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Controlling himself, Vladimir exhaled. “Breanna, I don’t want to fight.”
She licked her lips, then shook her head. “I don’t, either. But I have a reason to protect Josie. I told you, there are men who want to hurt us….”
With a harsh word and a clap of his hands, Vladimir scattered the salesgirls, leaving him alone with Bree in the dressing room. Coming closer, he put his hands on her shoulders and said in a low voice, “Those men won’t be bothering you.”
She blinked. “They won’t?”
“My people tracked them down. One of the men was already dead, unfortunately.” Vladimir gave a grim smile. “But the other two will never bother you or Josie again.”
Her eyes were huge. “What did you do?” she whispered. “Tell me you didn’t…break anything.”
Vladimir narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to. But I respected your request. I paid them off. Also, my investigator gathered enough evidence to have them both thrown in prison for the rest of their lives. If they ever cross your path again, even accidentally, that information will go to the local police. And they will die in jail.” He looked at her blank face, suddenly uncertain. “Is that satisfactory?”
“Satisfactory?” She took a deep breath, then with a sob, threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “We’re free!”
He looked down at her, wiping the tears off her cheek gently with his thumb. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you or your sister, Breanna. Ever again.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “Thank you.”
Seeing her reaction, he wanted to do more. He heard himself say, “And I’ll have my men look around Seattle. See if they can track Josie down.”
“Okay,” she sniffled.
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”
She shook her head. “We used to say that when we got back to the Mainland, if we had money, we’d sta
rt our own bed-and-breakfast, or a small hotel.” Her cheeks flushed. “But the truth is, that’s my dream, not hers. She wants to go to college.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find her.” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he turned away. He was stopped by Bree’s small voice.
“People call you ruthless. But it’s not true.”
Slowly, he turned to face her.
Bree’s hazel eyes were luminous, piercing his soul. “When we met, I thought you’d changed completely from the man I loved. But you’re still the same, aren’t you?” she whispered. “The other man—he’s just the mask you wear.”
Vladimir’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He felt bare beneath the spotlight. “You’re wrong,” he said roughly. “I am ruthless. Selfish, even cruel. Don’t believe otherwise.”
She shook her head. “You’re afraid people will take advantage, so you hide your good heart—”
“Good heart?” He grabbed her shoulders, looking down at her fiercely. “I am selfish to the bone. I will never put someone else’s interests ahead of my own. I cannot love, Bree. That ability is no longer in me. It died a long time ago.”
“But—”
“Would a good man keep you prisoner against your will?”
She lifted her gaze. Her hazel eyes were suddenly troubled, opaque, full of shadows.
“No,” she whispered.
No. That one word caused an unexpected wrench inside him. As the two of them stood in the huge private dressing room of the designer atelier, her expression became impassive—her poker face. He wondered what she was thinking. In this moment, when he felt so strangely vulnerable, his insight into her soul suddenly disappeared.
“I’m not a good man, Bree,” he said in a low voice. To prove it further—to both of them—he lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her hard enough to bruise. She kissed him back with fierce passion, but he felt her withholding something he wanted. Something he needed.
Unzipping her blue ball gown, Vladimir kissed the bare skin of her neck. Her hair smelled like sunlight and passion fruit, like vanilla and the ocean, like endless summer.
Her strapless silk bodice fell, revealing her white bustier. They were surrounded by mirrors on three sides, and as he saw endless reflections of him touching her, he felt so hard he wanted to take her roughly, against the wall. So he did. As the dress fell to the hardwood floors, he unzipped his pants and lifted her, shoving her roughly against the mirrored wall. Barely pausing to sheath himself in a condom, he thrust inside her. Wrapping her legs around his hips tightly, she clutched his shoulders as he filled her, slamming her against the wall. Five thrusts and she was moaning. Ten thrusts and she clutched her fingertips into his shoulders as her body tightened, her back arching. Fifteen thrusts and she screamed with pleasure in cries that matched his own.
