by Kresley Cole
"I understood his motivations to secure her for his own. Natalie's lovely and kind, speaks Russian fluently, and was a PhD student. Also, she's wealthier than I am."
While Maxim was screwing around with the broke-ass, fugitive hooker.
Oh, to be rolling again. Though my family had never come close to having a billion dollars, the worth of Martinez Beach continued to skyrocket.
"Aleksandr has changed for her. For the better." Maxim sounded contemplative, like his words only skimmed the surface of what was going on in his head. "I didn't think it was possible for men our age to change. What do you think? It's your job to know men."
"If the incentive is strong enough, I think some can change." Just not a sociopath like Edward.
"You make it sound so simple. Aleksandr wanted her more than he wanted his old ways, so he cast them aside?" He drank his shot.
I joined him. "Maybe it is that simple."
"He told me that he'd revealed everything of himself to her. The good and the bad. He unburdened himself, is now free of secrets." Maxim poured yet again. "I envied him bitterly. He also told me he knew--within a day of seeing Natalie--that he would love no other woman. That she was it for him. Do you think it's possible for a man to know such a thing so early?"
What a strange turn for this conversation. "I think you can have that feeling. But I don't know if it will last."
"If you saw the two of them together, you'd know they will stand the test of time," he said. "Just before I flew here, I visited them in her home state of Nebraska. He'd invited me there to ask me to be his best man."
"Did that surprise you?"
"Utterly."
"Is he in the mafiya like you?" I asked.
"In the years we were parted, he became a gunman, and I became the head of my own operation. Not quite rivals, but certainly not allies."
"Gunman? As in a hit man?"
"He'd probably prefer the term enforcer. He was basically a soldier for his boss, fighting against a rival syndicate. But no longer."
"And you want to go into business with him."
"The more I get to know him, the more I see he is ruthless but honorable. For all his faults, he's an honest man. The idea of partnering with someone I could actually trust is mind-boggling to me. Together we could take over Russia. But he doesn't trust me yet. Two months ago, he feared having his fiancee in the same room with me."
"Why would he ask you to be his best man?"
"At Natalie's prodding, I'm sure."
"Why did he feel that way about you?"
"He heard I'd turned into a callous man who enjoyed playing with others' lives. He believed I had grown up to take after our father--or at least the coldhearted, scheming side of him. We despised our father."
Had that man whipped Maxim's back? "Was Aleksandr right about you? Being scheming and coldhearted?"
He gave a humorless laugh. "Yes. It's called being a politician. Though I do admit to goading Aleksandr. When he thought me a danger to him, I gave him no reason to disbelieve it. Not for many years."
A danger? "Why?"
"Maybe because it amused me."
Por Dios. "Why were you separated from your brothers?"
He skirted the question, saying, "Only from one. Dmitri and I remain close."
They talked often enough.
"With Natalie at his side, Aleksandr improves. But Dmitri . . ." He trailed off. "What?"
"He's angry and damaged by events in the past. I struggle with accepting that he always will be."
Those same events must have something to do with Maxim's scars. Did Dmitri bear similar ones? Did Aleksandr? "I'm sorry."
"I sit in the middle between two brothers. One tells me the future can be bright, and the other tells me the past will darken all of our days. What do you have to say about that?"
"Both could be right. It all depends on what kind of man you are."
Quiet.
"Maxim, what if Dmitri turned his life around, despite his past? A sword has to know the anvil and hammer just to be born, no? What if he realized that if he could overcome whatever makes him angry and damaged, the victory could be the very thing that makes him stronger?" I could only hope this for myself. Better things await you. . . .
"Understand me," Sevastyan grated, "I would do anything for that."
"Would you? Then why don't you do it first, then show him how?"
A gust of breath left his lips. "You led me right into that, didn't you?"
I held his gaze. "Somebody needed to."
He stared at me, silent, for what felt like an hour. Then he abruptly rose and left the room.
"You're welcome for dinner," I muttered. "So glad you enjoyed it. Same time next year?" Furious with myself for thinking we'd been making progress, I headed to the torchlit balcony.
The air was as warm as on our first night in the pool. At the balcony rail, I gazed out.
Somewhere down the beach, a band played Latin music, soft strains reaching me. Sailboats dotted the dark water, their masts alight for Christmas.
I heard him joining me. Without a word or a touch he stood behind me, so close I could perceive the heat from his body.
We stayed like that for long moments. The temptation to sink back against him and tug his arms around me grew irresistible.
Movement. I blinked down. He'd draped a breathtaking string of pearls around my neck. Each pearl gleamed in the torchlight. The strand must have cost a fortune. Why would he give me this?
His lips brushed across my nape in the tenderest kiss.
This was what he'd been debating all day! He'd vacillated about whether to give the escort a present, then left to pick it up.
When he turned to go, I caught his hand. "Why?"
He pulled away, but I heard him mutter, "Because this is the best Christmas I've ever had."
CHAPTER 24
"Here," Sevastyan said gruffly as he handed me a state-of-the-art laptop.
It was Christmas morning, day eight of my retreat, and I'd been reading a business journal on the couch when he approached. "Another gift?" I was happier that he was talking to me than I was over the new computer.
Last night, before I could ask him anything, he'd left the hotel in a T-shirt and shorts, coming back two hours later, sweating and sandy. I'd been disappointed to miss a chance to run with him on the beach. Then he'd introduced me to aggressive, teeth-clattering, sweaty-man sex, and I'd forgiven him.
"Yes, another gift," he said.
"Then spasiba, Maxim." Oh, I could tell the Russian liked that.
"Pozhaluysta. You're quite welcome. But it comes with a catch. There's a folder of real estate proposals that have been submitted to me." He sat beside me, all casual, setting up his own laptop. "I'm going to assess them. If you like, you can look at them as well, and give me your take."
"You want my opinion?"
"As long as I have you here, I'll take advantage of your brain."
As long as he had me. How long, how long, how long? That reminded me of our ongoing mirror messages. In answer to my gonna miss this ass note, he'd written: Good thing I own that ass.
I'd replied: The door will hit it on my way out.
Though I'd tried to sound like my heart was still bulletproof, I could see myself falling for this guy. Not just an attachment. The real deal.
No, no, Cat. In three days, we'd be going our separate ways; I only had to resist him till then. Besides, my impulse to fall meant I should do no such thing. Science! "You know this computer has Wi-Fi. You're trusting me not to send out an e-mail SOS?"
"Da."
What had brought about this turnaround? "We're going to . . . work together? Vetting proposals?" I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my face.
"You're happier than you were the day you ordered all your new things. The prospect of work trumps your bout of consumerism?"
"Absolutely."
"You'll look at them, then? And you won't give me fifteen pages of fuck you fuck you fuck you?"<
br />
My grin deepened. "I will look at these, just to keep you straight. After all, if you lose your fortune, I'll have nothing to swindle from you."
The left corner of his lips curved. "Have your fun. Then do your bloody work. . . ."
For hours, we read as a breeze blew in off the ocean. By midday, I had a pencil in my bun, his hair was mussed, and my feet rested on his thighs. Again I felt that strange level of ease with him, that sense of deja vu. I still made a valiant effort to keep up my last boundary, but being with him like this was a battering ram to any wall I tried to maintain.
At lunch, we took a break, enjoying sex, leftovers, and coffee, then set back to work. I was able to go online and look up rents and property taxes, liens and foreclosures.
By sunset, there were printouts all over the floor, and I'd decided this was my best Christmas Day ever.
"Did you make any headway?" He rolled his head on his neck.
I slid him a cocky grin. "I completed cursory determinations on all nine proposals, querido. I was about to play solitaire while I waited on you."
"Let's see them."
"You want to read them? Now?" I was suddenly nervous.
He snagged my computer. "Now."
As he scanned my assessments, I studied his face. At times, he raised his brows. What did that mean? Wait, was that an unconscious nod? Damn, he read fast. Once, that left corner of his lips tilted for an instant.
Now that I'd been given the chance to impress him, I wanted to succeed! He'd liked my brain--wanted to take advantage of it. Would he still?
He raised his face and turned that penetrating gaze to me. "We matched on all but one," he said, impressed.
Even as my toes curled with pleasure, I fake-examined my nails. "Oh, did my baby boy get one wrong?"
His eyes grew lively in that way I loved. "You didn't ask me questions; you simply assessed proposals. Did you learn from all those econ books you read?"
My finance minor had actually been of more help today. "I learned a lot from those books." Bob and weave.
"But why did you recommend moving forward on the fifth proposal?" A block of run-down apartment complexes. "These aren't class A, B, or even C. I'd deem them class S for 'shithole.' That gulag you wanted to visit probably has more amenities."
Bingo. My bus route to one of my cleaning gigs passed those apartments, and they reminded me of my own.
"The numbers are marginal at best," he said. "Tell me your reasoning."
The Shadwell Theory. "Gross mismanagement." Emphasis on ooh, gross. "The managers are probably shaking down the tenants each month and under-reporting the rents collected. If you got even a semi-honest crew in there, you could lower rents, increase repairs and maintenance, and you'd still make more. Tenants are happy, owners are happy."
"Lower rents." He was looking at me in that keen way of his.
"It's just an idea." I bit my lip. "The property is in foreclosure. Banks like to clear their books of bad debts by year's end, so if you offered cash this week, you could steal it. Or so I've heard. There are tax implications as well--oh, wait, la mafia Rusa probably doesn't worry about taxes much."
His keen expression deepened.
You're talking too much, Cat. Muzzle it. To distract him, I said, "Can I see your takes?"
He handed over his own computer.
I read his notes and determinations, and nearly orgasmed at how his brain worked. Boundaries! "Not bad for a rookie."
"Glad you approve."
I was about to suggest we take "un cafecito," a coffee break for caffeine and sex--not necessarily in that order--when he stood and stretched.
As he headed toward the kitchen, he tossed over his shoulder, "You're going to the wedding with me."
"Que???"
CHAPTER 25
Heart in my throat, I followed him.
He was at the leftovers again. "Are we out of the almond candies? Who ate all of them?" He glanced up from the fridge with a dark look. "Vasili, you prick." He turned to me. "It's your fault you fed him. Now he'll be like a stray dog coming around for our handouts."
"Sevastyan, let's be reasonable. Of course I can't go to the wedding." Did he expect me to wait in the hotel room while he went to the ceremony and festivities?
"You can, and you will." He took out the prawns, licking pink sauce off his thumb. "Now that my Cat's out of the bag, there's no reason for you not to be my date."
Date? Excitement filled me. Then realities weighed in. "It's not just a wedding. It's your brother's. If anyone found out what I am"--a prostitutka--"they'd consider it a slight."
And how would I fare at a wedding--when the last one I'd been to was my own doomed courthouse ceremony?
He pulled out two plates, setting them down. "What you are? You're a beautiful, intelligent young woman."
Was he finally looking past my being an escort?
As soon as the thought occurred, he said, "I expect a heated negotiation." He grabbed me by the waist and plopped me onto the counter. "What will it take? Cash and jewels? You'll need clothes to wear." He wedged his hips between my thighs.
Confusion. "What are we doing here, Ruso? Why this turnaround? I'm your quote-unquote prisoner, remember?"
"You can still be my quote-unquote prisoner in Nebraska."
"You hate me except for when we have sex." "When we read proposals, I like you okay. When you sing and cook, I like you."
"You're teasing me?" The whole reason I'd been able to handle this time with him was because it had an expiration date! All I'd had to do was guard my heart for a little while longer, and I'd be free. I could avoid the inevitable crash. Now he was talking about extending my time--and deepening things between us.
He really wanted to introduce me to his family?
No, that didn't matter! He might feel a connection to me, and I might even be unique to him. But his interest would fade. At heart, the hobbyist was a player, could have any woman in the world. Soon enough, he'd get back out there.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm not going. When you leave, so do I. It was always our unspoken agreement."
He gave a laugh. "Was it?"
"On the twenty-eighth, I am going home. You are going north. That's my final say in this."
"Hmm. I can be very persuasive, Katya."
"There is absolutely nothing you can say or do that will change my mind on this."
The look in his eyes said challenge offered, challenge fucking accepted.
"What the hell is this, Sevastyan?"
"Shouldn't it be obvious, dushen'ka?" The bastard was tying me up in his bed.
After we'd eaten, he'd told me, "You're moving to the master bedroom tonight."
"Why?"
"That's what I want."
We had talked about it before, so I hadn't been suspicious. I should have been suspicious. Because half an hour later, I lay naked with my arms secured over my head.
He'd started with kissing, stripping me and getting me mindless. By the time he'd drawn back and I'd blinked open my eyes, my right wrist had been encircled by a black leather cuff with shining buckles and a metal ring. I'd slapped at him with my other hand, but he'd chuckled at my attempts, easily buckling the thing on my wrist. Then he clipped the ring on the cuff to a strap attached to the headboard. With even more ease, he'd forced my left arm over my head.
He'd wanted me in this room because he'd prepared the bed for bondage. The master's room. I'd never seen it coming.
Now he was going for one of my ankles. Two more straps snaked out from the footboard.
I kicked at him and twisted. "I didn't agree to this! Why do this?"
He snatched my ankle. Though I fought him, he cuffed it, buckling it. "I'm going to persuade you to go to the wedding with me." He pinned my leg down, fastening the cuff to its awaiting strap.
Even as I struggled, I gazed around for that crop, dreading it. The devil would probably make my whipping pleasurable, but I didn't want him to do to me what he'd done with all
the other escorts. "Untie me! Damn you, I don't want to be cropped like the others."
He snagged my other ankle. "What we do is so far removed, Katya. You might think of them, but I don't." He buckled the last cuff, then secured it. "In any case, we're trying something new."
I was now spread like a starfish, black leather around my wrists and ankles. Immobilized.
"Look at you bound up for me." He grasped a lock of my hair from the pillow. "So beautiful."
I couldn't believe this was happening! Yes, I'd said I would explore my sexuality, but this was una locura! Crazy! "If you aren't going to whip me, then what will you do?" Maybe I could tolerate it if he lost the crop.
"I had an acquaintance who tormented his subs in this manner. I never comprehended the appeal before." He raked his gaze over me. "Now I completely understand."
Torment? "The appeal of what?"
"Forced orgasms."
"Wh-what are you talking about?"
"Sexually tormenting you. Just the idea gets my cock so hard." It was a rigid line in his pants.
"I didn't agree to this!"
"Have I steered you wrong yet?" He swiftly undressed. As he moved to the top of the bed, his huge shaft wagged, catching my gaze and making me want.
I bit my lip.
"You'll enjoy it." He flashed white teeth. "Eventually."
Chills raced over me.
He leaned down to kiss my forehead. "I'll be right back." He left the room, returning with a small bag and a magic wand--a plug-in electrical vibrator. I'd seen one at Ivanna's. She'd told me the vibrations were so intense they could make your teeth chatter.
Forced orgasms. With a magic wand. I squirmed. "You just had one of those lying around?"
"When I ordered the belt, I got carried away, buying all kinds of things for you. The belt distracted me for days, but I see now that I need to break out more acute tools."
"L-let's talk about this, Ruso."
"You can stop me at any time. All you have to do is agree to go to the wedding with me. Very simple."
"You devil! You can't do this! You're taking away my free will--again!"
"I didn't have to ask. I do own you now. I could compel you in other ways to go with me. But I want to hear you tell me yes."
"Hear me? You won't gag me? Like all the others?"
"No. Never. You're mine--which means I want to catch your every whimper, sigh, gasp, moan, and scream." He plugged the wand into a bedside outlet, turning it on and off as he raised his brows. "Powerful. And this one is unique--it has a range of different settings."
