1 Chapter 1

1

Dimitri Petrov blew out a breath. Sweat beaded on his skin. The walls of the swanky lobby crept closer and closer. He wanted to be at home, preferably in his storm cellar, and not see another soul for days.

The click of high heels came closer and closer. He knew it was heels and not gunshots—he was almost certain. For a second, the walls turned into sand dunes.

“Dimitri?”

He jerked as Irina placed a hand on his shoulder. Reflex had him reaching for his gun that wasn’t there. Taking a deep breath, he tried to disguise how his hand had gone for an imaginary gun by straightening his shirt. “Yes?”

“Has my two o’clock called? He’s late.”

He shook his head. “No, no one has called.” He didn’t think. Would he miss a phone ringing? No, he wouldn’t.

Irina frowned. “If he shows, send him to my office.”

He nodded as the sound of her heels grew fainter and fainter. He filled his lungs and tried to relax his muscles.

There was a man hurrying down the sidewalk.

Dimitri’s skin grew tight as he observed him. He could have hidden a weapon under his jacket. It was too thin for the cold February afternoon, and Dimitri had been taught to notice anything unusual. Clothes not sufficient for the weather were unusual. It didn’t look like he was hiding a bomb under it, but he could be. Dimitri had been taken by surprise before. The ones you least expected could pose the biggest threat.

Sliding his hand toward his right side where his gun should be, he jumped when the man opened the glass door and more or less ran into the lobby.

Dimitri shot to his feet, his right leg not acting as it should, and not until he looked down to see if something had caught on his pants, did he remember he didn’t have a foot anymore. The prosthesis started underneath his knee.

“Hi!” The man gave him a dazzling smile, which stunned him. For a second, he could not move, unable to talk.

“Hello. How can I help you?”

The man unzipped his jacket, and Dimitri once again reached for the gun that wasn’t there.

“I need a date for Valentine’s Day.” The man rolled his eyes, revealing a purple shirt with a million tiny flowers as he unzipped his jacket all the way.

“Ah, okay.” Dimitri forced his muscles to unclench and sat on the chair. “Are you the two o’clock with Irina?” Irina, his sister, ran this snobbish matchmaking agency. He was the only man working here, and it was because he was her brother and he wouldn’t leave the house unless he had a job he had to go to. It would’ve been better for business if she’d had a beautiful woman greeting their clients rather than a grumpy, rugged, military vet, and Dimitri would’ve preferred if she did. But life never turned out the way you planned it, and she insisted he was the man for the job. He wasn’t.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

The man shrugged. “No, I think I’d have remembered if I’d made an appointment, but you never know. Stranger things have happened.”

Dimitri got trapped in his sparkling blue eyes—there was so much going on in them. “You…erm…don’t know if you would’ve remembered?” Perhaps he had brain damage? Disability wasn’t always visible at first glance—he should know.

The man leaned against the counter, chuckling softly, which poked at something dormant in Dimitri’s chest. “I said I thinkI would’ve remembered.” His gaze turned warmer, if a gaze could, and when he spoke again it was in a lower, calmer tone. “I need a Valentine’s date. I want a big, strong man. A man who can slam me against the wall and have his way with me.”

Dimitri went cold. “No, you don’t.”

“I do. It’s a fantasy of mine.”

“You don’t. It might be a fantasy, but you’d want him to slam you gentlyagainst the wall, then take a second to check you’re okay before he proceeds. You don’t want to be helpless and unable to get away.”

The man frowned, the sparkle in his eyes died, and Dimitri regretted his words. Memories of a former life flashed before him, memories from before Afghanistan, from when he’d been an ordinary man.

It had been a few days after He and Cody had broken up. He’d gone to the bar, intending to get shitfaced and to hook up with someone who was the exact opposite of Cody. When a big, burly man had shown an interest, he’d encouraged it, despite aching from the loss of the taste of Cody’s lip gloss, missing his swishy hand-gesturing, and the way he danced around the apartment whenever he was in a good mood.