“Want to celebrate getting engaged?” she asked with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes.
The urge to tease came out of nowhere, but he went with it. “You want a shot of my vodka?”
He liked the man he became in this woman’s presence.
“I was thinking something more mind-blowing and less about imbibing and more about experiencing.” She drew out the last word as she ran her fingertip across his lips, down his face and neck and on downward over his chest, until she stopped with it hovering right over his nipple.
He tugged her closer, his body reacting as it always did to her nearness. “I’m all about the experience.”
“Are you?” she asked.
He sighed and admitted, “Not usually, no. My position consumes my life.”
“Not anymore.”
“No, not anymore.” He hadn’t planned it this way, but marrying Chanel Tanner was going to change everything.
He could feel it with the same sense of inevitability he’d had the first time he’d seen her picture in his uncle’s study. Only now he knew marrying her wasn’t going to be a temporary action to effect a permanent fix for his country.
And he was glad. The sex was mind-blowing, but that didn’t shock him as much as it did her. What he hadn’t anticipated was that her company would be just as satisfying to him, even when it came without the cataclysm of climax.
Right now, though? He planned to have both.
* * *
Chanel adjusted her seat belt, the physical restraint doing nothing to dispel the sense of unreality infusing her being.
Once she’d agreed to marry Demyan, he’d lost no time setting the date, a mere six weeks from the night of their engagement. He’d told her that his aunt wanted to plan the wedding.
Chanel, who was one of the few little girls in her class at school who had not spent her childhood dreaming of the perfect wedding, was eminently happy to have someone else liaise and plan with her mother. Beatrice was determined to turn the rushed wedding into a major social event.
And the less Chanel had to participate in that, the better. If she could have convinced Demyan to elope, she would have, but he had this weird idea that she deserved a real wedding.
Since she’d made it clear how very much she didn’t want to be the center of attention in a big production like the type of wedding her mother would insist on, Chanel had drawn the conclusion the wedding was important to Demyan.
So, she gave in, both shocked and delighted to learn that her mom had agreed to have the wedding take place in Volyarus with no argument.
Beatrice had been vague when Chanel had asked why, something about Demyan’s family being large and it only being right to have the wedding in his homeland. Chanel hadn’t expected that kind of understanding from her mom and had been glad for it.
She’d even expressed genuine gratitude to Beatrice for taking over the planning role with Demyan’s aunt. Chanel had spent the past weeks working extra hours so she could leave her research in a good place to take a four-week honeymoon in Volyarus.
She hadn’t been disappointed at all when Demyan had asked her if she’d be willing to get to know his homeland for their honeymoon.
She loved the idea of spending a month in his company learning all she could about the small island country and its people, not to mention seeing him surrounded by family and the ones who had known him his whole life.
There was still a part of Chanel that felt like Demyan was a stranger to her. Or rather a part of Demyan that she did not know.
Her mother had flown out to Volyarus two weeks before to finalize plans for the wedding with Demyan’s aunt. Perry, Andrew and Laura were on the plane with Chanel and Demyan now.
Perry had made a determined effort not to criticize her, but Chanel couldn’t tell if that was because of her mother’s talk with him or out of deference for Demyan. She’d never seen her stepfather treat someone the way he did Demyan, almost like business royalty, or something.
It made Chanel wonder.
“What is it you do at Yurkovich Tanner?” she asked as the plane’s engines warmed up.
Demyan turned to look at her, that possessive, content expression he’d worn since the morning after she agreed to marry him very much in evidence.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I realized I don’t know.”
“I am the Head of Operations.”
“In Seattle?” she asked, a little startled his job was such a high-level one, but then annoyed with herself for not realizing it had to be.
Only, wasn’t it odd for the corporate big fish to personally check out the recipients of their charitable donations?
“Worldwide,” he said almost dismissively. “My office is in Seattle.”
“I knew that, at least.” Worldwide, as in he was Head of Operations over all of Yurkovich Tanner?
She’d done a little research into the company after they gifted her with a university education. It wasn’t small by any stretch. They held interests on almost every continent of the world and the CEO was the heir apparent to the Volyarussian throne.
That Demyan was Head of Operations meant he swam with some really exalted fish in his tank.
“You are looking at me oddly,” Demyan accused.
“I didn’t realize.”
He brushed back a bouncy curl that had fallen into her eye, his own expression intent. “Does my job title matter so much?”
“I know your favorite writer, the way you like your steak and how many children your ideal family would have, but I don’t know anything about your job.”
“On the contrary, you know a great deal. You have sat beside me while I took conference calls with our operations in Africa and Asia.”
“I tuned you out.” Corporate speak wasn’t nearly as interesting as science...or her erotic readings.
Now that she had practical experience, they were even more fascinating.
He smiled with a warm sincerity she loved, the expression almost common now. At least when directed at her. “You did not miss anything that would interest you.”
“I figured.” She sighed. “I just feel like I should understand this side of your life better. You work really long hours.”
So did she, but it occurred to her that maybe his long hours weren’t going to go away like hers now that she’d caught up on work for her extended honeymoon.
“It is a demanding job.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Very much.”
“Will you continue working twelve- to sixteen-hour days after we get back from Volyarus?”
“I will do my best to cut my hours back, but twelve-hour days are not uncommon.”
“I see. Okay, then.”
“Okay, what? You have that look you get.”
“What look?”
“The stubborn one.” His brows drew together. “The same one you got when you insisted on buying your wedding dress without your mother’s or my aunt’s input.”
Demyan’s aunt, Oxana, had offered a Givenchy gown. Chanel had turned her down. Demyan hadn’t been happy, wanting to save Chanel the stress and expense of searching for the perfect dress. He knew clothes were not usually her thing, but Chanel refused to compromise on this issue.