Target: Hard Target Part 13

"That's not confusing," I mutter, then raise my voice. "Who is Ben named for?"

"I believe his mother named him for the Christian martyr who was tortured with reeds shoved under his nails until his death."

"That's a lovely story."

His mouth quirks. "In Russian, his name is Venyamin, and he is no martyr."

"I'm more of a fan of Ben, except I'm not a fan of him at all right now." I give Dmitri an apologetic look. "Sorry, but he was a jerk."

"Because he sent you to me."

"No, because he promised not to keep me in the dark and did it anyway."

"Sometimes, a man has to make his own way, protect the ones he cares for."

My heart stutters at the thought of me being in that number. "And now I know where the other Dmitry gets it from. That man should really open up a fortune cookie story."

"I can see why my grandson likes you so much."

I'd rather have his love. The thought comes out of nowhere, shocking me to my very core before filling me with sadness. "Thank you."

"Thank you for helping me practice my English," he says as we walk along a wide corridor. Pictures of relatives going back to medieval times hanging on the walls. Their frames are made of heavy wood painted with real gold.

Or at least I think that's what Dmitri said. Sometimes, his accent gets as thick as mine when he gets excited.

"I'm not sure you want to learn American southern English," I point out.

"Did you know that the Marble Palace in the city is not the true Marble Palace?"

"Not at all." I know when a man wants to impress a woman and this is how Dmitri does his impressing. Actually, I think it's kind of cute... if I don't dwell on the fact that he's the head of a crime organization.

He smiles down at me, obviously as pleased as the cat that caught the canary at my answer. "My grandson is a lucky man to have you."

"So lucky that he had to send me to you." I want to smack myself for saying that. It's like I'm on repeat. "Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality because I do. I mean, guests are like fish, after three days, they both stink."

"Nonsense," he says, his formerly thick accent becoming less p.r.o.nounced. "While you are here, you are family, not stink-filled fish."

I can't contain my laugh. "I appreciate you saying so."

We continue on our walk, Dmitri, pointing out paintings that catch his eye and explaining the history of them. The very b.l.o.o.d.y history of them.

"Impaled so many of his enemies in one day that they called him Vlad the Impaler."

"Are you trying to tell me that you're related to Dracula?"

"Nyet. He is related to us." The corner of his mouth quirks again, reminding me of Benjamin so much that my heart flips. "My dear, Ben wouldn't have had my favorite nephew bring you to me if he thought you didn't need the protection our family can provide."

"But who's protecting him?" I ask, giving voice to one of my biggest fears.

"Koyla, that is, Roman is watching over him."

"His brother?" I ask.

He nods. "Yes, but he has no idea. Benji would rather keep him out of things, but my grandsons are not men to sit idly by."

"That's true." We walk a bit further. "Why do you call him Benji? Obviously it's way better than Venyamin because then I'd have to call him Venny and that's an Italian mobster name. They're not a rival gang, are they?"

"We are not interested in the olive oil business." His eyes twinkle at me. "In Russia, we shorten names as a sign of affection."

"What about my name?"

"Ah," he says with a smile. "That is a tough one. What does my grandson call you?"

"Mllaya Moyna. Is that short for Morgan, because it sounds longer to me?"

He laughs. "It is Russian for my sweet."

My face heats. "Oh. I didn't know that."

"I don't remember him ever calling another woman by that endearment." His laughter dies down. "I apologize."

"For what?"

"For bringing up past loves."

"I don't expect him to be a blank slate. That's ridiculous."

He nods, then his gaze locks ahead of us. "Ah, Benji. You are here just in time to take this lovely woman for a stroll in the garden. My health isn't what it used to be and I need to rest."

Slowly, I turn around, my heart slamming against my chest.

Ben stands there at the end of the hall, his hands tucked in his pockets, looking impeccably disheveled in his suit. He has shadows under his eyes and dark scruff along his jaw.

He looks amazing.

"You're back," is the first thing out of my stupid mouth. I want to launch myself at him, then pull him to my bedroom and keep him there forever.

"Have you forgiven me yet, mllaya moyna?" he asks, his voice husky.

Now that I know what the phrase means, I want to swoon a little. I glance up at Dmitri and he shrugs. Well, he's no help.

Finally, I admit the truth, "I'm still thinking on it."

"A man is more apt to change his woman's mind if he comes bearing gifts," Dmitri points out.

Never taking his eyes off me, Ben rubs his thumb along his lower lip. "I'm hoping my ma.s.sive paycheck will fix that."

My face heats so quickly that I'm surprised I don't burst into flames. "We'll let you go rest, Dmitri."

Slipping my arm out of Dmitri's, I rush to Benjamin's side grab him by the arm, and proceed to drag him in the opposite direction of his grandfather. While I'm sure that he's heard it all before, he hasn't heard it at all when it comes to Ben and me.

"I could carry you to our room," Ben offers.

That stops me right in my tracks. "Our room?"

"That's where I dropped off my bags."

"You didn't ask if it was okay with me."

He touches my face, his fingers gentle on my skin. "Do I have your permission, love?"

"Not yet."

"Because you're still hurt and angry."

I nod.

"And you need me to apologize."

Dang it. I nod again.

"Shall I get down on my knees for you... like I did on our first date?"

Need and desire twine together, making it hard to remember why I'm so mad at him. "I don't know."

"You need more time."

"Time we probably don't have."

"I always have time for you," he says.

Then I do the one thing I shouldn't. I let him sweep me off my feet and take me to bed.

By the time Ben is finished apologizing, I'm a shaky, boneless mess of a woman. My skin is so sensitive from his scruffy beard and talented mouth that the incredibly soft sheets on my bed feel rough.

He collapses on top of me, his body heavy, but I welcome the weight. It means he's safe and in my arms. I kiss his face, his throat, every part of him that I can reach.

"I missed you," he says against the side of my throat. "I never should have sent you away."

"d.a.m.n straight."

He leans up on his elbows, his black hair damp at the temples. "How was my apology?"

"Very thorough."

"I'm glad, but I know you've not forgiven me completely." Pulling out of me, he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, his muscular chest rising and falling. "Give me a minute to recover properly and I'll take care of you."

Smiling, I touch his shoulder. "Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to bring me anything."

His head turns, his blue eyes sparkling. "Then I guess I'll take the shoes back." He sits up and swings his legs over the bed. "Stay there."

"Shoes? What shoes?"

"Don't worry about them," he calls out from our bathroom. "They're not your size anyway."

"Benjamin Romanov, if you don't hurry up, I'll get super mad at you."

He is back in a flash with a warm cloth. Once he's done cleaning up the mess he made of me, he orders me to lie back in bed with my eyes closed.

I feel him slip a pair of shoes on my feet.

"Can I look?"

The mattress dips a little as he sits beside me. "You can now."

I open my eyes to find the one pair of shoes that I've been dreaming about for months. "You went all the way back to London to buy these for me?"

"Not quite."

"They're the best gift ever."

"Better than my ma.s.sive paycheck?

I can't help but look at his erection, then back at my shoes. "It's close, but I'm going with him." I nod at his lap.

"He thanks you."

I lift my legs to admire my shoes, rotating my feet around so I can view them at all angles, but when I get a glimpse of the red bottoms and the name printed on the soles, I freeze.

"These aren't the shoes from Covent Gardens."

"I can always take them back if you don't like them."

"Did someone hit you on the head on your way here? They're Louboutins. Of course, I love them" I take them off my feet and hug them to my chest. "But I loved them before I knew what brand they were. I loved them because you remembered what Patrice said they looked like."

"I love that you love them," he says.

"You are so forgiven."

"Shoes are your weakness, huh?" he asks.

"Didn't have that many growing up, so... yes."

"When this is over, I'll buy you every pair your heart desires." He kisses me, taking my shoes and setting them to one side. "Now I must finish apologizing by feeding you in bed."

"You're going all out."