“I would think the pleasure I gave you—three times—was its own tip.”

“Then by that reasoning, you shouldn’t have to pay for it at all, pendejo.”

“I looked that word up. Not very nice of you to call me an asshole. Twice. I think you’re the first woman in my adult life who’s refused to fawn over me. Right now, you sound as if you could take me or leave me.”

“Guess which way I’m leaning, Ruso.”

He chuckled at that. The sound was warm and rumbling, seeming to stroke me from the inside. What had happened to the icy Russian?

“Come over, Cat, and I’ll make you glad you did.”

Maybe he had liked sex with me that much? Had I thrown one over on the billionaire? Didn’t mean I would let him off the hook. He’d treated me like shit, left me hanging for two days, then barged into my life with all the finesse of a tidal wave. “Couldn’t find a tall blonde? I thought that was what you really wanted.” What if he hadn’t waited a day to request another girl? What if he’d screwed someone last night, intending to switch back to me? “Or maybe you booked one last night to fill your quota?”

“I didn’t book another date.”

It worried me how much that relieved me.

“No one is more surprised by these developments than I am. I told you I never reverse myself. Yet I have concerning you.”

My heart raced. I had affected him just as much as he had me.

“It seems you know me better than I know myself; you were one hundred percent certain I’d call. Here I am.” His voice had grown huskier. “Now, tell me you wouldn’t want a repeat.”

Merely thinking about him got me wet. “That’s all you want?”

“All I want?” He sounded amused. “A repeat would be a lot to hope for, no?”

What if he got all ice-cold again? Would it matter if he paid me as well as before?

Yes. He’d hurt me.

Even worse, what if he didn’t get ice-cold? Que Dios me ayude. God help me.

I did a quick risk/reward analysis. Risk: erosion of self-worth and possible infatuation. Reward: more money, and therefore more security. I’d be closer to a new identity. Great sex wasn’t unwelcome.

I just couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in him. I would put up a wall between us, keeping him at a distance.

Logistics . . . Getting from my apartment to the Seltane took nearly an hour. I’d cleaned today; no way I could forgo a shower. “I can’t be there until nine, and I can’t stay very long. Not that this is a problem with you.” I laughed. “A nanosecond after you nut, you’ll be wondering what I’m still doing there. I’ll start reaching for my clothes as soon as your balls tighten. It’ll be like a fire drill.”

He murmured, “Amazing,” as if he were a safari guide encountering an unknown creature. “Now you ridicule me?”

“Only because you make it so easy.”

“Where have you been that your own agency can’t get in touch with you?”

“Here and there. If you wanted to see me, you should’ve scheduled. Why, you could’ve booked me when I was with you Monday night! Oh, but you were too busy being rude as hell.”

As if I hadn’t spoken, he said, “You were out on another date?”

Surely I imagined that subtle hint of jealousy in his tone. “Remember our no-personal-questions rule?”

Silence. Had I pushed too hard?

“I want you here in the next fifteen minutes,” he finally said. “How much will it cost?”

“Nah, no es posible. In the future, book often and book early.”

Another bout of silence.

At length, he grated, “Wear something sexy.”

CHAPTER 8

At the door to Máxim’s suite, I removed the long lightweight jacket I’d worn to conceal my racy dress.

He’d said sexy, so I’d gone to Ivanna’s, uncaring if I was fifteen more minutes late. She’d brought out the tiniest dress I’d ever seen, gifting it to me because, as she’d put it: “My breasts are too big to wear this since I got enhanced.”

The cream-colored confection was short and backless. Two narrow bands of silk made a halter to cover my tits—somewhat. Side-boob galore. The “skirt” was about eight inches long and displayed the cleft of my ass, but the hem was trimmed in a fringe of slinky strands, making for a peekaboo situation whenever I took a step.

A braided gold cuff on my upper arm, chandelier earrings, and fuck-me stilettos rounded out the ensemble. I’d worn my hair in a loose knot to show off my bared back.

She’d even given me a beaded purse to go with the dress. Ivanna’s last instructions: “Land him, Cat. Whatever you did—do more.”

What had I done that other women hadn’t? Well, I’d kinda been a bitch at times. I’d refused to “fawn.” I’d insisted on my own pleasure.

Three things I could definitely repeat! With that thought in mind, I pressed the penthouse doorbell.

“You’re late,” he snapped when he answered. “You said nine . . .” He trailed off as he raked his gaze over my body. “Fuck. Me.”

“Hola.” I hoped I sounded casual, but he looked even hotter than last time. He wore a sharp gray suit, with the collar of his crisp white button-down open. “Qué pasa?” I sauntered past him into the living room. Stopped in my tracks.

Another man was here, a giant. Burly and even taller than Sevastyan, this guy had a bald head, a brick-end chin, and a bulldog jaw shadowed with rough stubble.