13. Willow
13
WILLOW
I focus on the puppies as best I can. Not the apartment. Not obsessively looking everywhere around me, wondering where he likes to sit, whether he plays piano or just has it here for show. They make it easy, though, those adorable furballs.
The babies are trusting enough, and the adults slowly warm up to me as I sit next to the playpen and handle them one by one, cooing in a soft voice.
Dimitri disappeared a while back. It's only when he comes back in a fitted gray suit with a navy shirt that I notice how casually dressed he was earlier.
Chinos and a polo over a white shirt is hardly anyone's definition of casual, but for him, it might as well be sweats. I've never seen him in anything other than a three-piece suit, not even when he was fucking my sister. I wished I'd paid more attention. I guess I was too startled by the whole situation to notice that I was dealing with Saturday afternoon Dimitri. I should have taken a picture.
He expertly fits a cufflink into the soft-looking shirt.
"Going somewhere?"
"Downstairs," he replies. "The ground floor of the building has a nice restaurant—Wolves Bite. Heard of it?"
I'm surprised I can nod. "Yeah, actually, Lucy mentioned it. It's new, right? It must be nice to have a fancy place just an elevator ride away."
"It was a sound investment—saves a lot of time. Plus, my private chef was bored to tears having no one else to feed. Now his kitchen simply sends three meals a day up to me or my office."
"You own Wolves Bite?" I ask, highly curious.
I know aboutWolven Gaming, and Camden mentioned that Dimitri had various investments, but somehow I didn't imagine him going into hospitality.
"The building, yes—and I have a controlling interest in the restaurant, though I don't run things directly."
"The building ?" I echo. "All of it?"
That's insane. We're in Manhattan, and this place must easily be six hundred feet tall. I think I saw that there were sixty-two floors when I was in the elevator. Just one person can’t own it. I know Dimitri is rich, but that's ridiculous. He must be generalizing, saying he owns most of building, or that one of his companies owns a part of it.
"I like to control my space," he replies. "Besides, it was a smart investment. It was run-down when I purchased it, and now it's worth about ten times what I bought it for."
I shake my head. "We're not even the same species, are we?"
A dry chuckle. "Wolves and flowers, little girl. You won't see anyone, but the building's security is quite efficient; if you need help, just shout. I'd rather you not walk the mutts until I return, but should you need to leave, feel free to do so. The doorman will let you in and the receptionist will unlock this floor for you when you walk into the elevator. Make yourself at home."
The concept of making myself at home in his place is as ridiculous as one man owning a veritable skyscraper in one of the most expensive cities in the world.
"So, I can snoop? Try to find the cookies?" I tease, knowing full well that the answer is a resounding no, no way, no how, don't you dare even think about it.
Dimitri Volkov likely has a hundred things I shouldn't see. Piles of cash. Diamonds. Weapons. Illegal stuff, probably.
A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. "Feel free."
What ?
I'm pretty sure my jaw must be at floor level.
"What, petal, you thought I was going to hide from you?"
I swallow. "You must have things you don't want just anyone to see."
"But you're not just anyone, are you Willow?" The smile might still be firmly in place, but those green eyes don't have much humor. "Cookies are right above the coffeemaker. And if you want it to make the best hot chocolate you can drink outside of Spain, the secret lock is 3772. Just type that on the screen with a mug underneath. I shouldn't be long."
I'd like to say I don't stare too hard when he turns to leave, but I'm still in shock at first, and then, well, who exactly would blame me for looking at that ridiculously plump, muscular ass in pants hugging it so lovingly?
I want to hug it.
Fuck, I'm seriously in trouble. He must know what he’s doing to me, doesn't he?
I bite my lower lip. I'm imagining things that aren't here again, making hoops in my mind to jump to the conclusions I want to get to. That's all it is. The last time I did this, he ended up engaged on the night when I thought he'd take my virginity. I can't go down that route again.
He meant, I'm Morgan's little sister, practically in Cam's family. Of course he trusts me. That's what he meant. That's also why he told me how to make hot chocolate, the most immature drink anyone can obtain from a fancy coffee machine, in a house where's there probably a million different types of alcohol. He would likely have told his wife where the wine is. If she didn't already know.
Except it's one o'clock on a cold Saturday afternoon in January. Too late for coffee, too early for wine. A hot chocolate sounds heavenly.
Stop, stop, stop . He was being friendly, that's all.
The pup on my lap gets up on its little hind legs, paws reaching my breasts, and starts to lick my chin, as if sensing I needed the distraction.
I lower my gaze to it. Her. She’s a bit fluffier than some of the others. A couple of the adults have long hair, and I'm guessing this one will too. The gray fluff looks like down more than fur. She's like a little wolf.
"You are just too adorable for words," I tell her.
Her tail wiggles happily, and I grin. "Want some yummy paste?"
The wee ones never had food, just milk, so like the vet showed me, I left the puppy food to soften in some warm water, adding the nutritional paste they'll need to supplement their diets for a while. Wolfie, like all the puppies, is more than happy to devour her little portion, and directs that irresistible puppy-dog look to me once she's licked it all, begging for extra.
"In a little while," I promise.
To avoid making them sick, for now I'm supposed to feed them small quantities often.
She scoots down on my Ugg boots, settling for a nap, and I can’t help letting her. But after a while, I have to put her back in the pen. The others also need social time.
I've only just finished with the last puppy, and started with the first adult, who didn't even growl when I picked him up, when the door opens up again.
I hear his voice and his footsteps before I see him, so it gives me a moment to brace myself.
He's talking in a language I don't understand, low and guttural. It sounds like a poem, a promise, a kiss.
Dimitri walks in, one hand holding a phone up to his ear, and shrugging off his gray suit jacket with the other.
Unprompted, I stand and approach him to help him remove the suit.
Bad idea. Bad Willow!
I didn't expect how wide those shoulders would feel underneath my hands. Taut muscles. And that ocean smell with apple and spice. It's all I can do not to bury my head in the jacket. Or better yet, the shirt—and the shoulder blades underneath.
How am I going to survive an entire weekend?
"I have to go," Dimitri finishes in English, before turning to me and stuffing his phone in his back pocket. "Ready?" he asks me.
I swallow the thickness gathered in my throat. What for? I have a feeling, whatever the question, the answer is absolutely no.
"We have to walk the pups, yes?"
Oh, right. Of course.