by Jennie Lucas
Bree’s dark-fringed hazel eyes went wide. “You are?”
“You will be,” he said huskily, “the most beautiful woman there.”
“I—I will?”
Her cheeks blushed in girlish confusion. Her charming innocence, at such odds with the wickedly seductive vixen she’d been when she’d shown up at his office building in lingerie hours before, made Vladimir want to kiss her.
So leaning forward, he did.
Her lips felt hot and velvety-soft. Her mouth parted for him, and he deepened the kiss. With a gasp, Bree started to wrap her arms around him.
Then she winced, pulling away. Rubbing her arm, she looked down at her skin. She’d been pricked by the needle of the salesgirl attempting to pin the waist of Bree’s bodice.
Vladimir saw a small red dot of blood on Bree’s skin, and was blinded by instant, brutal rage. He turned on the hapless girl and spoke harsh words in Russian.
The salesgirl choked back a sob and answered him with a flurry of begging and excuses. He stared at her, implacable as stone.
The salesgirl fell to her knees in front of Bree, holding the hem of the blue silk ball gown as she gazed up with imploring eyes.
Bree looked up at him uneasily. “What’s she saying?”
“She’s begging for mercy,” Vladimir said coldly. “She’s saying she’s the sole support of an aging mother and two-year-old son, and she’s begging you to intervene with me, so I don’t have her fired.”
“You wouldn’t do that!”
“I have just told her I will.”
“What?” Bree gasped, staring at him. “No!”
“She hurt you,” he said tightly.
“It wasn’t her fault!” Bree tugged on the young woman’s arms, forcing her to rise. “I’m the one who moved. And you’re the one who kissed me! She never meant to stick me with her needle!”
“What does her intention matter? The pain for you was the same.”
Bree was staring at him as if he were crazy. “Of course it matters! Why would I punish her for something that she didn’t even mean to do? It was an accident!”
It was an accident. The memory of his brother’s miserable, humbled voice on the phone ten years ago floated unbidden through Vladimir’s mind. Forgive me, Volodya. I’m sorry.
“Don’t have her fired. Don’t!”
Bree’s beautiful face came into focus. “Josie and I have been fired like this before.” Her eyes were pleading as she clutched his arm. “You don’t know what it’s like, to always know that your boss or a single customer can just snap his fingers and take away your livelihood and your pride and your ability to feed your family.” She swallowed, her heart-shaped face stricken. “Please don’t do this.”
Vladimir’s lips parted. He didn’t even realize he’d agreed to her request until he saw Bree’s beautiful face light up with happiness. He dimly heard the grateful sobs of the Russian girl, but as Bree threw her arms around him, he felt only her. Saw only her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She drew back, tears sparkling in her eyes. “And thank you for that huge tip you gave her as an apology. I never expected that.” A smile lifted Bree’s trembling lips. “I’m starting to think you might have a heart, after all.”
Huge tip? Looking down, Vladimir saw that his wallet was indeed open in his hand, and was now considerably lighter. The salesgirl was holding a wad of rubles, weeping with joy as she shared the unexpected largesse with the others.
“It was kind of you, to care for her.”
His cheeks burned as he turned back to Bree. “I don’t give a damn about her.”
“But—”
He cut in. “I did it for you.”
She took a deep breath.
“That’s why I know you have a heart,” she whispered.
And Vladimir knew she was right. Because in this moment, his heart was beating erratically, misfiring, racing.
Taking her hand in his own, he pulled her down from the pedestal. “I just want you to be happy,” he said roughly. He didn’t know how to manage this reckless, restless yearning he felt every time he looked into her beautiful face, every time he touched her. He looked down at her hand, nestled so trustingly in his. “I want to give you a gift.”
“You already did.”
“Tipping a salesgirl doesn’t count.”
She looked down at the exquisite blue ball gown. “You’re buying me this dress.”
“I want to do something for you,” he growled. “Something you actually care about. Anything.”
Her eyes went wide with dawning, desperate hope.
“Set me free,” she choked out.
Let Bree go? He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. After ten years, he’d found her again. What were the chances of them walking into the same poker game in Hawaii? Surely fate had placed her there for a reason?
She’d brought sunlight and warmth into his life. But if he let her go, she might leave. He couldn’t take that risk. Not now. She meant too much.
Folding his arms, he scowled. “You lost fair and square.”
“But this is what I want, more than anything—”
“No, Breanna.” He set his jaw. “Something else.”
Crushing disappointment filled her eyes. She looked down. “My birthday is in a few days. Let me fly back to the States and spend it with my sister. I’m worried about her….”
“Josie is fine. My men left her in Seattle, as she requested. She has money. She is fine.”
“So why haven’t I been able to reach her phone?” She swallowed. “I’ve always taken care of her….”
“She’s a grown woman,” he said, irritated. “And you coddle her like a child.”
Her eyes flashed. “Coddle!”
“Yes, coddle. She will never grow up until you allow her to make her own choices, and live with the consequences!”
Bree stiffened. “Like you did, you mean—cheating your brother out of the company?”
He glared at her. “He chose to leave, rather than accept my leadership. It made him strong. Strong enough to be my rival!”
“Your enemy, you mean!”
Controlling himself, Vladimir exhaled. “Breanna, I don’t want to fight.”
She licked her lips, then shook her head. “I don’t, either. But I have a reason to protect Josie. I told you, there are men who want to hurt us….”
With a harsh word and a clap of his hands, Vladimir scattered the salesgirls, leaving him alone with Bree in the dressing room. Coming closer, he put his hands on her shoulders and said in a low voice, “Those men won’t be bothering you.”
She blinked. “They won’t?”
“My people tracked them down. One of the men was already dead, unfortunately.” Vladimir gave a grim smile. “But the other two will never bother you or Josie again.”
Her eyes were huge. “What did you do?” she whispered. “Tell me you didn’t…break anything.”
Vladimir narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to. But I respected your request. I paid them off. Also, my investigator gathered enough evidence to have them both thrown in prison for the rest of their lives. If they ever cross your path again, even accidentally, that information will go to the local police. And they will die in jail.” He looked at her blank face, suddenly uncertain. “Is that satisfactory?”
“Satisfactory?” She took a deep breath, then with a sob, threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “We’re free!”
He looked down at her, wiping the tears off her cheek gently with his thumb. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you or your sister, Breanna. Ever again.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “Thank you.”
Seeing her reaction, he wanted to do more. He heard himself say, “And I’ll have my men look around Seattle. See if they can track Josie down.”
“Okay,” she sniffled.
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”
She shook her head. “We used to say that when we got back to the Mainland, if we had money, we’d sta
rt our own bed-and-breakfast, or a small hotel.” Her cheeks flushed. “But the truth is, that’s my dream, not hers. She wants to go to college.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find her.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he turned away. He was stopped by Bree’s small voice.
“People call you ruthless. But it’s not true.”
Slowly, he turned to face her.
Bree’s hazel eyes were luminous, piercing his soul. “When we met, I thought you’d changed completely from the man I loved. But you’re still the same, aren’t you?” she whispered. “The other man—he’s just the mask you wear.”
Vladimir’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He felt bare beneath the spotlight. “You’re wrong,” he said roughly. “I am ruthless. Selfish, even cruel. Don’t believe otherwise.”
She shook her head. “You’re afraid people will take advantage, so you hide your good heart—”
“Good heart?” He grabbed her shoulders, looking down at her fiercely. “I am selfish to the bone. I will never put someone else’s interests ahead of my own. I cannot love, Bree. That ability is no longer in me. It died a long time ago.”
“But—”
“Would a good man keep you prisoner against your will?”
She lifted her gaze. Her hazel eyes were suddenly troubled, opaque, full of shadows.
“No,” she whispered.
No. That one word caused an unexpected wrench inside him. As the two of them stood in the huge private dressing room of the designer atelier, her expression became impassive—her poker face. He wondered what she was thinking. In this moment, when he felt so strangely vulnerable, his insight into her soul suddenly disappeared.
“I’m not a good man, Bree,” he said in a low voice. To prove it further—to both of them—he lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her hard enough to bruise. She kissed him back with fierce passion, but he felt her withholding something he wanted. Something he needed.
Unzipping her blue ball gown, Vladimir kissed the bare skin of her neck. Her hair smelled like sunlight and passion fruit, like vanilla and the ocean, like endless summer.
Her strapless silk bodice fell, revealing her white bustier. They were surrounded by mirrors on three sides, and as he saw endless reflections of him touching her, he felt so hard he wanted to take her roughly, against the wall. So he did. As the dress fell to the hardwood floors, he unzipped his pants and lifted her, shoving her roughly against the mirrored wall. Barely pausing to sheath himself in a condom, he thrust inside her. Wrapping her legs around his hips tightly, she clutched his shoulders as he filled her, slamming her against the wall. Five thrusts and she was moaning. Ten thrusts and she clutched her fingertips into his shoulders as her body tightened, her back arching. Fifteen thrusts and she screamed with pleasure in cries that matched his own.
Afterwards, for an instant, panting and sweaty, he just held her, his eyes closed. Then slowly he released her legs, letting her body slide down his. The passion had been hotter than ever.
But he knew something had changed between them. An unbridgeable gap.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have dinner reservations.”
“Fine,” she said dully, not meeting his eyes.
He zipped up his pants, and she put on her new clothes, the slim-fitting black pants, sheer black top over a black camisole, and black leather motorcycle jacket he’d bought for her earlier at a department store on Nevsky Prospekt. All afternoon, he’d insisted on buying everything he saw in her size, anything she could possibly want to wear for the rest of her life, for any season and any event.
Compensating, he thought. Though he knew she couldn’t be bought.
Even if he’d bought her.
“Before dinner,” he said brightly, despising the false cheer in his voice, “I wish to buy you something truly special. A fur coat. White mink, perhaps, or Barguzin sable—”
Bree shook her head. “No, thanks.”
“Russian furs are the best in the world.”
Her eyes were cold. “I don’t want a fur.”
He set his jaw. “You’re pouting.”
“No.” She looked away. “I just used to have a dog when I was a kid,” she mumbled. “I loved that dog. We used to explore the forest all summer long. He had a soul. He was my friend.”
She was talking about her dog? Vladimir exhaled. He’d been bracing for her anger, since the only thing she really wanted was the one thing he wouldn’t, couldn’t, give her. Relieved, he lifted his hand and lightly traced the bare skin of her collarbone. “I still don’t understand the connection.”
“I’ll put it in simple terms.” Pulling away from him, she folded her arms. “No fur.”
“As you wish,” he whispered, taking her hand in his own. He felt her shiver. He looked at her. Her expression was completely unreadable. He sighed. “Come.”
Leaving the dressing room, he went out to meet with the salesgirl and finish the details of the order, arranging for the hand-stitched ball gown to be delivered the next day. Vladimir took Bree outside, where his bodyguard awaited them beside his bulletproof limo.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’m tired of shopping.”
“You’ll like this.”
Twenty minutes later the limo pulled to a stop. Helping her out himself, Vladimir led her past two security guards into a tiny, high-ceilinged shop in the belle epoque style, with gilded walls and colors like a cloisonné Easter egg. Everything about the jewelry store bespoke elegance, taste and most of all money.
“What are we doing here?” Bree scowled. “I thought we had dinner reservations!”
He gave her a teasing smile. “This won’t take long.”
A short, plump man with wire-rimmed glasses and a short white beard, wearing an old-fashioned pin-striped suit with a vest, came eagerly from behind one of the glass cases. “Welcome, welcome, Your Highness,” he said in Russian.
“Speak in English so she’ll understand.”
“Of course, Prince Vladimir.” Tenting his hands, the jeweler turned to Bree and switched to accented English. “My lady. You are here for a necklace, yes? For the New Year’s Eve ball at the ancient palace of the Romanov tsarina?”
Bree glanced up at Vladimir. “Um. Yes?”
He smiled back at her, feeling a warm glow at the thought of spoiling her. “I wish to buy you a little something to wear with the ball gown.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Need has nothing to do with it.” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Surely you won’t deny me the small pleasure?”
Her scowl deepened. “No. How could I?”
He ignored her insinuation. “Surely,” he said teasingly, “you will not tell me that diamonds remind you of a former pet? That they possibly have a soul?”
She looked down at the floor.
“No,” she whispered. “A diamond is just a cold, heartless stone.” Vladimir frowned. She suddenly seemed to recall she was speaking to the CEO of Xendzov Mining, one of the largest diamond producers in the world. Flashing him a wry smile, she amended, “But they are pretty. I’ll give you that.”
“So you’ll let me buy you something.”
“Don’t you have a closetful of diamonds back home? I’m surprised you don’t use them like rocks to decorate your garden.”
“My company produces raw diamonds. We sell them wholesale. The fine art of polishing them into exquisite jewelry is not our specialty.” He lifted his hands to indicate the little jewel box of a shop. “This is the best jewelry store in the world.”
“Really? In the world?”
He gave her a sly smile. “Well, the best in St. Petersburg. Which means it is the best in Russia. Which means, naturally, that it is the best in the world.”
Staring at him for a moment, she shook her head with a sigh. “All right.” Her tone was resigned. “Since it seems I have no choice.”
Vladimir had truly expected this to be a quick stop en route to dinner at
the best restaurant in the city. He’d assumed Bree would quickly select one of the most expensive necklaces in the store: the looped rope of diamonds, the diadem of sapphires, the emerald choker that cost the equivalent of nine hundred thousand dollars. But an hour later, she still hadn’t found a necklace she wanted.
“Six million rubles?” she said now, staring down incredulously at the ropes of diamonds patiently displayed by the portly jeweler. “How much is that in dollars?”
He told her, and her jaw dropped. Then she burst into laughter. “What a waste!” She glanced at Vladimir. “I won’t let you spend your money that way. Might as well set it on fire.”
He didn’t have nearly the same patience as the jeweler. “Money isn’t a problem,” he said tightly. “I have more than I could spend in a lifetime.”
“Lucky you.”
“I mean it. After you make a certain amount, money is just a way to keep score.”
“You could always donate the money to a charity, you know. If you hate it so much,” she said tartly.
He gave a low laugh. “I didn’t say I hate it. If nothing else, it gives me the opportunity to drape you in diamonds.”
“Against my will.”
“I know you will love them. All women do.”
“All women?”
That hadn’t come out right. “It’s a gift, Bree. From me to you.”
“It’s a chain.” She reached out a hand and touched the glittering diamond rope resting on the glass case, then said bitterly, “Diamond shackles for an honored slave.” She looked up at the jeweler. “No offense.”
“None taken, my lady.”
She looked at Vladimir. “Thanks for wanting to buy me a gift. But I don’t need a chain to remind me of my position.”
Vladimir felt irritated. He’d wanted to buy something that would please her, to distract her from the one thing he would not give: her freedom. “I am trying to make you happy.”
“I can’t be bought!”
“You already were,” he said coldly.
Bree gave an intake of breath, and her eyes dropped. “Fine. Buy it for me, then. Because you’re right. You can do whatever you want.”