by Jennie Lucas
He’s dead and gone.
Are you sure?
As Vladimir felt her naked body move like silk beneath him, she gave a trembling sigh. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to heaven.
Yes. He was sure.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Russia
AS A child, Bree had traveled down the rocky, forest-covered Alaskan coast with her father, seeking gullible tourists off cruise ships for poker games. Her favorite village had been Sitka, once the capital of Russian America. At twelve, she’d looked across the gray, frozen Bering Sea and dreamed of the distant, ancient, mysterious land of the tsars.
When wooden Orthodox churches were being hacked out of the wilderness in Alaska, St. Petersburg was already a century old, built on the orders of a tsar. She’d dreamed of someday seeing the palatial Russian city, the onion domes of its cathedrals shining with silver and gold.
But Bree never dreamed she’d come here as the cosseted mistress of a prince. For two days now, she’d been living in his three-story palace outside the city, built like a fortress on a hill, overlooking the Gulf of Finland on the Baltic Sea. She’d spent her days shopping in the most exclusive boutiques of the city, accompanied by his bodyguards and his chauffeur.
She spent her nights in Vladimir’s bed. He came to her in the middle of the night, waking her, making love to her in darkness, setting her body ablaze from the inside out. He burned her with the fire of their mutual need. Each night, she fell asleep in his arms, satiated with pleasure.
But each day, she woke up in the cold gray winter dawn, bereft and alone.
Vladimir was extremely busy, working on the Arctic Oil merger. Even if he was using her only for sex, she shouldn’t take it personally. Right? That was what she’d expected. Wasn’t it? She should be grateful for this life he’d given her, one of luxury, pleasure and comfort. Most women would envy her. She should make the best of things.
So she tried.
Left alone all day, she went shopping, as Vladimir had ordered. Four bodyguards took her out in a black limousine with bulletproof glass. Expensive designer shops closed their doors to all other customers so Bree could shop alone, quite alone, with only sycophantic store clerks for company.
Maybe it would have been fun if Vladimir had been with her. Or Josie. Bree missed her sister like a physical ache in her heart. She’d tried multiple times over the past few days to call her, but Josie never answered. Bree tried to squelch her worries. Surely Josie was fine. It was just her own loneliness, playing tricks on her mood, that made Bree anxious.
But after two exhausting days of shopping, shocked at the outrageous prices, she was desperate to find something, anything, else to do. “Buy a wardrobe of winter clothes,” Vladimir had said, shoving his credit card into her hand. “And lingerie.” Wanting to be done, she’d randomly grabbed two items the clerks were pushing on her—a long, puffy black coat and an expensive lingerie set with a white lace bustier, G-string and garter belt—and practically ran from the store. The bodyguards formed a tunnel to her waiting black limo, and she fled past the annoyed faces of Russian women waiting outside.
But now, on her third day in St. Petersburg, as she sat alone at a very long table in the empty palace, eating an elegant lunch prepared by the Russian-speaking housekeeper, Bree felt a rush of pure relief when her cell phone rang. She snatched it up. “Hello?”
“What are you wearing?”
At the sound of Vladimir’s low, sensual voice, her shoulders relaxed. “I thought you might be Josie.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m glad to hear your voice.” Her hand tightened on her phone. “I’m, um, wearing my old flannel pajamas and big bootie slippers from home.”
“Sounds sexy. Want to come over?”
“Come where?”
“To my office.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“I have a fifteen-minute break coming up. I thought I’d have you for lunch.”
A shiver of sensual delight went through her at his words. Straightening in her antique chair, she retorted, “Forget it. I’m not going to rush over to your office like some kind of booty-call delivery service. I might be your sex slave, but I do have some standards.”
“I think you’ll change your mind when you hear what I want to do to you….”
She listened to his low growl of a voice describing his intentions in graphic detail, and her hand went limp until the phone fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor. She snatched it up.
“I’ll be right there,” she said breathlessly. Clicking off, she pulled her new lingerie from the designer bag and tugged it on. Covering herself with the black puffy coat, that trailed to her ankles, she replaced her slippers with black stiletto boots and went outside, where a bodyguard held open her limousine door.
Bree’s heart pounded as the chauffeur drove into the heart of St. Petersburg. She barely saw the elegant buildings lining the snowy streets and icy Neva River. All she could think about was what waited for her. Who waited for her.
The limo arrived at a sprawling eighteenth-century building. A bodyguard opened her door and said in heavily accented English, “This is office, miss.”
She looked up and down the block. The structure seemed to stretch endlessly along the avenue. “Which one?”
The bodyguard looked at her. “All. Is Xendzov building.”
“All of it?” Bree looked at the classically columned building in shock. It was one thing to theoretically know that Vladimir was rich. It was another to see this enormous building, an entire city block, and know it represented a mere fragment of his worldwide empire.
Swallowing nervously, she went into the foyer and took an elevator to the top floor. Down the hall, through a wall of glass, she saw men in suits packed around a conference table, some of them pounding the tabletop as they argued, while secretaries refilled their coffee cups and took notes.
Vladimir looked devastatingly powerful and ruthless, in a shirt and tie. And clearly, she wasn’t the only woman to think so. She noticed how the secretaries walked a little more slowly and swayed their hips a little more around him. The beauty of Russian women was justly famous. Their skirts were short, their hair long, their stiletto heels high. They clearly knew their feminine power and were willing to sacrifice comfort in order to hold a man’s attention.
Bree’s confidence tumbled. If Vladimir was surrounded by women like this, why on earth had he sent for her? The sexy playfulness of her errand disappeared. What a laugh. It was like dialing out for a hamburger, when he was surrounded by steak!
He would laugh in her face when he got a good look at her in this stupid lingerie. Her cheeks burned and she started to turn around.
Their eyes met through the glass.
Spinning on her heel, Bree practically ran down the hallway. If she could just reach the elevator…
His hand gripped her upper arm, whirling her to face him. “Where are you going?”
She licked her lips, looking up at this broad-shouldered, powerful man standing in his own building, surrounded by his paid employees. Vladimir had rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing sleekly muscled forearms laced with dark hair. His tie had been loosened around his thick neck, as if he’d been fighting corporate war all day.
She tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. “I never should have come here,” she said. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”
Vladimir frowned, drawing closer. “What are you…?” People passed them in the hall, two men in suits and three women in tiny skirts, all looking at them with intense interest. Narrowing his eyes, he growled, “Come with me.”
He pulled her into the nearest private office, closing the door behind them. She wrenched her arm away, blinking fast. Her eyes were stinging with unshed tears as she tossed her head. “You’re out of your mind if you think…”
She gasped as, without a word, he roughly yanked open her oversized coat. He saw the lingerie, the white lace bus
tier,
G-string panties and garter belt, and drew in a breath. He looked at her darkly.
“And you are out of your mind,” he said in a low voice, “if you think I’m going to let you leave.”
He ripped off her long coat, dropping it to the floor. Pushing her against the wall of the private office, he kissed her hard. Bree’s body stiffened as his mouth plundered hers. She felt the soft, demanding steel of his lips against her own. Against her will, a moan came from the back of her throat, and her arms lifted to wrap around his neck.
His hands roamed over her body. He cupped her breasts, then undid her bustier in a single motion, dropping the white lace from her skin. Still kissing her passionately, he pushed her toward the desk, which he cleared with a sweep of his arm, knocking papers and computer topsy-turvy to the floor.
She could not resist. As he pressed her back against the desk, she relished the feeling of his weight. He kissed down her neck to her bare breasts, ravishing her body, and she panted, suddenly breathless with need. Her hands reached beneath his shirt to stroke his taut, hard chest.
Then she heard a noise at the door.
Dazed, Bree looked over and saw a man staring at them from the doorway. He said something in Russian, before Vladimir turned his head. The man’s mouth snapped shut, his face red with the apparent effort of choking back his words. Turning, he left instantly, closing the door behind him.
But the damage was done. The man had seen her draped nearly naked across Vladimir’s desk. Horrified, Bree said angrily, “That man’s got some nerve, bursting into your office without warning!”
“This is his office—” Vladimir leaned back on the desk, tilting his head “—not mine.”
“What?” she squeaked, sitting up.
“My office is on the other side of the building. Would have taken too long.”
He leaned forward to kiss her, but she jerked back, nearly falling off the desk. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to fool around with you in someone else’s office!”
“Why not?” he said lazily. “What does it matter? This building is mine. This office is mine. Just as you…”
She folded her arms over her naked breasts, glaring at him. “Just as I am?”
“Yes.” Standing up, he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and said huskily, “Just as you are.”
A pain went through her chest. His words were playful, but he was speaking a truth she’d been trying to conveniently forget: that Vladimir owned her. She was his property.
Bree’s cheeks flooded with shame as she remembered the expression on the man’s face when he’d seen Vladimir lying on top of her on the desk. He’d looked at her as if she were a prostitute. And glancing down at herself in only a G-string and garter belt, a sex-time delivery service, Bree felt a lump rise in her throat. Leaning down, she picked up the discarded bustier off the floor.
The smug masculine smile dropped from Vladimir’s face. “What are you doing?”
She put on the long black coat, stuffing the bustier into the pocket. “Returning to my prison.”
“Prison?” he repeated. “I have given you a palace. I’ve given you everything a woman could possibly desire.”
“Right.” She zipped the puffy coat all the way to her throat. As she turned away, she felt like crying.
Vladimir stopped her at the door. “Why are you so sad?”
The ache in her throat made it impossible to talk. She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes.
“You were—embarrassed?”
“Yes,” she choked out.
“But why?” he demanded. “He is nothing. No one. Why do you care?”
Bree lifted her eyes. “Because I, too, am nothing,” she whispered. “And no one.”
He shook his head in exasperation. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
To you. I am nothing and no one to you. She turned her head. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Fine,” he said coldly. “If you don’t want to be here, go home.”
She lifted her gaze hopefully. “Home to my sister?”
“Our home! Together!”
Her shoulders slumped. She stared down at her feet.
“There is no together at the palace,” she said in a small voice. “There’s just me. Alone.”
“You know I am dealing with a complex merger, Breanna,” he said tightly. “I have no time to—”
“I know.” Her lips twisted. “I should just be grateful you show up in my bed in the middle of the night, right? Grateful you’re so very, very good to me.”
He ground his teeth, his eyes dark.
“I gave you my credit card. You should have bought out half the city by now. You should be enjoying yourself. You can buy whatever you wish—clothes, furs, shoes. And a ball gown. It is supposed to be fun.”
“Fun,” she muttered.
He scowled. “Is it not?”
“Shopping all by myself in a foreign city, as your bodyguards keep other people out of the store, and six different salesgirls try to convince me that a puce-colored burlap sack with ostrich feathers looks good on me…?” Bree shuddered. “No. It’s not fun.” She indicated the long black coat. “This is the sum total of my purchases.”
He blinked. “The coat?”
“And the lingerie.”
“Damn it, Bree, you aren’t in Hawaii anymore. I told you to buy warm clothes.”
“Who cares if I feel warm?” She glared at him. “I’m just your possession. My feelings don’t matter.”
He stared at her, and the air around them suddenly became electrified. “Of course they matter.” He took a single step toward her. “Breanna—”
A knock sounded at the door. An older man poked his head in, an American with wire-rimmed glasses and anxious eyes. “Your Highness. Excuse me.”
“What is it, Anderson?” Vladimir demanded.
The man looked at Bree and then cleared his throat. “We’ve reached an impasse, sir. Svenssen is demanding we retain every member of his company’s staff.”
“So?”
“Arctic Oil has a thousand employees we don’t need. Drillers. Cafeteria workers in Siberia. Accountants and secretaries. Dead weight.”
Dead weight. Bree’s spine snapped straight. He would no doubt consider her and Josie dead weight, too, with their ten years of backbreaking, low-paying cleaning jobs. Every month, they’d experienced the painful uncertainty of never knowing if their jobs would last, or if they’d be able to pay their bills. Biting her lip, she glanced up and saw Vladimir watching her. His eyes narrowed.
“Tell Svenssen,” he said slowly, “we’ll find places for all his current employees. At their current pay level or better.”
His employee gaped, aghast. “But, sir! Why?”
“Yes, why?” Bree echoed. She took a deep breath and gave him a trembling smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually got a heart.”
His lips abruptly twisted. “To the contrary.” He turned back to Anderson. “I merely want to ensure that we’re well staffed for future expansion.”
“Expansion?” The man visibly exhaled in relief.
Vladimir lifted a dark eyebrow. “That should simplify your negotiations.” Turning to Bree, he took her hand. “I will be unavailable for the rest of the day,” he said softly.
“You will?” she breathed.
“But Prince Vladimir—”
He ignored the man. Pulling Bree from the office, he led her down the hall to the elevator. As he pushed the button, she looked at him, her heart in her throat.
“Where are we going?”
He tilted his head, giving her a boyish grin that took her breath away. “I’m going to show you my beautiful city.”
His voice was casual. So why did she feel as if something had just changed between them, changed forever? She tried not to feel his strong, protective hand over her own, tried not to feel her own heart beating wildly. “But your merger is important. You said—”
“M
y people will manage. Let them earn their overpriced salaries.”
“But why are you doing this?”
“I’ve realized something.” Vladimir’s eyes were ten shades of blue. “You belong to me.”
She exhaled. “I know,” she said dully. “You already said—”
“You belong to me.” He cupped her cheek. “That means it’s my job.”
“What is?”
He looked intently into her eyes, and then smiled. “To take care of you.”
* * *
Vladimir’s mouth fell open as he stared at the beautiful angel who stood on a pedestal before him. Literally.
“Do you like it?” the angel said anxiously. “Do you approve?”
Bree was trying on her fourth designer ball gown, a strapless concoction in pale blue that revealed her elegant bare shoulders, the curve of her breasts and her slender waist above wide skirts of shot silk. She looked like a princess. Ethereal. Magical.
Intoxicating.
“I can’t possibly let you buy this,” the enchanted beauty said fretfully. “You won’t let them tell me how much it costs, but I’m sure it’s very expensive.”
Vladimir lifted his hand, signaling to the five saleswomen who were hovering around them in the luxury designer atelier. “We will take it.”
With a happy gasp, the salesgirls descended on Bree with sewing pins and measuring tape, to shape the couture gown perfectly to her body. Bree looked at them in dismay. But it was nothing compared to the sick expression he’d seen on her face when his COO had wanted to fire all the workers he called “dead weight.”
Vladimir had lied. He wasn’t planning an expansion. He’d just been unable to bear the emotions he’d seen on Bree’s face: the anger, the powerlessness, the desperation. It reminded him how she’d spent ten years wasting her talents in minimum-wage jobs, because the man she’d trusted to protect her had left her to face all her enemies alone.
Now, she bit her pink, full lower lip. “I shouldn’t let you do this.”
“It’s already decided.” Rising to his feet, he felt glad once more that he’d decided to take the day off and spend it with her, leaving even the bodyguards behind. He put his hand on her shoulder. “You need a dress. I’m taking you to a very elegant ball for New Year’s Eve.”
