didn’t know what to say.
“You helped me by stopping the wedding. Thank you. I hope to hell the investigation puts him in jail,” he added tightly.
He was staring at her intently, nostrils flared.
Her mouth trembled. She felt awkward and shy and tried to cover it with a lame attempt at levity. “Between Grigor and Hildy, I’ve spent most of my life being told I was an albatross of one kind or another. It’s refreshing to hear I’ve had a positive effect for once. I thought for sure you were going to yell at me...” Her voice broke.
She sniffed and tried to catch a tear with a trembling hand before it ruined her makeup.
He swore and before she realized what he was doing, he had her in his lap.
“Did he hurt you? Let me see your arm where he grabbed you,” he demanded, his touch incredibly gentle as he lightly explored.
“Don’t be sweet to me right now, Mikolas. I’ll fall apart.”
“You prefer the goon from the lobby?” he growled, making a semihysterical laugh bubble up.
“You’re not a goon,” she protested, but obeyed the hard arms that closed around her and cuddled into him, numb fingers stealing under the edge of his jacket to warm against his steady heartbeat.
He ran soothing hands over her and let out a breath, tension easing from both of them in small increments.
She was still feeling shaky when they reached the Makricosta Olympus.
“I hate these things,” he muttered as he escorted her to the brightly decorated ballroom. “We should have stayed in.”
Too late to leave. People were noting their entrance.
“Do you mind if I...?” she asked as she spotted the ladies’ room off to the right. She could only imagine how she looked.
A muscle pulsed in his jaw, like he didn’t want her out of his sight, but after one dismayed heartbeat he said, “I’ll be at the bar.”
Reeling under an onslaught of gratitude and confusion and yearning, she hurried to the powder room and moved directly to the mirror to check her makeup. She felt like a disaster, but had only a couple of smudges to dab away.
“Synchórisi,” the woman next to her said, gaze down as she fiddled with the straps on her shimmery black dress. Releasing a distinctly British curse she said, “My Greek is nonexistent. Is there any chance you speak English?”
Viveka straightened from the mirror, taking a breath to gather her composure. “I do.”
“Oh, you’re upset.” The woman was a delicate blonde and her smile turned concerned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“No, I’m fine,” she dismissed with a wobbly smile. The woman was doing her a favor, not letting her dwell on all the mixed emotions coursing through her. “Not the bad kind of crying.”
“Oh, did he do something nice?” she asked with a pleased grin. “Because husbands really ought to, now and again.”
“He’s not my husband, but...” Viveka thought of Mikolas saving her and thanking her for the wedding debacle. Her heart wobbled again and she had to swallow back a fresh rush of emotion. “He did.”
“Good. I’m Clair, by the way.” She offered her free hand to shake while her other hand stayed against her chest, the straps of her halter-style bodice dangling over her slender fingers.
“Viveka. Call me Vivi.” Eyeing the straps, she guessed, “Wardrobe malfunction?”
“The worst! Is there any chance you have a pin?”
“I don’t. Can you tie them?” She circled her finger in the air. “Turn around. Let’s see what happened to the catch.”
They quickly determined the catch was long gone and they were too short to tie.
“I bet a tiepin would hold it. Give me a minute. I’ll ask Mikolas for his,” Viveka offered.
“Good idea, but ask my husband,” Clair said. “Then I won’t have to worry about returning it.”
Viveka chuckled. “Let me guess. Your husband is the man in the suit?” She thumbed toward the ballroom filled with a hundred men wearing ties and jackets.
Clair grinned. “Mine’s easy to spot. He’s the one with a scar here.” She touched her cheek, drawing a vertical line. “Also, he’s holding my purse. I needed two hands to keep myself together long enough to get in here or I would have texted him to come help me.”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.”
* * *
Mikolas stood with the back of his hand pressed to a scotch on the rocks. So much for behaving mainstream and law-abiding, he thought dourly.
He was watching for Viveka, still worried about her. When she had apologized, he’d been floored, already kicking himself for bringing her downstairs at all. He could be at home making love to her, none of this having happened. Instead, he’d let her be terrorized.
There she was. He tried to catch her eye, but she scanned the room, then made for a small group in the far corner from the band.
Mikolas swore under his breath as she approached his target: Aleksy Dmitriev. The Russian magnate had logistics interests that crossed paths with his own from the Aegean through to the Black Sea. Dmitriev had never once returned Mikolas’s calls and it grated. He hated being the petitioner and resented the other man for relegating him to that role.
Mikolas knew why Dmitriev was avoiding him. He was scrupulous about his reputation. He wouldn’t risk sullying it by attaching himself to the Petrides name.
While Mikolas knew working with Dmitriev would be another seal of legitimacy for his own organization. That’s why he wanted to partner with him.
Dmitriev stared at Viveka like she was from Mars, then handed her his drink. He removed his tiepin, handed it to her, then took back his glass. When she asked him something else, he nodded at a window ledge where a pocketbook sat. Viveka scooped it up and headed back to the ladies’ room.
What the hell?
* * *
Viveka was thankful for the small drama that Clair had provided, but flashed right back to seesaw emotions when she returned to Mikolas’s side. He stood out without trying. He wore that look of disinterest that alpha wolves wore with their packs, confident in his superiority so with nothing to prove.
A handful of men in sharp suits had clustered around him. They all wore bored-looking women on their arms.
Mikolas interrupted the conversation when she arrived. He took her hand and made a point of introducing her.
She smiled, but the man who’d been speaking was quick to dismiss her and continue what he was saying. He struck her as the toady type who sucked up to powerful men in hopes of catching scraps. The way
