aftershave--evergreen and something mysterious--and I wanted to purr. No, not a hint--a hit. His scent was a drug spiking the air.

"I am Dmitri Sevastyan," he said in a deep voice. "You must tell me your name." With way too much familiarity, he lifted that loose lock of my hair, the color stark against his tanned skin.

Engagement! What if I actually could run this guy?

"I'm Victoria Valentine." My steady tone was impressive.

"Victoryaa." The way he drew out the end of my name, rumbling the last syllable, made my cheeks burn.

I'd never been able to control my blushing, no matter how much grief my family gave me over a tell. "It's nice to meet you. But I believe you were about to yell at me that you weren't goddamned interested?"

Color tinged his own cheekbones, and he dropped my hair. "The women here have been . . . persistent."

"Most guys would consider that a good problem to have."

"The women weren't the only irritation," he said. "I had the sense that tonight would be different in some way. I was disappointed."

"I figured."

"Why?" His gaze skimmed my face, lingering on each of my features, as if committing them to memory.

"People who sigh at the moon are usually filled with regret or longing." Now that I'd snagged his attention, it was time to be elusive. "I'll leave you to it, big guy." I turned toward the stairs. Chase me, chase me. . . .

Dmitri rushed to cut me off. "However, I am no longer disappointed since this curvy little blonde appeared, because in the moonlight, she looks like an angel. And I happen to be in great need of one."

Angel? To save my family, I'd cut his nuts with a hangnail if I had to. "What if I'm not an angel? What if I'm a she-demon? Would you lock horns with me?"

He nodded solemnly. "I would very much like to lock anything with you."

He was serious, but I caught myself fighting a grin. "Locking horns can be very meaningful, Mr. Sevastyan, and we've only just met."

One corner of his lips quirked. "Call me Dmitri. Or Dima." He stood between me and the stairs.

"You've been bellowing at women all night, yet you're preventing me from leaving? I don't know whether to be flattered or alarmed."

"You heard that?" Another flush over those cheekbones.

"I was out on the terrace. I remarked that you were like a beast from a fairy tale, alone in his lair."

Holding my gaze, he said, "I've found Beauty."

My toes curled. I'd been prepared for anger and blustering, not charm. My eyes dipped to his full bottom lip. I had the urge to suck on it.

Though I'd had every intention of doing the deed with someone since my ex, no guy had tempted me enough. What would it be like to kiss this Russian? To sleep with him?

"I won't prevent you from leaving," he said, "but I invite you to stay." His hair was close-cut at the sides, yet longer on top. A breeze tousled those thick locks.

"How do I know you won't lose your temper again, Dmitri?"

His lids grew heavy--as if he enjoyed the way I said his name. "I believe I can behave, if motivated by a sweet enough treat."

"You believe? You don't know?"

"This is foreign territory for me. But I like my new guide very much."

Did he, then? My good-girl disguise was paying off! What if I pulled my first ever milk-cow--with a billionaire? That would show everyone! And more importantly . . .

That would save everyone.

The con was on. "Perhaps you're using me to keep other women away."

"Perhaps I drove the others away so you would appear in front of me."

I tilted my head at him. "You could be using me to make someone else jealous." Which would explain a lot of this unexpected attention.

"Twice you've accused me of using you. Are you using me?"

Clever man. I'd have to be careful with this one. "I came up to check out the view. You're the tourist chatting up the local girl." In the timeline of a con, we'd just had "the meet."

I glanced over my shoulder, wishing Pete could see this. Dmitri's got a little change in his pocket goin' jingle lingle ling! I would so fake-flirt with this Russian, in order to manipulate him into fake near-sex situations.

I would be perfect for a milk-cow, because I didn't lose control sexually, even when I was supposed to.

"Do you want to get back to someone?" Dmitri asked. "Are you here with another man?"

Surely I misheard the jealousy in his tone. "Your VIP host invited me. Peter Valentine's my cousin."