Dealing Her Final Card(52)
She saw only him. She felt only his arms around her, and the rapid thrum of her own heart.
She loved him. It was foolish. It was wrong. But she could no more stop herself than she could stop breathing. She loved him.
For hours, they danced together. They drank champagne. They ate. They danced some more. For Bree, it all flashed by in a moment. In his arms, she lived a lifetime in every precious minute. The regular laws of time were suspended. Hours sped by in seconds.
Suddenly, as they were dancing, the music stopped. Lifting her cheek from his chest in surprise, Bree saw it was nearly midnight.
Vladimir looked down at her as they stood unmoving on the dance floor, and as the last seconds of the year counted down, for Bree it was as if time not only became suspended, but was reversed. His gaze locked with hers, and ten years disappeared.
She was eighteen and he was twenty-five. They were in each other’s arms. The world was new. Brand-new.
He cupped her face. “Breanna...”
Cheers went up around them in the ballroom as she heard the last seconds of the year counted down in a jumble of languages, German, French, Chinese, Spanish, English, and Russian loudest of all.
“Pyat...”
“Cheteeri...”
“Tree...”
Lowering his head, Vladimir said huskily, “Let’s start the New Year right...”
“Dva...”
“Ahdeen...”
His lips pressed against hers, smooth and rough, hard and sweet. He kissed her, and fire flashed not just through her body, but her soul.
“S’novem godem!” Raucous cheers and the sound of horns and singing revels exploded across the ballroom. “Happy New Year!”
When Vladimir finally pulled away from their embrace, Bree stared up at him, her heart in her throat. She swayed, nearly falling over without his arms around her.
“S’novem godem,” he murmured, cupping her cheek tenderly. “Happy New Year, angel moy.”
She looked up at him.
“I love you,” she choked out.
He stared at her, his eyes wide.
All around them, people were dancing to the music of the orchestra, laughing, drinking champagne, kissing each other. But Vladimir was completely still.
Tears filled Bree’s eyes as she gave him a trembling smile. “Even when I hated you, I loved you,” she whispered. “When I made the wager in Hawaii to be yours forever, part of me must have been willing to lose that bet, or I never would have made it.” She licked her lips. “You have always been the only man for me. Always.”
He did not answer. His face was pale, his blue eyes as frozen as a glacier.
A chill of fear sneaked into her soul.
“And what I need to know is...” She bit her lip, then lifted her gaze to his. “Can you ever love me?”
Vladimir’s eyes suddenly narrowed. He cleared his throat.
“Excuse me,” he said shortly. He walked past her, leaving her alone on the dance floor.
Mouth agape, Bree turned and stared after him in amazement. Her cheeks went hot as she noticed exquisitely dressed Russians and other wealthy, beautiful people staring at her with open curiosity. Embarrassed, she walked off the dance floor.
She’d never felt so alone. Or so stupid.
She lifted her hand to the necklace, to the heavy weight of the peridot against her bare skin.
He cares for me, she repeated to herself silently. He cares.
But even that beautiful jewel seemed small consolation, considering that she’d just confessed her love for him, and he’d left her without a word.
Maybe he was called away on urgent business. At midnight. On New Year’s Eve. She clawed back tendrils of her long blond hair. Why had she told him she loved him, and worse, asked if he could ever love her back? She knew he couldn’t! He’d told her that straight-out, from the start!
Oh, God. She covered her face with her hands. She was an idiot.
Maybe when he came back, she could give a hearty laugh, as if it had all been a joke. She could tell him she’d been pretending to have Stockholm syndrome or something. She could be persuasive with her lies, as she’d been long ago. She could turn off her soul and disconnect from her heart. She knew how.
But...
She pulled her hand away. She didn’t want to. She was tired of bluffing. She didn’t want to be that con artist anymore. Ever again.
And sometimes telling the truth, showing her cards, would mean she lost the game.
She gave a ragged laugh. She’d never expected the cost to be this high. Snatching a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, she tried to sip it nonchalantly, as if it was quite enjoyable to be standing on the edge of the dance floor in a blue Cinderella gown, alone in a crowd of strangers. But as minutes passed, she suddenly wondered if Vladimir was even coming back. For all she knew, he’d already jumped into the limo and was heading for the airport.