She walked over, eyeing Damien like the last slice of birthday cake. “Oh, di tailor,” she said, her accent just as thick as Boris’s.
He took her hand and shook it, dipping his head to show proper respect.
“Boris, you deed not tell me how handzome iz your friend. You will have him design me a special dress for my wedding reception, dah?”
Another dress? There was hardly enough time to do the tuxes and bridesmaids dresses he’d promised to make. “May I suggest focusing on the dresses for your wedding party first? I sense you are a woman who wants perfection, and I would not wish to rush the outfits meant for such an important occasion.”
“I want dress.” She narrowed her caky eyes.
“Oh, have you seen his Victorian reproductions?” MF asked. “They’re to die for. I won’t say who, but a very famous actress just ordered three for her wedding. All the bridesmaids are going to wear one.” MF pulled out her phone and tapped a few times. “See?”
Natasha’s eyes lit up at the tiny screen. “Oh… Those are very beautiful. I will wear one like ziss for my wedding, dah?”
Damien wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “You want to wear that as a wedding dress?”
“Dah. I will be like the famous Holyweed people.”
Okay. “Of course.”
“I want for all my three bride wenches, too,” she added.
He glanced at MF. “Do we have enough inventory for all four?”
“We can delay some of the newer orders, but yes. We can make it happen.”
“Excellent,” said Damien. Whatever made these violent, wealthy criminals happy. “Natasha, I will measure your fiancé and the best man after dinner, then? MF can take your measurements, along with the other women.”
“No,” objected Natasha. “You weel measure me. I do not allow the hands of peasants to touch me.”
MF frowned.
Damien did not want to be alone with this woman. She seemed like just the type his beast might enjoy “playing” with.
Damien cleared his throat, preparing a very tactful response. “I would be very happy to take your measurements; however, MF is far more accurate than me, and I want your dress to be perfect—”
Boris clapped Damien on the shoulder. “My baby seester want you. You do.”
Boris wasn’t asking. Crap.
“Dah. I do.” Damien dipped his head.
Natasha batted her eyelashes. “I am available now. We go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
So far, this trip was going spectacularly. Damien was about to be molested by a Russian tigress, and MF was down in the gazebo surrounded by organized criminals she fantasized about eating.
Natasha shut the door to her gold-plated bedroom—bed, furniture, picture frames, pillows all gold—staring like a hungry wolf at Damien.
Oh, yeah, baby. I hope you’re going to pound your dick into that, tailor. I’m definitely along for the ride.
He was absolutely not going to fuck this woman, even if he could probably do it without so much as a flicker of attraction. His curse would not even come close to being triggered.
“I am certain you are anxious to return to your guests, so I will be fast.” Damien pulled out his tape measure from his pocket.
“Fast?” She unzipped the front of her leopard bodysuit. “No, you take time. You take long time, dah?”
“Isn’t your fiancé downstairs at the party?”
She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “He is limp dick. I only marry him for money.”
Damien stepped back as she shimmied off the garment. Eesh. Kind of like watching someone peel the plastic off a cheese stick.
Underneath, she wore an orange thong and matching orange bra, one size too small, so her breasts poured over the top.
So irritating. And, frankly, not a nice way to treat her breasts.
She strutted over to the bed, not the least bit shy about what she wanted. He respected a woman who asserted herself, but this was fast becoming a hostage situation.
“Natasha,” he took a seat on the gold love seat by the window, “I am not going to fuck you. I am not going to do anything more than measure your body.”
“You weel do as I say, tailor, or I weel tell my eight brothers downstairs that you try something with me.” She flashed a wicked smile.
“You may tell them anything you like.” He lowered his voice. “But as you know, there are consequences to choices. If you lie to them, and they try to hurt me as a result, not only will you be standing alone at the altar on your wedding day, but the church will be empty, too. Do we understand each other?”
She blinked her thick black lashes. Damien guessed the woman had not been told no in a very long time.
“Now, please get up and come over here so I can measure you.”
She slowly walked over, her expression unreadable.
“Excellent. Now, raise your arms,” he commanded. She lifted her arms in the air.
He stood and then wrapped the tape measure around the upper part of her chest, having to lean over a bit, given her height.
Her body began to shake, and she began bawling. “You think I am ugly. You do not want me.”
He stood upright and released the tape measure. Glorious. Now her brothers would see she’d been crying and try to kill him anyway.
“Natasha,” he said in his most consoling tone, “you are a beautiful woman and undoubtedly very successful, too. I am sure there are many men out there who would be happy to bed you.”
“Then why you no give sausage?” She hiccupped.
“Not all men can be bought. Some of us have rules. One of mine is that I do not sleep with women unless I care about them.” A lie. He didn’t sleep with anyone unless they were already dead, apparently. “The joy of casual fucking was lost on me long ago.”
She took a deep breath. “You are special man, Damien.”
“Thank you.”
“You fuck me anyway, or I slit your friend’s throat. Dah?” She smiled viciously.
And that’s my cue, tailor. Move aside.
“How was the dinner?” Pet fluttered in his face, greeting him and MF at the door the moment they walked in. “Oh! Red blood!” Pet pointed to his shirt. “I love blood. But I like cum better. Can I have some?”
“I need a drink. Does this place come equipped with vodka?” MF headed for the living room.
He’d had groceries delivered, and it came with a fully stocked bar. Thank God.
He followed MF to the bar and grabbed the biggest glasses he could find. He poured a tall one for MF and then for himself.
“Sky’s asking if you’re okay.” Pet pointed to the bottle of scotch. “Oh. I love that drink.” She began rubbing herself on the neck.
Was it a full moon or something?
He drew a slow, patient breath. There were no words to describe what had happened at the party. “I think it best to discuss the details later.”
“I met Damien’s brother,” MF said to Sky and then chugged her entire glass. “He wasn’t fucking around when he said no one is safe around him.” She poured another drink.
Bonbon trotted in wearing a miniature yellow Speedo. Gorgonzolina followed with a tiny straw sunhat and floral Chihuahua muumuu.