Rich Man's Revenge. Katherine GarberaЧитать онлайн книгу.
lips like the luring temptation into heaven—or hell—his every nerve ending had become electrified in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
At first he’d thought it was fate. When she’d taken him up on his final bet, he’d realized the two Dalton sisters must have been working some kind of con. It was the only explanation. He could think of no other reason for Bree Dalton, the smartest, sexiest, most ruthless con artist he’d ever met, to be working as an underpaid housekeeper in a five-star Hawaiian resort.
But now he’d teach proud, wicked Bree a lesson she’d never forget. He’d have her as his slave. Scrubbing his floors. And most of all, pleasuring him in bed. He looked at her, at the way her long blond hair glowed in the moonlight, at the fullness of her breasts trembling with each angry breath. Oh, yes.
“Your girlfriend is going to hate you for this,” she muttered.
In the distance, Vladimir could see the violet sky growing light pink over the vast dark Pacific. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She glared at him. “Yes, you do.”
“Wouldn’t I know?”
“What about the woman whose breasts were pressed against your back throughout the poker game?”
“Oh.” He tilted his head. “You mean Heather.”
“Right. Heather. Won’t she object to this little master-slave thing with me?”
He shrugged. “I met her at the pool a few days ago. She was perhaps amusing for a moment, but …”
“But now you’re done with her, so you’re heartlessly casting her aside.” Bree’s jaw set as she turned away. “Typical.”
“Do not worry. I have no intention of casting you aside,” he assured her.
“A famous playboy like you? You’ll tire of me in bed after the first night.”
He found the hope in her voice insulting. Women did not wish to be cast out of his bed. They begged to get in. Hiding his irritation, he gave her a sensual smile. “Do not fear. If that happens, I’ll find some other way for you to serve me. Scrubbing my floors. Cleaning my house …”
Her cheeks turned a girlish shade of pink, but her voice was steady as she said, “I’d rather clean your bathroom with my toothbrush than have you touch me.”
“Perhaps I’ll have you clean my house naked,” he mused.
“Sounds like heaven,” she muttered, tossing her head.
Driving along the edge of the coast, he stroked his chin with one hand. “Perhaps I’ll allow my men to enjoy the show.”
That finally got her. Bree’s eyes went wide as her lips parted. “You …” She swallowed, looking pale. “You wouldn’t.”
Of course he wouldn’t. Vladimir had no intention of sharing his hard-won prize—or even the image of her—with anyone. He wasn’t much of a sharer, in any case. A man was stronger alone. With no gaps in his armor. With no one close enough to slow him down, or stab him in the back.
Looking away from Bree’s pale, panicked face—somehow he didn’t enjoy seeing that expression there as much as he’d thought he would—he turned the Lamborghini into the road to his ultraprivate, palatial Hawaii mansion. The guard nodded at him from the guardhouse and opened the ten-foot-tall electric gate.
“Relax, Bree.” Vladimir ground out the words, keeping his eyes on the road. “I don’t intend to share you. You’re my prize and mine alone.”
In the corner of his eye, he saw her tight shoulders relax infinitesimally. This is supposed to be her punishment, he mocked himself. Why reassure her?
But frightening her wasn’t what he wanted, he decided. He had no interest in seeing her pitiful and terrified. He wanted to conquer the real Bree—proud and sly and gloriously beautiful. He didn’t want to be tempted, even once, to feel sympathy for her.
Vladimir stopped the red car in the paved courtyard in front of his enormous beachside mansion, built on the edge of a cliff, with one story on the courtyard side, and three stories facing the ocean.
“This is yours?” she breathed.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you had a place on Oahu.” She bit her lip, looking up at the house. “If I’d known you were here …”
“You wouldn’t have come to Honolulu to try your con?”
“Con?” She looked genuinely shocked. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you call that poker game?”
Her big hazel eyes were wide and luminous in the moonlight.
“The worst mistake of my life,” she whispered.
Her heart-shaped face was pale, her pink lips full, her expression agonized. In spite of her tough-girl clothes, the black leather jacket and stiletto boots, she looked like a young, lost princess, trapped by an ogre with no hope of escape.
A trick, he told himself angrily. Don’t fall for it. He turned off the ignition. Grabbing her duffel bag, he got out of the car. “Come on.”
Closing the door behind him, he stalked toward the front door without looking back. He’d bought this twenty-million-dollar house three months ago, sight unseen, an hour before he was released from the hospital in Honolulu. The lavish estate on the windward side of the Oahu shore was set on the best private beach near Kailua.
He went into the sprawling beach house, and heard the sound of her stiletto boots on the patterned ohia wood floor. They passed through the large, expansive rooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides of the house revealed the Ka’iwa Mountain Ridge in one direction, and in the other, the distant pink-and-lavender dawn breaking over the Pacific and the distant Mokulua Islands.
But Vladimir was used to the view. Sick of it, in fact. He’d spent weeks cooped up like a prisoner here, as he recuperated from the car race that had nearly killed him, gritting his teeth through physical therapy. No wonder, within a month of being here, he’d started seeking amusement in Honolulu, half an hour away, at a private poker game. The fact that it was illegal to gamble at any resort in Hawaii just added to the spice.
At the end of the hall, Vladimir opened double doors into the enormous master bedroom, revealing high ceilings, an elegant marble fireplace and a huge four-poster bed. Veranda doors opened to a balcony that overlooked the infinity pool and the ocean beyond it. He dropped Bree’s duffel bag on the bed and abruptly turned to face her.
She ran straight into him.
Vladimir heard her intake of breath as, for one instant, he felt the softness of her body against his own. Electricity coursed through his veins and his heart twisted as all his blood coursed toward his groin. He looked down at her beautiful, shocked face, at her wide hazel eyes, at the way her pink lips parted, full and ripe for plunder.
Mouth parted, she jumped back as if he’d burned her.
“Give a girl some notice, will you,” she snapped, “if you’re just going to whip around like that!”
Her tone was scornful. But it was too late.
He knew.
For years, Vladimir had told himself that their passionate, innocent affair had all been one-sided—that she’d tricked him, creating a hunger and longing in him while she herself remained stone cold, focused only on the money she intended to steal from him. But just now, when he’d felt her body against his, he’d seen her face. Felt the way her body reacted. And he’d suddenly known the truth.
She felt it, too.
“You … you should …” Her voice faltered as their eyes locked. As they stood beside the four-poster bed, the brilliant sun burst over the horizon, coming