“How do you know what my favored items are?”
Her voice was thin, but he paid no attention as he slipped from the bed to dress. “When my people entered your apartment after you left yesterday morning, they sent me a detailed list of what they’d found.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sit up with one of the pillows tucked to her front. She sat with her legs together and off to the side. Elegant pose. When she flipped her hair over her head with her forearm, and it fell around her shoulders and down her back, the unintentional eroticism of it pulled his full attention to her.
Her jaw was set. “Don’t think that because I’m not jumping all over
your people
breaking into my apartment that I’m okay with it. I hope they were shocked and appalled that I left dirty dishes in the sink. Where are they keeping Loki? I hope his unclipped claws opened someone’s carotid,” she added maliciously.
He turned away. She wasn’t looking at him, but he was damn sure she was aware of him, and he didn’t want her to know he found her temper rather delightful.
“He’s enjoying some time in the Hamptons.”
“Hmm. Speaking of time; do you think you could guestimate how long I’ll be of use to you? Any clue how long this psychotic episode of yours might last? Christmas is a few weeks away, and I haven’t started my shopping yet. And I want to call Miranda. She’s my best friend, and she’ll be beyond freaked out by now.”
He killed his mild amusement and left his pants open on his hips to snap up his shirt from where he’d tossed it on the floor. His brother wasn’t dead a week, and this girl’s show of attitude was…helping.
That was unacceptable. The only thing that should currently bring a smile to his face was having Sergei Pivchenko’s dripping heart crushed in his fist. The Russian had attempted to start a war by murdering Lucian’s only family, and until Lucian’s team found him, enjoying anything this wretched life had to offer was blasphemous.
“I am sure those on your list will appreciate whatever you bring them from your trip to Europe.” His black mood was restored. “Your friend was delivered a message that told her you felt it necessary to comfort me in my time of need, and you would see her soon.”
“My friends won’t be impressed by gifts from Europe, and Miranda definitely wouldn’t have bought your bullshit. She’s freaking out.” While she unwisely baited him, she stared at the painting that hung between the tall windows.
“Are you aware of what you are doing right now, Yasmeen?”
She tipped her nose up at him and exchanged the pillow for the sheet. “I’m not letting you know I’m unhappy. And I’m sure not cuddling after some great sex.” She brought her knees up and laid her head on them with her face turned away.
He’d insulted her by repeatedly snubbing her need for affection. Or, more accurately, her need to offer
him
affection. “It is the great sex I’m after. Not the cuddling.” She stiffened as he habitually pulled on the cuffs of his shirt to straighten them. “I feel I should warn you that during your stay, you will be used hard.
“Oh, yeah?” she drawled without looking at him. “How much will I be expected to endure?”
“Endure,
draga
? That soaked pussy I just fucked into giving me those orgasms makes that a bad word choice.”
She gave an un-lady-like snort and muttered something about a body’s natural response to stimuli.
He paused with his zipper halfway up as she completely discounted the unique attraction between them. “Is that what that was?” He nodded, his mouth tightening right along with his chest, and continued dressing. The very idea that she didn’t feel the goddamn pull that was tying him in knots made him see red. “You asked what you will endure? The answer to that would be many more orgasms. I’ll be curious to see how spectacular your ‘body’s natural response to stimuli’ is when I bring in a couple of associates of mine. It should be quite impressive when more than one man is coaxing that response from you, hmm?”
Her shocked gasp was music to his ears. “No! Lucian!”
He watched her scramble to clutch the sheet to her front as she tripped her way off the bed. She came to him, her head going from side-to-side, revulsion emanating from her in waves that heated his skin.
“You can’t do that to me! I lied, you bully. And you know it.” She gripped his arm, sinking her long nails in. “It’s you. You’re the only one who’s ever made me go crazy like that. I swear to God. Please tell me you only said that because you’re mad that I insulted your skills. Please!” She tried to shake him then shuddered so hard her teeth made a little ticking sound. “I swear on my life; I will fight the bloodiest fight you’ve ever witnessed if you allow other men in here to rape me.”
How juvenile that he’d wanted to shock her into verbalizing something he already knew. That it was him and him alone who “made her go crazy like that.”
He reached out and jerked the sheet away. Dropping it on the floor, he caressed her shoulders and down her arms until he could take her hands in his. He brought them up, but rather than kiss her knuckles; he bit them. Hard enough to make her wince.
“I know it is me who brings out the whore in you. I can see it bothers you, and you may be foolish enough to try to fight it, but you will not win.” He held fast when she went to pull free, as expected. “At the gallery where we met. At the restaurant I brought you to that night. At your place of employment. At the visitation the other day, and then at the church, and later at the Waldorf. In every situation, you appeared classy, utterly beautiful, yet distant. You are intimidating and unreachable to most men.” He squeezed her fingers. “But not to me. I am the one who knows how that demeanor falls away. I am the one who knows how you morph into what I just spent the last two hours lost in. You should understand that a man does not covet
a
whore, Yasmeen. He covets
his
whore. And rest assured I will be the only one to reap the rewards of your erotic transformation from art connoisseur to insatiable sex kitten.”
When she pulled again, he allowed her freedom. She kept a wary eye on him as she bent and took up the sheet again. She held it to her chin with one hand, seemingly unaware the covering had failed to hide the swell of one breast and its rose-colored nipple. With her hair a mass of silky tangles all around her shoulders and over her arms, her mouth red from being used so hard, she was the most exquisite picture. He would have paid millions to commission the painting before him.
“Will you do me a favor?”
He raised his brows and turned his lips down as he nodded in a we-shall-see gesture.
“Will you stop using those cheap scare tactics? I wouldn’t have thought you’d have to sink to methods like that to get what you want.”
How naïve she still was. “
Draga
. Something you should know. When you disrespected what this is,” he motioned between them, “my first thought
was
to make you suffer through the touch of other men so you’d learn the difference between what they would make you feel and what I make you feel. It was your reaction and subsequent confession that saved you from such an experience.” And the fact that he would likely decapitate anyone who laid one finger on her. He’d put that body-less cranium on prominent display so everyone would know what was in store for them if they touched his property. Men and women alike. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I will not follow through on something I say.”
He distantly realized that sharing her was the second threat he’d made against her that he had no intention of following through on. Was he showing weakness where she was concerned?
Of course, he was. That was one of the reasons he’d stayed away from her for so long. He’d known this would happen. His mouth compressed as his father’s image drifted through his mind, and he looked at Yasmeen with new eyes. Cold eyes. His father had allowed his mother to get away with the most heinous things because of his obsession with her. Until the day she’d proven her total disregard for him, and in effect, her children.
“For instance,” he went on, his tone more rigid than ever. “When I spoke of using you hard, in clear, precise terms that means I plan on fucking you day and night, whenever the mood strikes. If I see you pass by my office on your way to the library, and the urge to have you comes, I will follow you to that sweet smelling room and send you to your knees surrounded by my many first editions. I will sink into your tight throat and expect you to swallow what I give you, no matter who is around us. If I walk into the kitchen and see the curve of your ass as you bend over to take an apple from the crisper, I will hold you in that position, likely rip a hole in your pants rather than take them down, and I will fuck you to a place where you will not care that the cook and his assistant are witnessing the explosive act.”
When she shook her head, her gaze imploring him not to follow through on anything he’d just said, he dealt with her visible distress by laying a hand over her eyes so he couldn’t be affected.
“You are Lucian Fane’s pet, Yasmeen. That title is a threat in itself because it means any attention I am not giving my business interests will land on you. How fortunate pleasing your owner seems to come so naturally. I have yet to see you have to make a real effort.”
He brushed a kiss over her brow to get one last taste of her on his lips then went for the door, warning over his shoulder, “But that time will come.”
♦ ♦ ♦
After a shower spent wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into, Yasmeen followed her warden’s instructions and dressed comfortably. From the fully stocked closet of items all in her size, she chose a pair of black leggings, black leather boots with a three-inch heel, and a warm, bulky knit in winter-white.
You are Lucian Fane’s pet.
She was gnawing on her lip as she hesitantly left the security of the bedroom, hating that she was no longer outraged by the title. When he claimed he was her owner, her hair sprang up. But when he called her his pet, she was beginning to like it. Both reflected ownership, but to her, being a pet meant he’d chosen her for companionship out of scores of others. Being owned, well, that was all about control and she wasn’t looking to be some wealthy mobster’s puppet, sexual or otherwise.
The way in which the tenderness between her legs thumped with a needy beat proved her a liar, but she pretended not to feel it. She had to find a phone. She needed Miranda’s ear. Badly.
She didn’t get the chance to unload her problems on her best friend, but Yasmeen did get hopelessly lost roaming the deserted hallways that seemed to grow darker and quieter by the second. By the time she caught a whiff of freshly baked bread and followed the delicious aroma down a narrow set of stairs—that weren’t the ones she and Lucian had used earlier—she was furious and trying not to hyperventilate. If there was anything she hated more than the dark, it was being alone in the dark.
She entered a massive kitchen that looked as if it had been plucked off a lot at Universal Studios. Of course, the medieval set with its mix of stone walls and modern appliances was staffed with a couple of grumpy-looking cooks.
“Excuse me. Hello.” The two older men turned to stare at her, an eight-burner gas stovetop behind them. “The bread smells heavenly,” she said first as her stomach growled loudly. She was too upset to care that they must have heard it. “Could you tell me where I would find our—” She slammed her lips shut, catching herself before giving Lucian that stupid fucking label. “I’m looking for Lucian. Do you know where he is?”
They looked at each other and shrugged a little before coming back to her. One of them rubbed his big belly. His small smile made her skin crawl. Of course, no English.
After receiving a couple of hated once-overs, the smiling one licking his lips as he tried to see her breasts through her sweater, she left without another word. Fucking idiots.
She spent another fifteen awful minutes wandered, trying locked doors and looking through stained-glass windows that showed nothing but darkness outside so that she couldn’t even tell if she was at the front or back of the fortress. She attempted to distract herself by wondering if her neglectful host meant to give her a room of her own during her incarceration. She would be
demanding
separate accommodations after this.
“Simple directions would have been helpful,” she said aloud as she jumped when she heard what sounded like a door slamming. She whimpered a little and continued talking to herself if not just to hear a voice. Flashes of the dark attic one of her families had made her sleep in kept coming to her, making her stomach churn.
“Spooning would have been even nicer,” she bit out, increasing her speed when she pictured the lecherous cooks. Her neck was beginning to ache from constantly looking over her shoulder. “Fucking hell. This is worse than walking alone through old man Tavares’ auto wreckers on a Friday night. Lucian!” she finally shouted, once more feeling the stark sense of rejection she’d felt when he’d blocked every touch she’d attempted to land after their frenetic coupling. God, he was good. So, so good. But his aftercare sucked. He hadn’t wanted any part of her once the sex was over, and she’d been left floundering. After what he’d done to her, the things he’d made her feel, she’d been afloat and in need of an anchor. One he hadn’t provided. That had made her bitchy, but he deserved it.