Читать книгу Rich Man's Revenge: Dealing Her Final Card / Seducing His Opposition / A Reputation For Revenge - Jennie Lucas, Katherine Garbera - Страница 11

BREE stood alone in the surf, staring bleakly out at the moonlit ocean, wishing she was far, far away from Hawaii. She felt the waves against her bare thighs, felt the sand squish beneath her toes. She shivered in the warm night, wishing she was a million miles away.

How could she have given him her virginity?

How could she have let him kiss her, touch her, make her explode with pleasure? How?

Allowing Vladimir to make love to her had brought back all the memories of the way she’d once loved him. How could she have allowed herself to be so vulnerable? Why hadn’t she been able to protect herself, to keep her heart cold?

Because he’d always known how to get past all her defenses. Always. He hadn’t forced her. He hadn’t needed to. All he’d done was kiss her, and she’d surrendered, melting into his arms. And she’d been able to hold nothing back. Her feelings had come pouring out of her lips. How she’d loved him.

How she hated him.

When Vladimir had said that no one would ever threaten her or Josie again, she’d been relieved. Grateful, even. Then he’d spoken with such relish about breaking all their bones.

Bree had no love for the men who’d made their lives a misery over the past ten years. But she would have paid back every penny if she could. And seeing Vladimir, the prince she’d loved at eighteen, turned into this … this monster... was unbearable. She’d thought the man she’d loved had betrayed her. But it was far worse than that.

The charming, tender-hearted man she’d loved was dead. Dead and gone forever. And left in his place was nothing but a selfish, coldhearted tycoon.

She missed the man she’d loved. She missed him as she hadn’t allowed herself to do for a full ten years. The way he’d held her, respected her, the way he’d made her laugh. He’d still been strong, but he’d looked out for those weaker than himself.

But that man was gone—gone forever.

Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks as she bowed her head and cried in the moonlight. Even the cool water of the ocean couldn’t wash away her grief and regret.

For all these years, she’d pompously lectured Josie that she must be strong as a woman—must never give a man power over her. Bree wiped her eyes.

She was a fraud. She wasn’t strong. She never had been.

“Breanna.”

She heard his low, deep voice behind her. Whirling around with a gasp, she saw him walking at the edge of the surf, coming toward her.

“Vladimir,” she whispered, taking an involuntary step back into the ocean. “You followed me?”

“I couldn’t let you go.” He walked straight into the waves, never looking away from her. Moonlight traced the strong muscles of his naked chest, and the dark hairline leading to the low-slung waistband of his jeans.

She folded her trembling arms over her wet, flimsy robe. “What more could you possibly do to hurt me?”

His eyes were dark and hot, his voice low. “I don’t want to hurt you. Not anymore. Never again.”

“Then what do you want?” Then suddenly, Bree knew, and her body shook all over. Backing away, she held up her hand. “Don’t—don’t come any closer!”

But he didn’t stop. He waded nearer, until the water rose higher than his thighs, to his lean, sexy hips, where the wet jeans clung.

Vladimir’s gaze fell to her body. Looking down, she realized her robe was completely soaked and sticking to her skin. Even in the moonlight, the color of her nipples was visible through the translucent, diaphanous pink silk.

They stood inches apart, waist-deep in the ocean. Their eyes locked. A current of electricity flashed through her.

“I won’t be your possession, Vladimir,” she whispered. “I won’t be your slave.”

His lips curved. “How could a woman like you,” he said, “ever be any man’s slave?”

A large wave pushed her forward, and the palm she’d held out against him fell upon the hot, bare skin of his solid chest. Without moving her hand, Bree looked up at him. Her heart was beating wildly.

“But you’re mine.” His dark eyes gleamed as, grabbing her wrists, he pulled her tightly against his body. Twining his hands through her wet hair, he cupped her face and tilted her mouth upwards. “You’ve always been mine.”

“I’m not—”

“Your own body proved it. You belong to me, Breanna. Admit it.”

She shook her head wildly. “I despise you.”

“Perhaps I deserve your hatred.” His words were low, barely audible over the surf and the plaintive cry of faraway seagulls. “But you belong to me, just the same. And I’m going to take you.”

As the surf thundered against the beach, Vladimir lowered his mouth to hers.

His kiss was searing, passionate. But she realized something had changed. As he held her against his body like a newly discovered treasure, his lips were exploratory, even tender. His kiss was full of yearning and heartbreak—of vulnerability.

It was the kiss she remembered. The exact way Vladimir had kissed her when Bree’s world had been reborn.

A choked sob came from the back of her throat. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed him back with all the aching passion of lost time. Standing on the edge of the moon-drenched ocean, they clung to each other as the waves tried, but failed, to pull them apart.

Without a word, he lifted her against his naked chest. Their wet bodies dripped water as he carried her out of the ocean, back to the white-sand beach. And as he carried her up the moonlit cliff path that led to the villa, she closed her eyes, clinging to him.

You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Your own body proved it.

It was true. Even though she hated him, it had always been true.

Bree was his. And whether she wished it or not, she always would be.

Vladimir left a trail of sand and water as he crossed the floor of their bedroom, then gently lowered Bree to her feet beside the bed.

Neither of them spoke. Almost holding his breath, he slowly stroked down her soft arms to her slender waist. He undid the silken tie of her robe. Never taking his eyes from hers, he peeled the wet, translucent silk off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

She now stood before him naked and beautiful, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. Looking at her, this sensual angel, Vladimir trembled, racked with desires both sacred and profane.

He’d taken her virginity. He couldn’t undo that.

But he could change her memory of it.

Pulling her naked body into his arms, against his bare chest, he cupped the back of her head, tangling his hands in her long wet hair, and lowered his mouth to hers.

This time, without so much anger and prejudice in his heart, he finally felt her inexperience, the way she held her breath as she hesitated, her lips shy, then tried to follow his lead. He noticed everything he hadn’t wanted to see.

This time, he did not plunder. He kissed her softly. Slowly. His lips suggested, rather than forced; they taught, rather than demanded. He let her set the pace. He felt her small body tremble in his arms, and then, with a deep sigh from the back of her throat, she relaxed. Her arms reached around his neck, and he felt her mouth part for him, offering freely what he’d earlier taken like a brute.

As Vladimir held her naked, soft form, still wet from the ocean, waves of desire pummeled his own body with need. But he controlled himself. He would not take her roughly. This time, he would give her the perfect pleasure she deserved. The night he’d wanted to give her long ago …

Standing beside the four-poster bed, he kissed her for a long time, holding her tight. The two of them swayed in the shadows of the bedroom. Her soft breasts felt like silk, brushing against his bare chest. His ran his hands over the smooth, warm skin of her back, beneath her wet hair.

Their kiss deepened. He did not force it, and neither did she. It just happened, like magic, as the hunger grew like fire between them. He felt the tip of her tongue brush his, and his whole body suddenly felt electric. He could almost see colors in bursts of light behind his closed eyes, like an illumination in the darkness. She was his guiding light and North Star. His one true point.

He held on to her as if, by kissing her, he could go back in time and be the openhearted young man he’d once been. The fearless one …

Bree’s hands moved slowly down the sides of his body, pausing at the recent scars. She drew back to look at his skin. “The racing accident did this?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he gave a single unsteady nod.

Her fingers traced the other scars she saw. “And this?”

“Boxing.”

“And this?”

“Skydiving.”

“So reckless,” she sighed. “Don’t you know you could die?”

“We’re all going to die,” he said roughly. “I was trying to feel alive.”

Her fingertips explored, accepted fully. As she touched his scars, he held his breath, feeling his soul laid bare.

“Still sorry the car accident didn’t kill me?” he said in a low voice.

She stopped at the waistband of his jeans and looked up at him with troubled eyes. For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then she shook her head, moving her hand over his heart.

“No,” she whispered. “Because I think the man I loved is still inside you.”

He grabbed her wrist. “He’s dead and gone.”

She raised her eyes.

“Are you sure?” she said softly.

The look in her hazel eyes made Vladimir’s heart twist in his chest. It was as if she knew exactly who he was, scars and all. As if she saw right through him. Straight to his broken soul.

Turning away without a word, he unzipped the fly of his jeans. He wrestled the wet denim to the floor. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her to the bed, with her naked body on top of his. The feeling of having her like this—Breanna, the woman he’d hated for ten years, the first and last woman he’d let himself love—left him dizzy.

“I’m not that man,” he said aloud, to both of them.

Pulling her wrists from his grip, she put her hands on either side of his face.

“Let me see,” she whispered. Lowering her head, she kissed him.

As her sweet mouth moved against his lips, the weight of her naked body pressed against him, and it felt like heaven. Her hands moved slowly across his skin, down his arms, to his hips. Lowering her head, she followed the same path, kissing down his chest to his flat belly.

When he felt the heat of her breath against his thighs, he squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly afraid to move. She paused. Then, tentatively, she reached out her hand and stroked him, exploring the length of his shaft. He gasped softly. Then he felt her weight move on the bed, and suddenly her lips and breath were on him. He felt her mouth against him, her tongue stroke his shaft to the tip.

He gasped again.

She moved slowly, and he suddenly realized this was new to her; she’d never explored any man so intimately before. The thought of this—that she’d waited all this time for him, only for him—was too much for him to endure. He felt her soft warm mouth enfold him, and he sucked in his breath. One more flicker of her tongue—

Sitting up, he grabbed her, rolling her over. Lying on top of her, he looked straight into her eyes and breathed hoarsely, “No, Breanna. No.”

Putting his hand on her cheek, he lowered his head to hers. As he kissed her lips, his hands stroked her satin-soft skin, cupping her breasts. Moving down her body, he kissed first one breast, then the other, with hot need, suckling her until she gasped. His fingertips caressed down her belly. When he reached the mound between her legs, he stopped. His body was shaking, screaming for him to push inside her.

But he did not. He moved abruptly to the bottom of the bed. Taking one of her feet in his hands, he slowly kissed it, suckling her toes, tasting salt from the Pacific on her sweet, warm skin. He felt her tremble as he kissed the hollow of her foot, then moved up her leg to her calf, and the tender spot behind her knee. When he reached her thighs, he pressed them apart, spreading her.

He risked a glance upward. Her face was rapt, her eyes tightly closed. He heard the rasp of her breath and felt the tremble of her legs as she nervously tried to close them. Smiling to himself—he could hardly wait to give her this pleasure—he held her legs splayed and kissed slowly up the soft skin of her thighs. He moved higher and higher, teasing her with his breath, until he finally spread her wide. Lowering his head, he took a long, deep taste.

He had the satisfaction of hearing her cry out as her body shook with need. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his tongue, widening it to lap at her, then pointing the tip to penetrate a half inch inside her. He felt her body get tighter and tighter, saw her back start to arch off the mattress, as before. But this time, he wanted to give her more.

Flicking his tongue against her swollen nub, he pushed a thick knuckle of his folded finger just barely inside her. She felt wet, so wet for him. One of her hands rested on his head, clutching his hair, no longer trying to pull him away, embarrassment and fear forgotten beneath the waves of pleasure. Her other hand gripped the tousled white sheets of the bed. Her body grew tense and tenser beneath him, until she started to lift off the mattress, as if gravity itself were losing power over her. She held her breath, and then with a loud cry, she exploded. He felt her body contract hard around his knuckle.

Sheathing himself in another condom—except this time, his hands shook so badly he nearly dropped it—he positioned himself as she was still gasping in kittenish cries of pleasure. He wanted to plunge himself inside her.

But he did not.

Even now, he forced himself to stay in control. He entered her body inch by inch, stretching her wide to fully accept him, doing it slowly, so that she could feel him inside her, and he could feel every inch of her. Her eyes opened with wonder, locking with his own. They never looked away as he slowly filled her, so slowly that the exquisite pleasure almost felt like pain. He finally pushed himself inside her, all the way to the hilt.

And he forgot to breathe. She felt so good. This was ecstasy he’d never felt before. Faster, his body screamed. Harder, faster, deeper, now!

But with a will of iron, he gritted his teeth and ignored his body’s demand. He forced himself to go slow for her, in a way he’d never done before for any woman. He wanted this to be what she would remember from her first night of making love. Not the ruthless, rough, crude way of before.

Gripping her hips to steady his pace, he started to slowly ride her. Her hands held his backside, pulling him more tightly inside her, deeper, and deeper still.

He felt her body tighten again, and as he lowered his head to suckle her breasts—first one, then the other—his hardened body moved in a circular motion against hers as he thrust inside her.

Closing her eyes, she clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh. Vladimir’s heart was pounding in his throat with the need to explode inside her, but he forced himself to relax, to wait. He just needed to see her face light up, to hear her gasp. He just needed to feel her tighten around him one more time….

He pounded inside her, harder and deeper, and her hips lifted to meet the force of his thrust. Lowering his head once more, he kissed her. As their lips met, he heard her suck in her breath, felt her body tighten….

And then she screamed, even louder than she had before. In that same instant, he finally let himself go. It felt so good…. So good …

Stars exploded behind his eyes, and his own ecstatic shout rang in his ears. Their joined cries of pleasure echoed in the quiet moonlit night, louder than the distant roar of the sea.

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.