He heard her soft intake of breath. “Please. Don’t.”
“Don’t?” He looked into her eyes. “You want me,” he said in a low voice. “Just as I want you.”
Her luscious lips fell open. Then with a scowl, she shook her head fiercely. “You’re out of your mind!”
“Don’t you recognize the truth when you see it? Or have you forgotten how?”
“The only truth is I want you to leave me alone!”
Twining his fingers through her long blond hair, he pulled back, tilting her head to expose her throat.
“Whatever your words say,” he whispered, “your lips won’t lie.”
And he ruthlessly lowered his mouth to hers.
* * *
His kiss was an overpowering force, savage enough to bruise. His grip was unyielding, like steel. Bree felt herself being crushed against his hard body.
Kiss? More like plunder. His lips were hard and rough. She felt his powerful hands on her back, felt their warmth through her leather jacket. The muscles of his hard chest crushed her breasts as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. He pushed her lips wider apart with his own, taking full possession of her mouth.
The tip of his tongue touched hers, and it was like two currents of electricity joining in a burst of light. Against her will, repressed desire exploded inside her, and need sizzled down her body like fire.
Her hands somehow stopped pushing against his chest, and lifted to wrap around his neck. It h
ad been so long since she’d been touched by anyone, and he was the only man who’d ever kissed her. The only one she’d ever wanted. The man she’d loved with all her heart, the man who’d brought her to life and made her new.
Vladimir. As he kissed her, she sighed softly against his mouth. For ten long years, she’d dreamed of him every aching night. And now, at last, her dream was real. She was in his arms, he was kissing her….
But he’d never kissed her like this before. There was nothing loving about this embrace. It was scornful. Angry.
One of his legs pushed her thighs apart. His hands moved up to entwine his fingers in her hair, yanking her head back.
“No,” she whimpered, feeling dizzy as she wrenched away. She put an unsteady hand to her forehead. “No.”
Vladimir stared down at her. His gaze seemed almost bewildered. She heard the hard rasp of his breath, and realized that he, too, had been surprised. Then his face hardened.
“Why should I not kiss you?” He walked slowly around her, running one hand up her arm and the side of her neck. “You belong to me now, kroshka.”
Kroshka? She didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t sound very nice.
Stopping in front of her, he cupped her chin. He handled her carelessly, possessively, as a man might handle any valuable possession—a rifle, a jewel, a horse. Insolently, he traced his hand down her bare neck. “I intend to take full possession of my prize.” His hand slid over her black T-shirt to the hollow between her breasts. “Soon you will be spread across my bed. Aching for me.” His hand continued to slide down her waist. Gripping her hip, he suddenly pulled her hard against his body. “Your only reason to exist now is to serve me.”
Shaking, she tried to toss her head. Tried to defy him. Instead, her voice trembled as she asked, “What are you going to do to me?”
“Whatever I please.” He moved his hand up her body, cupping her breast over the T-shirt, tweaking her aching nipple with his thumb. As she gasped, he smiled. “But you will please me, Bree. Have no doubt about that.”
She wanted to beg him to let her go. But she knew it would do no good. Vladimir’s handsome, chiseled face was hard as granite. There was no mercy in it. But she couldn’t stop herself from choking out, “Please don’t do this.”
“My touch wasn’t always so distasteful to you,” he said softly. He ran his hands down her shoulders, pulling off her black leather jacket and dropping it to the marble bedroom floor. “Once, you shuddered beneath me. You wanted me so badly you wept.”
Bree swallowed. She’d once been sure of only two things on earth: that Vladimir Xendzov was the last honorable man in this selfish, cynical world. And that he loved her.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he’d whispered. I love you, Breanna. Be my wife. Be mine forever.
He’d been a different man then, a man who laughed easily, who held her tenderly, a fellow orphan who looked at her with worship in his eyes. Now, his handsome face was a lifetime harder. He was a different man, hard and rough as an unpolished diamond, his blue gaze as cold as the place that had been his frequent home for the past ten years—Siberia.
His grip on her tightened as he said huskily, “Do you not remember?”