Untouched by His Diamonds (17 page)

It was macho posturing. Clementine could take care of herself. But he’d told himself he would just check up on her—he’d do the same for any other woman he was with. There were a lot of men in the house, and for all Clementine’s confidence it wouldn’t be easy for a woman to handle.

Yet here she was, one hand on an outswung hip, telling Alex exactly how he needed to run his publicity machine.

A dark voice prodded him. What had he expected? Her to suddenly go all shy and play the role of his girlfriend? He reminded himself he didn’t want that. He wanted the sexy girl with no ties. Well, look—he was getting it. In spades.

Provocative. Used to male attention.

It was how she got through life. She’d told him as much but he’d never actually seen it in action.

This was a woman who had survived on her own since she was a teenager. She was tougher than she looked, than she seemed when he had her wild and pinned under him.

She looked up at that moment and caught sight of him, and he actually saw some of the tension he hadn’t noticed in her body leave her. Every male protective instinct in his body stood on end. She finished her little spiel and sipped her wine and met his eyes.

And because of it he moved in to stake his claim.

‘Poaching my secret weapon, Aleksandr?’ Serge didn’t take his eyes off her as he spoke.

Alex grinned, and all the guys stirred like cattle sensing a stampede. Liam O’Loughlin was already edging his way out through the other door.

Yeah, back off
. Serge couldn’t believe how proprietorial he was feeling.

‘She should have been sitting in there, cutting our job in half,’ said Alex, looking genuinely impressed.

‘Just offering a few suggestions,’ Clementine said sweetly.

Alex picked up his drink. ‘There’s a job offer on the table. Think about it, Clementine.’ He gave Serge a conspiratorial nod. ‘Serge has got my number.’

Clementine eyed him cautiously when they were alone, as well she might, but he merely said, ‘Keeping me on my toes,
kisa
?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yeah, you do.’

She tensed. ‘What’s the problem, Serge? Surprised I’ve got a brain?’

‘I’m well aware of your intelligence,
kisa
. It’s how you work the room, your entirely female skills I’m referring to.’

For a moment she looked blank, and then his meaning dropped into place. ‘You haven’t complained before,’ she said stiffly.

‘It was directed at me.’ A dark demon was driving him. ‘I get that you’re a friendly girl,
kisa
, but I don’t appreciate you showering it around.’

Suddenly the hard shell was gone, and all he could see was the utter shock on her face and the flutter of confusion in her eyes before she shut down.

‘Okay—fine. Whatever.’ She pushed the plates towards him, her hands visibly beginning to shake. ‘Here—I’ve made this for your guests. There should be a delivery of groceries around four.’ She knocked over a glass bottle as she bumped against the bench in her haste to get away from him. Righting it, she mumbled, ‘I got those awful herrings for you—more fool me.’

For a few moments Serge didn’t move. He didn’t know what was going on between them. He didn’t understand why seeing her surrounded by other admiring men had made him
so damn jealous that he couldn’t see straight. He didn’t even understand why he’d left her this morning.

The herrings brought him up short for a second too. She was shopping for him?

Then he noticed for the first time the tremble in her body, her refusal to look at him. He took hold of her arm. ‘Clementine.’

She swung around, and for a moment he thought she was going to hit him, but she merely yanked her arm away and he let her.

‘Don’t worry, Serge,’ she said sharply. ‘I won’t be turning up at your gigs any more. I know my place. I’ve got it pretty clear now exactly where you see me in your life. If I didn’t get it before you’ve spelt it out now.’

She dashed out of the kitchen before he could stop her. Not fast enough he hadn’t seen the flash of tears in her eyes.

Yeah, he was a real prince. He’d finally made Clementine cry.

I
T TOOK
him ten minutes to clear the house. Alex lingered the longest, took him aside on the front steps.

‘What are you doing with that girl, Serge?’

‘Come again?’

‘The look on your face when you came into the kitchen was priceless.’

‘If you could translate, Aleksandr, it might make more sense,’ said Serge dryly.

‘That’s right—play dumb. I saw you last night. You care about her. She’s not one of those bimbo airheads on your revolving door policy, she’s a savvy woman. I really might employ her,
Seriosha
, then what are you going to do?’

‘Fire you.’

‘Touché. You know, Mick’s right. You turn up with her at a few charity events and we’re cooking with gas again. How about a magazine spread? “At home with Serge Marinov and the lovely Clementine”.’

‘You’ve either lost your ever loving mind or you’re looking to see stars,’ commented Serge, folding his arms.

‘I’m not the one shacked up with Jessica Rabbit crossed with Martha Stewart.’ Alex laughed and bounded down the remainder of the steps, heading for his car. ‘She had groceries, man,’ he shouted.
‘Groceries!’

Serge went back inside and took the stairs by threes. The
bedroom door was half ajar and he knocked a couple of times. ‘Clementine?’

He’d expected to find her spread across the bed crying into a pillow, or whatever it was women did when they were put out, but the room was empty. The bed was made—nary a crease thanks to Housekeeping.

Where in the hell was she?

In the end he found her on the roof garden. She was kneeling on the ground, pulling weeds out of pots. She barely acknowledged his presence.

‘First you go grocery shopping, now you’re gardening,’ he commented. ‘This domesticity has got to stop,
kisa
.’

‘Yes, well, I don’t have anything else to do. You’re gone most of the time and I don’t have a job. So I do domestic, okay?’

He hunkered down beside her. ‘Last night, Clementine—’

‘Yes, I get it, Slugger,’ she interrupted. ‘I overstepped the mark or the boundary or whatever it is. It won’t happen again.’

Serge was silent for a moment.

‘I didn’t want you at the event last night because it’s violent,’ he said with deliberation, ‘and you don’t react well to violence, Clementine.’

She wanted to snap,
I wasn’t talking about the match. I was talking about afterwards
. ‘You put me in a ringside seat,’ she protested instead, turning her head so she could look him in the eyes.

‘Because you were there, and I didn’t want you out of my sight. I made a bad judgement call.’

‘You didn’t want me out of your sight?’ she repeated, trying to make sense of it.

‘It’s my responsibility to look after you.’

The hairs prickled on her body. She was nobody’s responsibility. She looked after herself. The minute she started believing
Serge was going to do that was the moment this all came crashing in—as it had this morning.

He wasn’t going to protect her. He wasn’t going to love her. He was just her lover. Her current lover. She was a big girl. This was the way the world worked. Serge’s world worked.

‘You’re not my dad, Serge. You’re my—’ She broke off, at a loss for a descriptor. Embarrassment prickled along her neck, worse than before.

‘Your father lives in Geneva,’ interposed Serge smoothly, letting her know she was right to hesitate. ‘Do you ever see him?’

She avoided talking about her parents whenever she could, but suddenly her father seemed like a much safer topic than whether or not Serge was her boyfriend.

‘No, not for many years. We had a falling-out when I was fifteen and I’ve never been back. I was a bit of a handful in those days.’

‘Unlike now, when you’re a pussycat.’

Clementine smiled a little. ‘Why do you call me kitten all the time?’

‘Because you’re cute and playful and then you scratch me.’

She waved the gardening fork. ‘Better be careful, then. I’m armed and dangerous.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘She presents a breakfast TV show in Melbourne. She was never home and when she was we fought. Mum and Dad were both barely out of their teens when they had me—it’s why they married—and neither of them had much interest in a baby. So I grew up with a lot of childminders and nannies and fights until I was ten, when they finally split for good. Only then the fun started. The commute. Twice a year to Geneva.’

‘Not fun?’

‘You’re kidding? A twenty-four-hour flight by myself, and then I’d be there a week and one of dad’s girlfriends would
arc up and I’d be hurtling back to Melbourne again. Both of them are self-obsessed—or should I say obsessed with their careers? I decided a long time ago when I have my babies I’ll be staying home with them.’

‘You want children?’

‘One day. Don’t you?’ She asked the question out of interest, without thinking of the overtones.

‘No.’ He plucked the gardening fork out of her hand and stabbed it into one of the pots. ‘But you’re right, Clementine. Kids need a stable home and two loving parents.’ Then he surprised her by stroking his hand gently over her head down her back to the ends of her hair. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t have that.’

Nobody had actually said that to her before, and the simple acknowledgement touched something raw inside her. She bent her head, enjoying the feeling of him being there with her, stroking her, offering comfort.

‘Now I get it.’

‘What do you get?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘This fierce independence of yours.’

Clementine closed her eyes, feeling herself losing her grip on the hard realities she needed to keep at the forefront of her mind. This thing with Serge could very well be temporary. She couldn’t go swooping down the romantic slippery dip as she had their first night in New York and last night, because she’d only end up by herself in a heap at the bottom.

‘Come on.’ He stood up, offering her a hand and she took it uncertainly. ‘There’s somewhere I want to take you,’ he said.

‘Can I go like this?’ She indicated her crumpled pants and dirt-stained T-shirt.

‘You’re fine. I like you a bit rumpled.’ He put an arm around her. ‘There was one thing I wanted to say about last night. Not the fight—afterwards.’

Clementine swallowed and tried to look casual. ‘Oh?’ ‘You asked me how I felt. It feels good, Clementine. Being with you feels good.’

He took her downtown to his charity. A brown mission building in Brooklyn, housing a recreation centre for disadvantaged children.

‘We have them in every city where we have venues,’ he explained as they walked together through the gym. ‘Here and in Europe.’

‘This would be great publicity, Serge. The best antidote to Kolcek is to show what you’re doing here.’

‘Yeah, Mick says the same thing.’

‘Mick Forster? The guy I met at the gym?’

‘
Da
, he was the first trainer who would work with me when I got to the States. I wouldn’t be where I am without him. He’s the best in the business.’

Serge was speaking so freely she decided to take advantage of the moment. ‘So what’s Mick’s great idea?’

‘Well, for one I stop getting papped with women falling out of their dresses outside private parties.’

Clementine elbowed him hard in the ribs. ‘That’s not true!
Is
it true?’ Some of her sweet enthusiasm evaporated, and he noticed she put a little space between their bodies. Then, more uncertainly, ‘I hesitate to ask, but what are “private parties”?’

Bozhe
, this woman could bring him to his knees.

He’d better get this over with quickly. ‘The business I’m in,
kisa
. There’s a lot of money, illegal gambling, drugs, you name it. Although we’ve done our best to clean it up. And there’s always women. I’m healthy, clean as a whistle. Always used condoms. But I’m not one of the white bread guys you’re used to. I’ve seen a lot and I’ve done a lot.’

He was nothing like the guys she was used to. Clementine knew it was silly to be shocked. She’d seen what he did for
a living. She’d seen the women at those events. She’d seen the way they looked at him. He probably had phone numbers coming out of his pockets. Even that night she was with him.

The little show she’d given him in that shoe shop, which had seemed so daring to her—women probably did things like that for him all the time. Probably much more daring things.

Serge watched the emotions flickering across Clementine’s expressive face. He shouldn’t have told her. He’d upset her.

She gave him that negligent little shrug she’d perfected, but he knew now it covered up a lot of insecurity. ‘Still doesn’t tell me what private parties are.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He closed the gap between them and pushed her fringe up out of her eyes. ‘That’s all over.’

A wave of warmth swept through him as he looked into her anxious eyes and experienced an overwhelming urge to protect her from his past. She had a lot of swagger, but she could be incredibly sweet at times. This was one of those times. It was sitting on his ‘traditional Russian male’ button and not getting off.

‘So what are Mick’s other ideas?’ she surprised him by asking. Clearly the subject of other women was not a topic she wished to dwell on. Which suited him fine. He hadn’t even thought about another woman in the time they had been together.

Which brought him up short.

‘You’d be Mick’s dream come true, Clementine. What you said to Alex about putting a wife-and-kids gloss on things is right up his alley.’

‘Is Mick married?’

‘Hell, no. He wouldn’t be half so good at his job if he was.’

Clementine worried at her bottom lip. ‘So I guess he doesn’t approve of your wild lifestyle because it reflects back on the corporation? Or at least it does now, since Kolcek.’

‘Wild lifestyle? Are we not in bed every evening before ten?’

Clementine blushed and shook her head. ‘Maybe,’ she said slowly, ‘you need a woman who’s not falling out of her dress?’