My eyes float up to Dimitri when he asks, “And her scar?”
In the corner of my eye, I spot Alice making her way across the room. She either sees naked women regularly, or she isn’t interested in anything I’m offering. Her eyes never leave mine—not once. She saw what she needed of my body, and now her focus is elsewhere.
Through twisted lips, Alice asks Dimitri, “You don’t want to keep her bangs?”
“No, it hides her face. It’s one of her best assets. I don’t want it hidden.” His reply is almost a compliment until he adds, “I just need to get rid of her scar.”
I inconspicuously drape my arms in front of my breasts when Alice stops in front of me to brush my bangs off my forehead. She doesn’t cringe when she takes in the scar I got from hitting the ground headfirst. She hums out a moan. “I agree with your assessment. Even pinning her bangs back will give her face more appeal. And her eyes…” There she goes with her inappropriate moaning again. “They’re perfect.” After dropping her hand from my face, she shifts on her feet to face Dimitri. “Are you sure you don’t want her to become an asset? The men will love her.”
“I’m not interested in selling her.” When relief darts trough my eyes, Dimitri is quick to shut it down. “Yet.” Leering at my pout, he nudges his head at me like he hasn’t been ogling the shadows between my legs the past five minutes. “Get your measurements. I need outfits by morning.”
Alice’s smile matches Dimitri’s hidden one when she replies, “No need. I have everything I need right here.” She taps her faultlessly perfect nail on her even more faultless head. “Six or eight? I can’t do seven because Lucy has a Skype session with her father. The warden would only agree to a morning session.” A pfft vibrates her lips. “Anyone would think he was running the show around there.”
Dimitri laughs. I don’t know his laughs, but I’d register this one as being sixty percent fake, even with him seeming friendly with Alice. “We’ll do six. Roxanne is about to head to bed, so she’ll be well-rested.” He commences walking Alice to the door. “And if you want me to talk to Ashton, let me know. He’s new, so he still has a lot to learn.”
“I’ve got it, but thanks for the offer.” A stupid rush of jealousy scatters through my veins when she presses a kiss to Dimitri’s mouth. She doesn’t do the air kisses the rich folks do. She presses her mouth so firmly to his, even though I can’t see Dimitri’s lips, I know they’re coated with lipstick. “Until tomorrow.”
When she farewells me with a wiggle of her fingers, I snatch up my dressing gown from the floor. I have one arm in and the other just about to burst through the opening when Dimitri demands me to ‘leave it’ again.
I don’t listen this time around, too mortified with embarrassment to care about being punished. Not only did he parade me in front of a woman who has more plastic than a Barbie doll, he made me feel hideously ugly while doing it.
“Why do that? Why agree to my help if I’m not up to your standards?” After tying the dressing gown’s belt around my waist like it will take more than a set of hands to undo the knot, I air quote my last word.
“Tomorrow’s guests are very important to my overall plan. They’d never believe my ruse if you showed up in a Ross Dress for Less dress.”
I stare at Dimitri, wondering how the hell he knew my dress was from my favorite discount clothing chain.
He douses my curiosity in an instant. “Your dress tag had the infamous last season strike through it. It wasn’t showcased at Fashion Week this season.” He snickers in a way the men for Queer Eye for a Straight Guy would be proud of. “It probably wasn’t featured in the last two decades.”
My anger is lessening, but I still scoff, not over the jabs he hit my ego with just yet. “And your revulsion of my scar? What’s your excuse for that?”
Air whizzes out of my nose when he has the audacity to laugh. I’m glad he’s finding amusement in our exchange. I’m anything but humored. “I’ll do what you ask. I will follow your plan. I’ll even let your over-polished bozo make me look like a gleaming piece of plastic, but the next time you look in the mirror, ask yourself how you’d feel if your daughter ended up with a man like you.”
Ignoring the furious heat bounding out of him, I drag down the bedspread on the king-size bed I’m standing next to, then slip between the sheets.
“You need to eat before sleeping.” Dimitri’s words are ground through clenched teeth and a pulsating jaw. Right here, right now, he wouldn’t care if I starved to death. The only reason he’s acting like he gives a shit is because he wants his daughter back, and Alice’s visit filled him with hope that I could help him with that. “Roxanne—”
“I’m not hungry.”
His roar nearly shudders my heart straight out of my chest. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re hungry or not. You heard what Alice said. You are far too skinny. You need to eat.”
When a stretch of silence passes between us, he growls out my name again. Unfortunately for him, my hair coloring matches my personality.
Lately, I’m as stubborn as I am stupid.
“Fine. Don’t fucking eat. You can starve for all I care.” Although he sounds more frustrated than vindictive, his words still kick me in the gut. My ego hasn’t gotten over his earlier battering. It didn’t need another walloping.
My wallowing in a self-pity party is bookmarked for another date when the sound of someone getting undressed trickles into my ears a few minutes later. Too curious to discount the odd noise considering I’m in the room with a stranger, I slant my head to the left before glancing across the room.
My parched throat becomes a thing of the past when my eyes lock in on Dimitri’s half-dressed form. His dress shirt has been removed, and he’s in the process of yanking a wife beater over his head.
The number of tattoos on his hands, forearms, and neck should have clued me in on the fact he has an extensive collection, but I had no clue it was this vast. Black artwork covers almost every inch of his body—even the top of his thighs which I get a bird’s-eye view of when he toes off his shoes before tugging down his trousers. It’s a beautiful collection that grows more exquisite when you take in how they accentuate the cut groves of his body. I doubt he works out, but his body proves he doesn’t leave the heavy lifting to his goons. He gets in on the action as often as possible.
“Sweet Mother of Jesus,” I whisper on a moan when he leans across his desk to dump a set of cufflinks into a silver dish. His backside is divine, an ass worthy of a top-rated centerfold.
When Dimitri suddenly freezes, no doubt feeling the heat of my stare, I snap my eyes shut and pretend I’m sleeping. In less than a second, it dawns on me that my ruse is futile. Not only do I feel the heat of his eyes on me as I ogled him only moments ago, I hear his sock-covered feet indenting the thick carpet pile. He doesn’t cross the room with his infamous cocky strut. He takes his time, moving slyly like a fox, forever on alert, yet somehow easily distracted.
“I had wondered if your refusal to eat was because your hunger had nothing to do with food.” His voice is thicker than it usually is, twanged with his Italian heritage. “But since I always double-guess myself around you, I once again brushed it off. Silly me.” He’s at the side of my bed now, so close the fine hair on the tops of his legs brush the arm draped across my body. “Everything you want to see is right in front of you, so why don’t you open your eyes, Roxanne?”