The Player (The Game Maker #3)(74)

“Here we go.” Dmitri guided me as I walked blindfolded through the house toward another of his surprises.

I couldn’t see anything through the scarf he’d used, but I thought we were in the vicinity of his study.

Today was our one-month wedding anniversary. Sometimes I felt as if we’d been together forever.

Other times, a day.

This morning we’d driven up Highway 1 in his black Ferrari convertible. The sun had been shining, the road clear, and he’d been sliding me sexy grins. We’d shopped in an adorable seaside town—and he’d tried to buy me everything. Though uncomfortable in crowds, he had made an effort to prolong our outing and entertain me. Or perhaps he’d been stalling in order to get this mysterious surprise in place.

At my ear, he said, “We’re almost there.”

For his gift, I’d gotten him tickets to an eighties movie fest in L.A. and cufflinks made of tiger-eye for luck and protection.

I had a feeling I was about to be upstaged.

I’d thought about finally giving him a ring. All day, he’d proudly referred to me as his wife. More than one person had glanced at his bare ring finger. And he’d noticed.

After he’d shared his past, I’d ordered a gorgeous gold band, shipping it here. Dmitri hadn’t seen the package among all the others that kept arriving. I’d hidden the band with my many jewels.

Though I was falling for him, my anxiety kept me from giving him that ring, a pledge for forever.

Among our other difficulties, my husband and I remained in a stalemate over my family—and his own.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I could hear his smile. “Yes! Though you don’t have to keep buying me things.”

“I told you that I would give you the entire world.” And that he would free me.

Over this month, Dmitri had freed me sexually. He needed to take control, and I’d found so much freedom in surrender. . . .

He sighed, adding, “And someone must spend our money, since you refuse to.”

I stutter-stepped, but he caught me. “You really just said that?” During my shopping sessions on the couch, I’d relaxed and dreamed and felt the power of his fortune.

I’d gifted a huge stipend to a veterans’ association in my grandmother’s name. My grandfather, the great love of her life, had been a pilot whose plane had gone down while she’d been pregnant with Mom.

I’d set up design scholarships, because I’d wished for one myself.

I’d donated liberally to children’s shelters, with Benji—and Dmitri—in my thoughts. . . .

“We’re here.” He began untying the scarf. “First, I will say something I never thought I’d be able to: Happy one-month anniversary, moya zhena.” He removed my blindfold.

I blinked in disbelief.

I was looking at a large design studio—filled with dress forms, garment racks, and three brand-new sewing machines. Organizational systems for spools, tapes, and scissors lined one wall. Bolts of luxe cloth were arrayed along another. The fourth wall was blank; I could hang drawings there!

I murmured, “Until this moment . . . I don’t think I’d ever understood the word glee.” I crossed to a cutting table, sweeping my fingertips across the surface. Then I marveled at the sewing machines, the most advanced I’d ever seen. I checked out the assortment of cloth, a rainbow of hues and patterns.

I wanted to explore everything, but, as ever, Dmitri drew my gaze. I skipped over to him. “You are the best husband ever!” Oh, I could tell he liked that. “This is the nicest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.” I went up on my toes to kiss him. “How did you know what to buy?”

“I contacted the head designer at Chanel for advice.”

I laughed, then realized he might be serious. “That wasn’t a joke?”

“No, love. It wasn’t.”

“How did you get this set up so quickly?”

“Money expedited delivery.” His standard answer. “I’ll show you my favorite part.” He said, “Touch screen.” That blank wall lit up, resembling a thirty-foot-wide computer screen, with icons of various design programs!

With a tight wave of his hand, the image changed, becoming an enormous canvas. “Here.” He pulled a stylus from his pocket and handed it to me. “You can draw ideas and save them. The lines can be all colors and different widths. There’s shading as well.”

I tentatively drew a couple of lines and then, getting bolder, the basic shape of a dress model. “Oh, f*ck me. Now we are cooking with gas.”

“I . . . are we?”

“Just a saying,” I said absently, adding more contrast. I quickly figured out how to change colors, and started to outline an idea that had been tickling at my brain.

When I’d gotten the basics down, I stepped back to view my sketch, only then becoming aware how quiet the room was. I turned to Dmitri.

He was sitting on the couch near the door, elbows on his knees, watching me avidly. And he was hard.

He gave me his charming shrug, the one that said, Can’t help it. “You’re utterly irresistible when you design.”

I set aside the stylus and sashayed over to him.

“I want to watch you whenever you’re in this studio,” he told me, his voice husky. “So I take back what I said earlier. This couch is my favorite part of the room.”