She stared at him in shock. “You’ve changed.”
“You bet I have. All thanks to you, Princess.” He said the old term of endearment with disdain, as if it were a curse.
She winced. “I don’t know you, anymore.”
“Damn right, again.”
Under his brutal stare, she turned her back on the men and pressed the button to call down the elevator. It gave her the minute she needed to compose herself. By the time the door opened, her back was straight and her mask in place.
She stepped inside and held the door for them. “I’ll take you to the choreography studio.”
Ivan’s smile promised anything but compliance, but he didn’t argue.
They rode to the ground floor in strained silence, Ben and Donald shooting frowns at Ivan. In the foyer, Ivan asked his bodyguards to wait by the main exit.
Donald gave Alice a worried look.
She nodded at the two men. “It’s all right. I know how to handle him.”
“Is that right?” Ivan asked with another one of his smirks, this time one that held a challenge.
Instead of answering, she swiped her access card and led Ivan through the corridor to another elevator that gave access to the lower level studios. They exited on the wardrobe floor, but when Alice took the turn for the dance studio, Ivan grabbed her shoulders, twisted her around, and pushed her toward one of the storerooms.
“What are you doing?” she cried out.
He opened the door and shoved her inside. She stumbled a step when he let go, her back colliding with a vanity counter stocked with wigs. The door slammed behind them, vibrating in the frame. Darkness drowned out her vision, but a second later, the overhead light buzzed to life. Ivan advanced on her in the small space, pushing the portable clothes rail with costumes out of his way.
She clutched the counter behind her and leaned back as he closed the distance between them. Her heart was beating in her throat but not from fear. She wasn’t scared of Ivan. She knew he wouldn’t harm her. She was frightened of the effect he had on her. Being closed in a small room with him while his male presence dominated all her senses made her body hum to life like the light softly thrumming above them. She’d bargained on many emotions—anger, for sure—but not the heat in her belly or the ache between her legs.
Stopping flush against her, he placed his palms on either side of her body, trapping her between his arms and against counter. Her pulse sped up even more. A part of her wanted him to take the choice from her hands, to take her hard despite any protests she may have, because her protests would be divided. Her body wanted this. Her heart didn’t. It was hard to be strong, though. If he simply took what he seemed to want, he’d give her an excuse for not having to be strong.
The memory of how hard he’d made her come still had the power to make her stomach do backflips. That first and only time, he’d taken her exactly the way she’d wanted, with powerful, relentless strokes, but the satisfaction had been physical only. Back then, her body had been satiated and her heart denied. It had hurt too much to let it happen, again. She swallowed and straightened as much as she could with Ivan’s face so close, his gaze drilling into hers.
She relaxed her shoulders, expelled the tightness in her body that felt too much like sexual tension, and put on her best business voice. “You’re going to be late for your session.”
His smile was anything but warm. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“You’re walking on thin ice. You’ve already missed a meeting and a rehearsal.”
“Better get on with it then.”
“With what?”
“Spit it out.”
“Spit what out?”
He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Stop playing games, Princess. If you want to play, we’ll play, but it won’t be with words.”
She blew out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. You’re a prick.”
Without a pretense of civility, he had carte blanche on the truth, that he’d hurt her once and how much she hated him. He’d know that, despite it all, he still had an effect on her, which proved just how strong that effect was.
“Happy?” she asked.
“That’s a start.”
She twisted and tried to duck under his arm, but he cut off the move. Irritation won over her forced patience. “What do you want from me? Why are you so mean?”
“Oh, I want plenty. If I start telling you exactly what I want, you’ll be too frightened to breathe, so why don’t we start with you telling me why you think you deserve anything other than meanness from me.”
“It was a long time ago. We should put the past behind us and move on.”
“Never. I’ll never let it go. I’ll never forgive you.”