Capturing Victory (Driven Hearts Book 3)

by Nikita Slater

  His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a date. If it were, you would finish the evening in my bed.”

  “You keep threatening me, yet still we continue this sick poolside parade,” she snapped, her heart pounding furiously. Though he hadn’t moved and everything about him portrayed cool disinterest she could feel searing, angry heat pouring across the table and washing over her. He wanted to attack her, tear into her. Perhaps beat her, perhaps fuck her. Or maybe both. The more she was getting to know this man the more she was learning about his contradictory nature. She suspected few got close enough to find this out about him.

  “Start talking or we will end this date the way I’ve wanted to for a while,” he said, his tone as steely as the grey in his eyes.

  Jaya shivered and reached shaking fingers for the board, moving another piece while she thought about what to tell him. Ivan wanted her badly and he wasn’t making a secret of his intentions. She knew that he wasn’t holding back out of any desire to make her more comfortable with her situation. A man who could ruthlessly kidnap and keep a woman, then subject her to the things Ivan had done and threatened Jaya with wouldn’t care about her comfort. No, Ivan didn’t like the idea of anyone having any kind of control over him. So he was spending time with her, trying to figure out what it was about Jaya that drew him to her. What scared Jaya was the thought of what Ivan might to do to her if he decided she had too much control over him. Because there was something about her that drew him and she didn’t want to be around when he decided what it was and what he wanted to do about it.

  She took a deep breath and began speaking while he debated his next move. “My brother was the youngest at nine years old, then I was the next at twelve, my two sisters were fifteen and sixteen. I always wanted to be treated like my sisters but was often too young to go out with them so got left behind with my grandma. My brother was the baby and indulged, which was pretty common. He was a sweetheart though and loved to share. He used to come into my room to play with my toys because he liked mine better. It used to annoy me, but now I wish I could go back and share better with him. My dad was strict, but not authoritarian by any means…”

  Ivan snorted, “So he isn’t where you got your severe dislike of organizations.”

  She glared at Ivan and continued speaking. “My mother was awesome. She could yell like nobody’s business when she was mad about something; usually one of my sister’s coming home late or someone messing up one of her rugs. But mom also cooked better than anyone I knew and loved having people over to eat. She shouldn’t have died the way she did. None of them should’ve. They were just… just applying for passports. We were going to travel…”

  She couldn’t stop the tears now as they spilled from her eyes. Her hands fell into her lap and she glared at the chess board, no longer interested in playing. She didn’t want to jump through Ivan’s hoops anymore.

  “Your tears only make me hornier, sweetheart,” he said, smiling coldly. “Keep crying. In fact, why don’t you pull your chair closer.” He reached out and slid the chess board closer to his side of the table. “Come here.”

  She swiped angrily at the tears dripping down her face and bared her teeth at him. “You’re a sick fuck!” she snarled. “You know that, don’t you, Ivan?”

  The only evidence that her outburst hit the mark was in the slight tightening of his muscles. His smile never slipped though the grey in his eyes became even more glacial if that was possible. “Just for that,” he said coolly, “you can get on your hands and knees and crawl to me. Then you can finish this game sitting on my knee. Apparently, you need to learn your place.”

  “And where is that?” she asked, her ire growing with each exchange they had.

  “For now?” he said, eyeing her with little more than casual interest. As though she held his attention for the moment but could be easily discarded once she no longer amused him. “A slave.”

  Jaya knew she should be outraged, and part of her definitely was. But her opinion of Ivan had sunk so low that she expected little else from him. She stood and stepped away from the table, her fists clenched tightly against the soft folds of her sari. He waved his hand, gesturing for her to move away from the table. As she did he pushed his own chair back a few feet and spread his legs, resting his arms in a relaxed position. She knew better though, Ivan never relaxed.

  He lifted one arm and pointed two fingers toward her stomach, “Remove the wrap,” he said, waving his hand imperiously.

  Breathing heavily through her nose and using jerky motions, Jaya took the wrap section of her sari off. She allowed it to drop to the stone tiles. She lifted her chin and stared at him, trying to convey every ounce of contempt she felt for him in one scorching look. If the heated look he gave her in return was any indication, she both succeeded and failed at getting her message across.

  He nodded toward the ground. “Now the shoes.”

  She kicked the shoes off, knocking them viciously to the side.

  “On your knees.”

  The words were emphasized with pleasure dripping from each one. Reminding herself that this was all a game to him, a power play to get under her skin and rattle her, she lifted her chin and dropped to her knees, wincing a little as she hit the stone. She leaned forward onto her hands and arched her back, her hair falling in a wave on either side of her face.

  “Now crawl, Jaya,” he said huskily. “Show me what a good little slave you are.”

  She glanced up at him. His voice sounded different, as though he were struggling to control it, keep it as cool as always. She was affecting him. Gritting her teeth, Jaya started crawling toward him, ignoring the tug of her skirt as it caught against the rough stone with each movement she made. What did she care if the delicate fabric tore? He could just get her a new one from his seemingly endless supply of Indian women’s clothing.

  He shifted his chair even further from the table, closer to her and patted his knee. Jaya stopped crawling and dug her fingers into the stone tiles. She pulled her lips back in a growl and thought about launching herself at him, maybe punching him where he was vulnerable. She swayed forward, closing the space between them until she was kneeling at his feet, glaring up at him. He leaned over and braced his elbows on his knees until his face hovered over hers. She tried to cringe away from him, crawl backwards but he grabbed the hair at the back of her head, tangling his fingers in the thick mass.

  Using her hair to guide her, he forced her up higher and urged her further between his legs until their lips were only inches apart. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest and her skin crawled as if it was on fire. Though she didn’t want to touch any part of him she also really didn’t want to get any closer, so she grabbed his thighs and braced her arms. He yanked on her hair until her head twisted. He leaned down, his lips grazing the edge of her jaw. He didn’t kiss her exactly, but he ran his mouth over her, touching the skin of her chin, the curve of her cheek and finally the shell of her ear. A tiny sigh slid from her lips before she could stop it. She wanted to hate his touch. But, while his caress invoked terror, the slightly rough rasp of his chin sliding across her also felt good.

  “Such a sweet little slave,” he murmured in her ear.

  Jaya jerked against his hold and then cried out sharply when pain streaked through her scalp. She twisted sideways and swung her fist toward his face. Ivan caught her hand easily, grabbed her around the middle and yanked her into his lap. She had less than a second to struggle when she found herself swung forward. She screamed as the table rushed at her head, the image of the dead servant flashing through her brain, but Ivan swiftly turned her to the side so she was simply restrained with her back to his chest and her arms locked behind her back. Her hair was tangled in his fist so her head was forced back against his chest. She was held completely immobile, but unhurt.

  Frightened, breathing heavily, Jaya kept her mouth shut, knowing if she angered him further she could very well be risking her life. Though she was panting, her breaths bursting from her mout
h in wild gasps, Ivan wasn’t even remotely winded. He simply leaned against her, mastering her until she calmed down, as though he were breaking a wild animal. After a few moments she gradually began to relax in his hold, her breathing evening out. The heat from his chest seeped into her back, warming her… and somehow reassuring her that he wasn’t going to brutally murder her. At least not yet.

  He shifted her against his chest, his grip on her arms loosening ever so slightly. Then he moved a swath of hair from her face and neck, smoothing it back. She tensed but didn’t fight him as he petted her hair. Finally, he leaned down and said in her ear, “Are you ready to finish our game?”

  She nodded quickly. “Yes, Ivan.”

  He ran his thumb behind her ear, pressing it gently into the hollow just underneath. Shivers coursed right down her neck and through her spine. She lifted her shoulder in reflex to shrug him away, but he simply cupped her arm and ran his thumb across the bare skin of her shoulder blade.

  “So tempting to make you call me master, to see you force that word past those stubborn lips,” he said, his voice back to its cool cadence. “But I do so enjoy hearing my name come from those pretty lips. I wonder what it will sound like when you scream it?”

  And Jaya wondered if she would be screaming his name in a bed or a torture chamber, because with Ivan she suspected it could go either way. “Please, Ivan, I’ll be good,” she begged. “Can you let me up?”

  Her shoulders were beginning to cramp and she despised the intimacy he was creating between them. The faster they finished this farce of a chess game the faster she could go back to her dungeon and try to plan an escape.

  “You will sit quietly on my lap and play the game?” he asked. “No more outbursts.”

  “I’ll be good,” she said, trying to sound as if she meant it.

  He eased her off the table, untangling his hand from her hair and gentling his grip. Jaya shook her head a little, amazed that she was unhurt. His hold had been tight, but he hadn’t ripped any of her hair or even bruised her arms. In fact, he’d been incredibly careful, skillfully taking her down without so much as disturbing their chess game, despite her struggles. Though the thought had occurred to her before, it became starkly apparent now, that this man could do absolutely anything to her, quickly, ruthlessly and she would be helpless to defend herself.

  “Sit, Jaya,” he said, resuming his own seat and pulling the chair back to the table.

  Gripping the edge of the table she lowered herself gingerly onto his lap. He took her hips in his large hands and moved her until she was settled with her back against his shoulder. Then he pulled the table closer so they could both reach the chess pieces. Jaya expected to feel uncomfortable, and part of her hated the way he held her trapped between him and the table, her legs between his. But she wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. His thigh was hard and muscular, but not rigid against her ass.

  “Your move,” he whispered, his breath touching her shoulder, making her hyper-aware of their proximity.

  She glanced at the board, uncaring of the outcome of the game so long as it ended soon. She reached for a pawn, but his voice stopped her. “If you throw the game, then we’ll play another and another until I’m satisfied I conquered you in a fair game. I want to see you fight for your life, Jaya.”

  She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes for a second and moved her hand from the pawn to her queen, changing her original move. Ivan was always several steps ahead of her, picking through her thoughts, blocking her strategies. When she set the queen down, trapping his rook in a corner, he splayed his hand across her belly, running his thumb over the bare skin.

  “Good girl,” he murmured. “The win will be so much more satisfying for the fight.”

  Sick fuck, she thought to herself, trying to keep the words from bursting forth. She shifted in his lap, trying to find a better position. His body stiffened for a second, his hand tightening on her stomach. A vibration seemed to go right through him, like a small jolt. The tension released slowly and he reached for the board without studying his move the way he’d done when she was sitting across from him. Her mouth nearly fell open when he moved his rook out of the path of her queen… and into the path of her castle. She raised an eyebrow and held her breath, wondering if he would notice his mistake. He pulled his hand back from the board and settled it on his thigh, right next to her knee.

  Keeping her face averted, Jaya smirked. Perhaps she should be courting his attentions, apparently the distraction made him careless. She swept his rook aside with a flourish. He said nothing but continued to play as though he hadn’t lost an important piece. Jaya continued to shift in his lap, occasionally brushing her arm against his or tossing her hair back against his shoulder. She could tell by the gradual stiffening of his body that she was affecting him.

  Within minutes she had the upper hand. Several of his pieces, including both of his castles and a knight were in her possession. In fact, she was a little disappointed. Ivan had shown better strategizing than this in every aspect of his life. How was it possible that she could dominate him on the chess board? Finally, she was setting his queen up for a fall, when he murmured, “Watch your back, sweetheart.”

  Taking him literally, Jaya looked at him over her shoulder, frowning. He reached over her and took her white queen out with his pawn. Her mouth fell open. She’d been so busy trying to maneuver him into a corner she stopped paying attention to one of his least important pieces. She should’ve known better. Once her queen was gone, he systematically took out each one of her pieces before she could recover from the loss, then he pushed her king into a corner. It was a hard-fought game, but she suspected the conclusion had always been foregone. Ivan didn’t lose and he didn’t get distracted, not even by his captive.

  “I am not so much of an amateur as to be taken in by a beautiful face and curvy body,” Ivan said coldly, taking her king, though the move was unnecessary as the game was already over. He’d done it to prove a point, to show her she was truly beaten. His arm tightened ruthlessly around her stomach and he pulled her back against his chest, speaking rapidly in her ear, his accent more pronounced than ever. “Every move I make is a calculated step to force your hand, to force you to show me what you’re made of, Jaya. I’m learning everything I can about you, and you are making it so easy with your childish plays.”

  “Ivan,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. “I can’t breathe!” She gripped his arm in both hands and pulled, trying to get him to stop squeezing. Despite the cold delivery to his message, he was rattled. Something about her shook him up.

  He released her, moving his arms so abruptly that she nearly fell off his lap. She reached for the table, gripping it and sucking in deep breaths of air. She turned her head to look at him, her dark hair spilling across her back and arm, the sun beating down on top of them. Tears of anger sparkled in her eyes. “You may be a manipulative asshole who’s learning everything you can about me using disgusting, degrading methods,” she snarled. “But I’m learning about you too, Ivan.”

  “You think so, little girl,” he said, his voice cutting like ice. She knew he was close to the edge, knew she shouldn’t be pushing him.

  “Oh yes,” she said, her desire to strike back making her reckless. “Your accent tells me you’re probably of Balkan descent, not from Switzerland, where you like people to think you were born.” His face grew stony and if she had an ounce of self-preservation she probably should have quit speaking right then. “Given your age and shitty attitude, I would say late 70’s, Bosnia. I’m guessing, given the style of the times, you were likely somehow involved in uprisings, rebellions, mass killings, all that good stuff. But what side were you on, Ivan? Did you fight for independence, for your country’s right to be free or did you help hand it over on a platter? Is that what turned you into this cold, unfeeling monster?”

  She would have said more, but Ivan exploded out from underneath her, shoving her against the table. She turned and brought her arms up to defend herself,
positive he was about to murder her, but Ivan was striding rapidly away, leaving her and the scattered chess pieces for his man to deal with. Staring after his departing back she realized that Ivan just gave away more than he ever had before. Without words, he confirmed her guess.

  Chapter Seven

  It wasn’t working.

  He was spending time with the woman and he still couldn’t figure out what it was about her that he wanted. Couldn’t figure out why he cared. She wasn’t an enigma, wasn’t special. She was easy to read. Like a clock, he knew exactly what made her tick. He could predict down to the last detail what motivated her, what enraged her, what saddened her and what made her happy. She should be boring. Another useless, pointless, slightly skilled sheep.

  But she didn’t bore him. She fascinated him. And though he could predict her every move ten steps before she made it, he still wanted to watch her take those steps. Because they were the most beautiful, sexy steps he’d ever seen a woman take and he was somehow utterly and completely obsessed. Obsessed with her mind, obsessed with her body. Obsessed with everything about her.

  And because Ivan was an arrogant bastard that spent over a week mentally dissecting and tormenting the woman, he’d created an enemy. She feared and despised him, wanted no part of him. Now he needed to figure out how to manipulate her into caring about him. She was vulnerable, should crave companionship and acceptance after all these years of fending for herself. Perhaps the way to her heart was through a softer approach.

  Ivan looked toward his security man. “Keane,” he barked. The other man looked up from the security report he’d been going over, outlining ways to strengthen the island’s defenses without drawing attention to their hardware. “You know much about women?”

  Keane’s expression went quickly from bland to alarmed. Clearly the last thing he wanted was to give his notoriously ruthless boss woman advice. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat. “Uh, not really,” he said hesitantly.