“Aye,” he says absently. “You’ll have security with you at all times.”
“I’m not thrilled about the idea of going in there, if I’m being honest with you.”
“And I appreciate that honesty,” he says, “but we’re still going in.” Putting away his phone, Cameron kisses my limp hand. “I promised you the protection of the MacTavish Clan when we married. I keep my word. So relax, yeah? Play your part. You might have fun tonight even if this is out of your comfort zone.”
“Comfort zone?” I laugh weakly, “I’m fairly sure we left my comfort zone somewhere back in Moscow.”
He winks as he helps me out of the Range Rover.
Walking up the stairs, I’m acutely aware of just how high the slit is on this dress. It’s a deep violet silk, backless but at least it’s covering my breasts. The silk is thin enough that I had to tape my nipples down. The combination of too much skin and not enough is tantalizing, and I’m a bit surprised he ordered it for me.
“If one thing shifts on this dress,” I hiss to him, “I’m going to flash half the guests tonight.”
Something glints in his eyes, and he grips my hand tightly. “I’ll tear the tablecloth off the buffet and wrap you in it before I let that happen.”
“The dresswasyour choice,” I remind him.
“Aye, I underestimated just how well it would fit you.”
His grim tone makes me laugh, and suddenly, it’s possible that this night might not be a disaster after all.
Chapter Eight
In which we meet in-laws and unsettling billionaires.
Cameron…
My plan tonight was simple: show off my wife.
It works better than I’d expected. If one more arsehole tries to look down her dress as I introduce her, I’m going to punch their teeth in.
“Brother!” Cormac strolls up to me and I yank the drink out of his hand, downing it. “Really, you bastard? Ya’ can’t get your own?” His mouth turns down a bit as he turns to Morana, and I step between them. I’m not sure why. I know he wouldn’t hurt her, but his expression, the barely concealed distaste… she doesn’t deserve it.
“At last! We meet!” Mala steps up, smiling warmly. “You must be Morana,rad vstreche,nice to meet you. I’m Mala, married to this grim-looking Scotsman here. Sweetheart, have you introduced yourself yet?”
“I was just about to,” he says, still reserved but slightly more pleasant. “Cormac MacTavish, a pleasure to meet you, Morana.”
“Spasibo,thank you,” she says. Her smile is tight and she’s edging a little closer to me. That I’m her safest port in this social storm is spiking me with unfamiliar feelings. Like guilt.
Putting my arm around her, I can feel her relax incrementally. “Mala, I didn’t know you spoke Russian.”
“Nemnogo,”Mala says, “just a little. Forgive my atrocious accent, Morana.”
“Not at all,” my bride says, “it’s nice to hear it again.”
Cormac is looking down at her with a slight thawing, like he’d expected a pit viper but ended up with a bunny.
My brother always looks intimidating, whether he’s feeling that way or no. He’s as tall and broad as I am, and standing next to Mala, they make a striking couple. I can objectively say my sister-in-law is beautiful, with her dark auburn hair and blue eyes, even though she is relentlessly annoying.
Mala loops her arm through Morana’s and pulls her toward the buffet tables. “Don’t worry about them,” she says, “they’ll talk business and bore the hell out of us. Meanwhile, I am certain I saw lobster wontons over there.” Morana gives a little smile and looks over her shoulder at me.
“Grab a couple of those wontons for me,” I grin.
When I turn back to my brother, he’s staring at me with a frown. “That all had a newlywed ring to it. I thought you were keeping your distance.”
“I think Nikandr is wrong,” I say, and I realize that I believe it. “I don’t see it. We’ve seen some slick actresses in this business, but she’s got no guile.”
Shaking his head, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not just seeing what you want to see? She’s a bonny lass, that. But she’s also the rich, pampered princess of a piece of shite like Ivanov.”
