He’s about to screw her. How long has this been going on? He and I had sex there hours ago. We talked about getting a puppy after our honeymoon. I just washed those sheets. I spent the entire day cleaning for our football party. He knows I don’t even like football. But I’m supportive. I was supportive. He’s about to do it.

Between kisses, he’d said to the woman, “I don’t even know your last name.”

The words had jolted me out of my stupor. He’d thrown me away for a quickie? A one-nighter with a stranger? I’d snapped, “Guess I should’ve bought motherfucking name tags for our party.”

As I’d stormed out, I’d spotted her Jubilee! showgirls T-shirt on my freshly vacuumed floor. . . .

What if I hadn’t caught him? What if I’d lived my life not knowing what pushed my buttons?

Black-haired, golden-eyed Russians with dominant streaks and wicked games.

I’d been devastated by Brett’s actions, yet never been able to empathize. I’d never been able to imagine a desire so strong I’d risk everything to ease it.

After Dmitri, I had a clearer picture. In a haunted tone, I said, “I could see how much you wanted her; you were about to explode from it.” Queasiness overwhelmed me. “There’s no way you would’ve pulled away from that girl.”

“I was about to, Tori!”

I cringed. Nails on a chalkboard.

How could I ever trust another man not to fall prey to his desires? I’d recognized I would need a grand gesture, some kind of overwhelming proof that I was the only one a partner would ever want.

Looking at my ex-fiancé now, I realized no action would ever be enough to convince me. “You’re here to reconcile, and yet you’re lying right now.”

He opened his mouth to tell me another one, so I raised my hand to stop him.

“I’m done.” Over his shoulder, I saw a long, cool limo roll up. Shit.

Dmitri was out the door before the car fully stopped, six and a half feet of furious Russian, crossing to stand beside me. “Victoria?”

I swallowed. “Dmitri, this is Brett Wilson. Brett, Dmitri Sevastyan.”

Former linebacker Brett had to gaze up to him. “He is your date?”

Even with his murderous expression, Dmitri looked every inch the billionaire. “I’m more than a mere date. Come, Vika, we will be late for the courthouse. For our wedding.”

I did a double take. Wait, what?

Brett grabbed my arm, his face panicked. “Wedding?”

Dmitri’s demeanor turned even more chilling. “Release. Her. Now.”

“Or what?” My ex had at least twenty pounds of bulk on Dmitri. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Brett, he’s got bodyguards.” Starsky and Hutch stood beside the limo on high alert.

Dmitri’s voice made the hairs on my nape stand up as he said, “No one touches what’s mine.”

“What’s yours, pal?” Brett bowed up, readying for a fight.

“I’m giving you one last chance to let her go. As you already did before.”

“Fuck off, man, or I will lay you out. This is between Tori and me—”

In one lightning fast movement, Dmitri yanked Brett’s hand from me and launched a punch to his stomach.

Brett’s breath left him in a rush.

“No! Stop this!” Before I could get between them, Brett recovered, yelling with fury. He swung for Dmitri’s face.

Neatly dodging him, Dmitri stepped back. With his lips curving into a sneer, he raised one hand and motioned for Brett to try again.

Brett yelled and swung, but Dmitri drew his head back with plenty of time—and with utter confidence.

The Russian knew how to fight. “I’ll thrash you simply for not appreciating what you had.” The menace in his eyes . . .

When a man like Brett fought, he might give somebody a shiner, maybe knock some teeth loose. When a man like Dmitri fought, someone was going to die.

The bodyguards made no move to intervene, not that they needed to protect their boss.

“I’m leaving with you now, Dmitri!” I said. “Please, don’t hurt him. Let’s just go.”

Never taking his gaze from his opponent, Dmitri slowly shook his head.

Brett threw another punch. Dmitri dodged and launched a hit of his own. His fist connected with Brett’s nose.

A distinct crack sounded. Brett fell to his knees, holding his face. Blood poured through his fingers.

“Jesus!” I dropped beside him, laying a hand on his back. “Are you okay?” I gazed up at Dmitri. “Damn it, don’t hit him again!”

Though Dmitri’s eyes were wild, he pulled me to my feet so gently. “Then come with me.”

To separate them, I let Dmitri usher me into the limo. As we drove away, I looked back through the rear window.

Brett lurched to his feet, blood pouring. “Please don’t do this, Tori!” he yelled. “Ah, God, please don’t!”

I squeezed my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears, wanting to block everything out. When I felt the limo turn a corner, I dropped my hands and turned to Dmitri. “What the hell was that?”

“The thought of you getting back with him drives me insane.” He looked it, as if he was barely holding himself together. “I’m eaten alive with jealousy that he had years of your life.” Dmitri didn’t touch me, kept his clenched fists lowered. “Last night at dinner, you told me you didn’t know if you would go back to him. Today, I find him at your door. You’re still in love with him!”