Dealing Her Final Card(33)

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.