Chapter 8
Dimitri was going to explode.
This woman was his punishment. Giselle Carrington was the universe’s way of making him pay for every brutal act, every ruthless decision, every time he had destroyed an enemy without a second thought.
His entire body throbbed with need, his blood boiling in his veins, and she had absolutely no idea of the impact she had on him. He tried to focus on anything except the way her lips parted when she’d leaned into him earlier, how for a split second, she had looked like she wanted to kiss him.
Had he imagined it? Was it just his own painful hunger twisting reality? It had to be. There was no way someone like Giselle—a woman who was soft, lovely, and completely untouched by the darkness that clung to him like a faithful shadow—could want a man like him.
His fingers curled tightly around the menu, willing himself to calm down, and then—
"What was that?" he asked, blinking as he realized she had spoken.
She lifted her chin slightly, her expression an adorable mix of irritation and stubbornness. "I said," she repeated through gritted teeth, "I’m not a dog."
For a second, he didn’t understand. Slowly, he replayed his last words, then let out a deep chuckle. Here he was, struggling not to haul her across the table and kiss her senseless, while she was furious because he had told her to sit. Damn, she was something else.
Suppressing his amusement, he tilted his head in what he hoped was a polite concession. "I apologize," he said, still amused. "It was rude of me to be so abrupt."
The waiter appeared beside them, looking between them cautiously, probably wondering why the tension at the table felt closer to a battle than a dinner.
"Would you prefer wine or a cocktail?" Dimitri asked, shifting the conversation.
Her irritation faded, but something else flickered across her face. For a brief moment, she looked… confused. As if she wasn’t used to someone apologizing to her.
"Nothing for me," she replied politely, glancing down and nervously readjusting the linen napkin on her lap. When she looked up at the waiter, she gave him a polite smile. "Water with no ice, please."
Dimitri watched her closely. She wasn’t being difficult, but there was something about the way she said it, the way her fingers lightly traced the pattern on the edge of the table, like she was steadying herself.
"Do you mind if I drink?" he asked carefully.
Those silver-blue eyes of hers flashed up to him, then quickly away. "Of course not," she replied quickly. Too quickly. He noticed the sudden tension tighten her shoulders and the way she fiddled nervously with the precisely aligned silverware.
And her lips, which had been soft and slightly parted only moments ago, pressed together, thinning in quiet disapproval. That reaction told him everything.
It wasn’t obvious, and maybe she didn’t even realize she’d done it, but he had spent years studying people. Reading the smallest shifts in expression, the tiniest tells that gave away fear, anger, or unease.
She wasn’t just indifferent to drinking. She didn’t like it. Dimitri didn’t know why, but the way she reacted told him it wasn’t a preference—it was something deeper. He barely hesitated.
"I’ll have water as well," he told the waiter.
Giselle’s lips parted slightly, her shock evident. She hadn’t expected that. But he wasn’t done. He didn’t give her a chance to object.
"She’ll have the steak, and I’ll have the salmon," he added.
The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of them alone again. Giselle still looked surprised, as if she wasn’t sure what had just happened. Dimitri leaned back in his chair, studying her with renewed curiosity.
She had a past. That much was clear.
And now, he wanted to know everything about it.
“Wait,” Giselle gasped, eyes widening, but Dimitri lifted a hand, a silent command for the waiter to continue on his way.
The man disappeared without hesitation, leaving Giselle flustered and scrambling to protest. “Sir, the steak—it’s too expensive!
I’ll just have the chicken. Or a side salad.
” She glanced at the quickly retreating waiter. “That’s not too much.”
A hint of a smile flickered across Dimitri’s face. “You want the steak,” he stated, his voice firm. “I saw you licking your lips as you read the description.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and she straightened, clearly affronted. “I was not licking my lips!” she came back with a scowl.
He arched a brow. “You were.”
Giselle huffed slightly, and again looked around for the waiter. When she didn’t find him, she leaned forward. “But it’s too expensive,” she whispered, glancing around like someone might overhear her scandalous concern. “I can’t afford it.”
Dimitri’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
He felt a sharp stab of irritation—not at her, but at the fact that she had even considered needing to pay in the first place.
Had no one ever taken her out to dinner and paid for her meal?
Was she so used to counting every penny that the idea of ordering what she actually wanted was unthinkable?
“You will never pay when you are out with me, Giselle. Never,” he told her firmly, his voice low and final.
Her lips parted, like she had a counterargument ready, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen.
“Tell me about your family,” he continued, unwilling to waste another second debating the cost of their dinner.
Her mouth snapped shut, her brow furrowing as if she wasn’t sure how they had suddenly jumped topics. She glanced helplessly toward where the waiter had disappeared, then back at Dimitri, her hesitation clear.
“My family?” she echoed weakly.
“Yes. Are your parents still alive?”
He already knew they were. He had read enough of the dossier Tom had put together on her this afternoon to have the basics.
Her mother was a stay-at-home wife who never stayed home, preferring to spend her time shopping for things she didn’t need.
Her father worked in one of Dimitri’s factories.
And her brother? Twenty-three, unemployed, and still living at home after getting kicked out of college for failing every single class.
But those were just facts. He wanted her version.
For a brief moment, something flickered across her face. Sadness. Then, almost as quickly, it was gone, replaced with a tight, forced smile and eyes that burned with frustration.
“Yes. My parents are alive. As is my brother.” The way she said it, clipped and formal, made it clear she didn’t want to elaborate, but then something snapped, and the irritation in her eyes turned into something fiercer.
“My brother, Craig, is a sweet kid who just needs time to pull himself together.” Dimitri noted the way her fingers clenched around her napkin, twisting the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her from pounding her fist against the table.
Her lips pressed together before she added, “He’ll figure things out. He just… needs some space.”
Her words were defensive, but the tension in her voice told him she didn’t fully believe them.
“He still lives at home?” Dimitri asked.
Giselle exhaled sharply, her fingers tapping against the table. “Yes.”
“And he isn’t working?”
Her fingers stilled. A muscle ticked in her jaw. “Not currently.”
There was something there. A hesitance. A frustration bubbling within her, just beneath the surface.
Dimitri had seen this kind of reaction before. It wasn’t just sibling loyalty. It was the exhaustion of someone who had been repeatedly forced to make excuses for someone else’s failures.
She might try to cover it up, but her irritation was unmistakable.
“What about you?” she asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation somewhere safer. Dimitri let it go. For now.
But the more she spoke, the more he understood something important. Giselle wasn’t just someone who worked hard and lived frugally. She had no other choice. Because she was supporting people who should have been standing on their own feet. And that—more than anything—intrigued him.
“Both of my parents are gone,” he admitted. “And no siblings.” He sipped his water. “Why did you choose accounting as your career?”
Dimitri noticed the way she toyed with her napkin, the slight tension in her shoulders as she spoke, as if she were letting him glimpse something she didn’t share easily.
“Numbers make sense. They don’t change. They don’t lie, cheat, or steal.
They don’t manipulate anything. They simply tell a story.
Numbers are…” She hesitated, tilting her head, as if searching for the right words, before nodding and continuing, “reliable.” She nodded her head for emphasis.
“Yes, that’s exactly why I like numbers. I can count on numbers.”
That was a revealing answer. Dimitri studied her, noting the way her gaze dipped slightly, her hands pressing against the linen as though grounding herself.
Who had let her down? Clearly, her brother.
But there was more there. Her parents? A friend?
A lover? He had the means to find out, but something about the way she spoke made him want to hear it from her, to learn her secrets firsthand rather than reading them from a file.
“And you?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
“And me, what?” he responded.
“What got you into the import-export business?”
She leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest, her entire expression open and eager. Her enthusiasm disarmed him. No hesitation, no wariness, just pure curiosity. He almost chuckled. If only he could tell her the whole truth.
“When I was younger, I traveled back to my father’s village in Italy and found several bolts of silk that were exceptionally beautiful, unlike anything I’d seen in the United States.
” He shrugged, sipping his water. “I bought all of it, shipped it home, and it sold at three times the price I paid for it. When I returned to that vendor, he had twice as much material ready for me. That’s how it started.
After that, I hired someone to find unique or interesting items. Eventually, I realized I didn’t want to deal with other retailers’ terms or share the profits with them.
So, I started opening my own retail sites to sell my imported goods. ”
Giselle’s smile was almost blinding, her eyes sparkling with something that made his chest tighten. Admiration. Excitement. Maybe even a hint of longing.
“That sounds so… amazing,” she breathed, her voice filled with something wistful, as if she could picture it vividly in her mind. “What’s Italy like?” She leaned in again, resting her chin in her hand as though she couldn’t get close enough. “Is it really as beautiful as the pictures make it seem?”
“It’s even better,” he replied simply, watching as a dreamy look crossed her face. “Would you like to see it?”
“Oh yes!” Her laugh was light, filled with genuine joy as she leaned back. “I doubt I’ll ever have the money though.” The excitement in her voice faded slightly, replaced with something softer, something almost resigned.
He didn’t like that.
“Let’s go this weekend,” he offered easily, watching her closely for her reaction. “I’ll take you to my villa and show you around the countryside. We can spend Saturday in Rome so you can see the sights, then on Sunday, I’ll show you the countryside.”
Giselle laughed again, twirling her glass between her fingers as she shook her head. “Oh, that’s a lovely dream.”
“It doesn’t have to stay a dream, Giselle.”
She looked up at him then, her expression shifting to something unreadable, something almost guarded. She shook her head. “I know you’re kidding, but even if you’re not, I have a job to do. I’ll be working all weekend to get through the numbers and find the person who is stealing from you.”
Their meals arrived, distracting them, but he wasn’t finished with this conversation.
She didn’t seem to realize her allure. She was beautiful and intelligent, but she was also dismissive of his interest, as if she truly believed a trip like that was out of reach for someone like her.
That would have to change. Maybe not this weekend, but soon. Very soon.