Dealing Her Final Card(40)

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.”