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“No. Please,” Bree whispered. She put her hand on his arm. “Just take me home.”
People in the restaurant were staring at them, whispering behind their hands. “But we already ordered dessert,” he said tightly. “Chocolate cake. Your favorite.”
“I just want to go.” Her cheeks were red. “And forget this day ever happened.”
Forget this day ever happened? The wonderful day he’d spent with her—the hours he’d spent watching her laugh, telling her the truth, buying her things, trying so hard to please her—as he’d never tried to please any woman? “I don’t want to forget.”
She looked away. “I do.”
Shoulders stiff, Vladimir went across the restaurant and tossed thirty thousand rubles on their table. Getting her leather coat, he wrapped it around her shivering shoulders and led her out into the cold, dark night. As his chauffeur drove their limousine home, Vladimir looked out at the snowy streets of St. Petersburg. It had been the best day of his life, but it had ended with Bree in tears.
He wanted to blame the fat little hotel manager. But he knew there was one person at fault for the way she’d been so crudely insulted as a woman who could be bought and sold at any man’s will.
Vladimir himself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE next night, Bree paused as she got ready for the New Year’s Eve ball. She looked wanly out the tall curved window of their bedroom.
The wintry Gulf of Finland on the Baltic Sea looked nothing like Hawaii’s warm turquoise waters. It was even worse than Alaska’s frigid sea. Even in the weak, short hours of daylight, the Russian waves were choppy and gray. But the sun had set long ago, and the world was dark. The black, icy water here could suck the life out of you within seconds if you were dumb enough to fall into it.
Kind of like falling in love with a man who would neither love you back nor set you free.
Bree closed her eyes. Yesterday, the workaholic tyrant had been neither workaholic nor a tyrant, playing hooky from work to entertain her. Letting people keep their jobs in his merger. Tipping that saleswoman at the boutique. Getting rid of the men who’d threatened Bree and her little sister. And more.
I’ve never forgotten you, Breanna. She would never forget the stark vulnerability in his blue eyes. Or stopped wanting you.
Bree trembled with emotion, remembering. Thank heaven she’d been able to cover her reaction by gulping that nasty-tasting vodka. She should probably be grateful for Greg Hudson, too. His words had brought her back to reality with a snap.
Bleakly, she opened her eyes. She was alone in their bedroom, with one leg propped up on the bed, pulling on sheer black stockings as she got ready for the New Year’s Eve ball. Her beautiful haute-couture princess gown was on the bed, waiting to go over her new black lace bra, panties and garter belt. Vladimir had bought out every expensive store in the city. “I am trying to make you happy,” he’d said. But she couldn’t be bought that way. Only two things could make her happy, and they were the very things he would not or could not give her. Freedom. Love.
I am selfish to the bone. I will never put someone else’s interests ahead of my own.
She couldn’t let herself fall for him. She’d loved him once, and it had nearly killed her. She’d lost everything.
Never again. Unless they were equals, loving him was only a different kind of bondage. Especially since, in the eyes of the world, Bree was nothing more than his whore.
Hadn’t meeting with her ex-boss proved that?
“Well, well, what a pleasant surprise,” Greg Hudson had drawled, stepping into her path in the hallway last night. “If it isn’t the poker-playing maid herself.”
She’d been shocked to see her former boss’s beady eyes and sweaty face. Instead of a tropical shirt, he was dressed in the required jacket and tie, probably borrowed from the restaurant, since they didn’t fit his lumpy body.
“Mr. H-Hudson,” she’d stammered. “What are you doing in St. Petersburg?”
“Call me Greg.” He came closer, crowding her space in the darkened hallway. “I’m here to collect a big debt. Thought I’d celebrate at the best restaurant in town.”
“You left the Hale Ka’nani?”
His expression darkened. “I got fired. The hotel’s owner found out I took a bribe.” He tilted his head, his eyes sly. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I hired you and that sister of yours?”
Bree sucked in her breath as all her old worries came back. “Someone bribed you to hire us? Who?”
Leaning forward, he wheezed, “Even he didn’t think I’d be as successful as I was. In a few days, I’ll be paid, and given a huge bonus. I’ll be rich enough to pay you directly, for services rendered. I want to be on your waiting list. Name your price.” He’d stroked her upper arm, and she’d caught the scent of whiskey, heavy and sour, on his breath before he saw Vladimir and turned away. “Come to me when Xendzov is done with you.”
Bree’s face burned as she remembered the humiliation of that moment. She’d been completely unprepared for it. And even more unprepared for the suspicion that had slithered into her soul ever since.
Who would have paid Greg Hudson to hire the Dalton sisters at the Honolulu resort?
