Rich Man's Revenge: Dealing Her Final Card / Seducing His Opposition / A Reputation For Revenge
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Afterwards, they collapsed into each other’s arms. Exhausted, he held her close, kissing her temple, whispering her name like a prayer. “Breanna …”
Vladimir woke abruptly when he heard his cell phone ringing. Blinking in surprise, he saw gray dawn breaking over the clouds. He’d slept all night in Bree’s arms.
He looked down. She was still sleeping, cradled naked against his chest.
He’d lowered his guard and slept with a woman in his arms—something he’d never been able to do with anyone but her. The tension in his shoulders was gone. His head didn’t hurt. His heartbeat was soft and slow. It was the best sleep he’d had since the accident.
Was this what peace felt like?
His phone buzzed again. Getting up quietly from bed, he picked it up from the nightstand and left the bedroom. Closing the door silently behind him, not wanting to wake her, he put the phone to his ear. “Yes?”
“Your Highness.” It was John Anderson, his chief of operations. “The Arctic Oil merger is now urgent. Your brother just had a huge oil find in Alaska. On the land he bought last spring from that Spaniard, Eduardo Cruz.”
“Wait,” Vladimir growled. His hands were shaking as he went down the hall to his office. So much for peace. He could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his neck, hear his own blood rushing in his ears. His brother had that effect on him. He closed the office door. “Go.”
“Sir, if the find is as substantial as it seems, oil might soon flood the market, causing the price to drop….”
Vladimir paced as he listened, clawing back his hair. Usually business calmed him, because he relished a fight. But not when the news involved his brother.
Volodya, Volodya, please wait for me! Closing his eyes, Vladimir could still see his baby brother’s chubby face as he’d toddled after him through the snow those long-ago, hungry winters. Sometimes supplies at the homestead grew lean, and Vladimir had gone out with their father to hunt rabbits. I want to hunt, too. Once, Kasimir had idolized his big brother. Now, he enjoyed taunting and hurting Vladimir any chance he could get. Kasimir would probably be the death of him.
As his COO droned on, Vladimir barely listened. He felt weary. For ten years now, he’d fought this fight. There was no longer any joy in it. He’d taken up hobbies like car racing, risking death for the sake of cutting a few seconds off his time. He’d taken women, in endless, meaningless one-night stands. He’d been starving to feel something. Anything. But lately, even the thrill of cheating death had brought only a tiny blip.
There were no new worlds to conquer. He’d been going through the motions for a long time. He felt nothing.
Not until last night.
Not until Breanna returned to him.
He exhaled. Breanna.
She made him feel, after years of deadness. She’d brought pleasure. Yearning. Anger. Guilt. Desire. All wrapped up in a chaotic ball. He felt as if he’d just woken out of a coma, after years of dull gray sleep.
Perhaps he was incapable of love, with a soul twisted and gnarled like a tree split by lightning. He’d told her the truth: he’d never be the man he’d once been—naive and trusting enough to give away the shirt off his back. Not even for a woman like her.
Barely hearing his COO’s voice, Vladimir looked through the window of his villa’s home office. The bright Hawaiian dawn was burning through the low-swept morning clouds still kissing the green earth. The sky was turning blue, as blue as the sparkling ocean below.
He had the sudden memory of Breanna rising from the waves in the moonlight last night, her short silk robe stuck to her like a second skin as rivulets of water streamed down her breasts to her thighs. Vladimir shuddered, turning instantly hard. Instead of satiating him, making love to her had only increased his hunger.
“… So what should we do, Your Highness?” his COO finished anxiously.
Vladimir blinked, realizing he hadn’t been listening to the man for the past ten minutes. But he suddenly felt bored by business matters—completely bored. Even though it involved his brother. “What is your opinion?”
“We’ll have someone at our Alaska site infiltrate your brother’s mining operation to see if the data is accurate. If it is, we can try to influence the political process to delay their building. We could even consider some kind of sabotage at the mine. Although of course it would in no way be traceable back to you, sir….”
You’re ruthless. And you revel in it. The realization of how low he’d sunk caused Vladimir to flinch. “No.”
“But, Your Highness …”
“I said no.” Clawing back his hair, he paced across his office with his phone at his ear, prowling in circles around his desk.
“So what are your orders, Your Highness? How shall we make sure your brother does not succeed?”
Vladimir abruptly stopped. He’d been wrong about Breanna.
Could he have similarly been wrong about Kasimir, overreacting to his brother’s betrayal?
It was an accident. His brother’s voice had been muffled, humble, on the phone the next day from St. Petersburg. When you wouldn’t believe me, I was angry and drunk at the airport bar. I didn’t realize the man sitting next to me was a reporter for the Anchorage Herald. Forgive me, Volodya.
Vladimir’s hands tightened into fists. But he hadn’t accepted the apology. He’d been angry, humiliated, haunted. And he feared his stupidity might jeopardize the Siberian mining rights that were about to come through, rights that could make or break the fledgling company. “If you can’t trust my leadership, we should end this partnership.”
“Leadership? I thought we were supposed to be equals,” his brother had retorted. When Vladimir maintained a frosty silence, Kasimir had said harshly, “Fine. I’ll keep the rights in Africa and South America. And you can go to hell.”
Vladimir had been angry enough to let his brother go without telling him about the Siberian rights worth potentially half a billion dollars. He’d effectively cheated Kasimir out of his half.
Perhaps … He took a deep breath. Perhaps Kasimir had some cause to seek revenge against him.
“You will do nothing.” Now, Vladimir stared out the window toward the palm trees and blue sky. “My brother’s operation in Alaska does not affect us. Leave him alone. May the best company win.”
“But, sir!”
“Xendzov Mining can win in a fair fight.”
“Of course we can!” the man replied indignantly. He continued in a bewildered voice, “It’s just that we’ve never tried.”
“No more dirty tricks,” Vladimir said harshly.
“It will be harder—”
“Deal with it.”
The man cleared his throat. “You were expected in St. Petersburg today for the signing of the Arctic Oil merger. How long do you wish us to delay …?”
Vladimir gritted his teeth. “I will be at the office tomorrow.”
“Good.” He audibly exhaled. “With ten billion dollars on the line, we don’t want anything to—”
“Tomorrow.” Vladimir hung up. Tossing his phone on his desk, he left the study, with its computers and piles of paperwork. Walking outside to the courtyard, he stopped by the pool. Closing his eyes, he turned his face toward the bright morning sun. He felt the warmth of the golden light, and took a breath of the exotic, flower-scented air.
I think the man I love is still inside you.
He’s dead and gone.
Are you sure?
Slowly, Vladimir opened his eyes. He looked up at the twenty-million-dollar mansion that he’d bought as a refuge, but which had felt like a prison.
Bree Dalton had brought it to life. As she’d done to him.
But what right did he have to keep her prisoner?
He’d told himself she deserved it. She was the one who’d betrayed him ten years ago, then foolishly wagered her body in a card game. Let her finally face the consequences of her actions.
He paced around the edge of the pool, then stopped, clawing back his hair. But she’d offered her body in desperation. He’d abandoned her without a penny in Alaska, with men threatening them for money. And yet, even under that pressure, Bree had managed to come through the fire with a soul as pure as steel.
He still wanted to find those men and break their legs, their arms. Every bone in their bodies. But there was something he wanted even more.
He wanted Breanna.
His long-dormant conscience stirred, telling him he had no right to keep her. If he truly believed that she’d never meant to betray him, that she’d wagered herself only to protect her little sister, then he should let her go. If he kept her as his slave, it would make him no better than the criminals who’d imprisoned her with debts. He was selfish, but not a monster.
Wasn’t he?
Pushing the thought away, he pulled out his cell phone and made a few calls. One to an investigator. The other to his secretary, to arrange a Russian visa. Then he picked a wild orchid from the garden and went back inside the house. He’d given his household staff the day off, after Mrs. Kalani’s reaction to his treatment of Bree yesterday. So the enormous kitchen was quiet as he made her a breakfast tray. Putting the orchid in a vase, he walked up the stairs to their bedroom.
Breanna was still drowsing in bed. But as he pushed open the door, she sat up, tucking the sheet modestly over her naked breasts.
“Good morning,” she said shyly.
Vladimir went to the bed. She looked so innocent and fresh and pretty, the epitome of everything good. He put the breakfast tray into her lap. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“I am.” Her cheeks blushed a soft pink as she looked down at the tray, with its toast and fresh fruit and fragrant flower. “Thank you.” Looking up, she gave him a sudden wicked smile. “Last night left me really, really hungry.”
The bright, teasing look on her face took his breath away. He said abruptly, “I have to go to St. Petersburg today.”
Her face fell. “Oh.” Looking away, she said stiffly, “Well. Good. I’ll be glad to be free of you.”
“Too bad.” Turning her face roughly, he cupped her cheek. “You’re coming with me.”
Her eyes lit up. Then she scowled, glaring at him. “Because I’m your property and slave, right? Because you get to boss me around and take me wherever you want, right?”
He kissed her bare shoulder. “You got it.”
She shivered as his lips touched her. “You are such a jerk—”
Leaning over the tray, he kissed her lips, long and thoroughly, just to remind her who was in charge. Her lips parted so sweetly, it took all his strength to stop. He needed to order his private jet to leave within the hour. He had no time to make love to her.
But as he drew away, he saw that the white cotton sheet had fallen from her heedless hands, revealing the glory of her naked, trembling breasts. Against his will, he leaned forward to kiss her again, and they both jumped as they heard the breakfast tray crash to the floor.
Bree gave an impish laugh. “Maybe you should consider paper plates. I know you’re rich and all, but honestly, I can’t clean up all your broken china.”
With a growl, Vladimir pushed her back against the bed.
“Don’t worry. You’ll never clean for me again,” he whispered. “From now on … there’s only one thing I want you to do for me.”
Forcing his conscience to be silent, he lowered his mouth to hers. As he tasted the sweetness of her lips, he knew he wouldn’t give her up. She was his. He’d won her—she belonged to him, for as long as he desired her. If that meant he was a monster, so be it.
I think the man I love is still inside you.
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 bustier, 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.”