Dealing Her Final Card (Princes Untamed 1)

Bree’s cheeks flooded with shame as she remembered the expression on the man’s face when he’d seen Vladimir lying on top of her on the desk. He’d looked at her as if she were a prostitute. And glancing down at herself in only a G-string and garter belt, a sex-time delivery service, Bree felt a lump rise in her throat. Leaning down, she picked up the discarded bustier off the floor.

The smug masculine smile dropped from Vladimir’s face. “What are you doing?”

She put on the long black coat, stuffing the bustier into the pocket. “Returning to my prison.”

“Prison?” he repeated. “I have given you a palace. I’ve given you everything a woman could possibly desire.”

“Right.” She zipped the puffy coat all the way to her throat. As she turned away, she felt like crying.

Vladimir stopped her at the door. “Why are you so sad?”

The ache in her throat made it impossible to talk. She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes.

“You were—embarrassed?”

“Yes,” she choked out.

“But why?” he demanded. “He is nothing. No one. Why do you care?”

Bree lifted her eyes. “Because I, too, am nothing,” she whispered. “And no one.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

To you. I am nothing and no one to you. She turned her head. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Fine,” he said coldly. “If you don’t want to be here, go home.”

She lifted her gaze hopefully. “Home to my sister?”

“Our home! Together!”

Her shoulders slumped. She stared down at her feet.

“There is no together at the palace,” she said in a small voice. “There’s just me. Alone.”

“You know I am dealing with a complex merger, Breanna,” he said tightly. “I have no time to—”

“I know.” Her lips twisted. “I should just be grateful you show up in my bed in the middle of the night, right? Grateful you’re so very, very good to me.”

He ground his teeth, his eyes dark.

“I gave you my credit card. You should have bought out half the city by now. You should be enjoying yourself. You can buy whatever you wish—clothes, furs, shoes. And a ball gown. It is supposed to be fun.”

“Fun,” she muttered.

He scowled. “Is it not?”

“Shopping all by myself in a foreign city, as your bodyguards keep other people out of the store, and six different salesgirls try to convince me that a puce-colored burlap sack with ostrich feathers looks good on me…?” Bree shuddered. “No. It’s not fun.” She indicated the long black coat. “This is the sum total of my purchases.”

He blinked. “The coat?”

“And the lingerie.”

“Damn it, Bree, you aren’t in Hawaii anymore. I told you to buy warm clothes.”

“Who cares if I feel warm?” She glared at him. “I’m just your possession. My feelings don’t matter.”

He stared at her, and the air around them suddenly became electrified. “Of course they matter.” He took a single step toward her. “Breanna—”