Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride (3 page)

“Rude,” she said slowly. “You’re accusing
me
of being rude when you’ve locked me up with no cause?”

“You’re getting another week’s stay in Moscow for free,” he said airily. “I’m sure this place is much nicer than your hotel.” She didn’t argue. He considered that a start. “So how about you calm down and appreciate this little vacation?”

“Fine. If it’s a vacation, let me call my family.”

“I don’t think that would be a very good move on my part.” Her tenacity was admirable. He just needed her to understand that it was also futile.

“Are you hungry?” he asked casually. “I usually eat around this time. Would you like to join me on the terrace for a meal?”

“Eat with you just like we were friends having dinner together?” She was gripping the back of the chair that sat in front of her. Her knuckles were white with the sheer force she was applying. “What would possess me to do that?”

Anatoly gave a deliberately nonchalant shrug. He considered her a wild animal at this point, and he was very much looking forward to the taming. “Like most humans, you need to eat. I am also human. Therefore it makes sense that we eat together, does it not? If you like, I will have a tray brought to your room. But the view from my balcony terrace is very pretty at night. You might enjoy seeing it.”

He could tell that he had struck a chord. Like most wild animals, Trisha longed for the outdoors and the scent and taste of freedom. Even if it were only for a few minutes, she wasn’t going to refuse him.

“Fine.” She pursed her lips and shot him a hot glare of dislike. “But this does not change the fact that I want you dead.”

“Of course.” He didn’t take the threat seriously.

Anatoly had no doubt that if push came to shove, Trisha could defend herself quite well. But her manner was all wrong. Anatoly had plenty of experience with violence. Burgeoning violence had an almost sinister feel to it. Trisha was experiencing impotent anger. That was not the same thing.

“Very well.” Anatoly opened the door. “Please join me on the terrace, Ms. Trisha.”

“Copeland,” she said quietly. “Ms. Copeland.”

“Trisha Copeland,” Anatoly repeated. “I like it.”

She made a very unladylike noise that reminded Anatoly of a pig grunting as it rolled in the mud. “Like I care what you think of my name.”

TRISHA KNEW SHE was making a bad decision, but she was starving and tired of being in this damn room. She followed Anatoly out into the hallway. They passed the two beefcakes, and she resisted the urge to flip them off. Realistically they were just doing their jobs. They had picked crappy careers, of course, but that wasn’t Trisha’s problem.

When Trisha had first been led into what amounted to a penthouse apartment on the top floor of the hotel, she hadn’t paid too much attention to her surroundings. She had been with her friends. They had huddled together and moved into Anatoly’s office from the front door without seeing much of anything.

Now she realized that her suite was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to the richness of this place. Stopping just inside the living area, she turned a full circle to get the complete effect.

“You are impressed by my home?”

The half smug, half curious tone in Anatoly’s voice made Trisha stiffen. It wasn’t as if she could hide her response anyway, but she hated feeding his ego. “It’s nice. I think you might be trying too hard, but what do I know?”

“Trying too hard?” He pursed his lips and made a gesture with his hand to invite her to explain.

Trisha gazed at the skylights, recessed lighting in the vaulted ceilings, rich Persian rugs, and the monstrous glass fireplace. “It’s like you’ve purposely made this place fancy enough that anyone who walks in will be impressed with your wealth.”

“Isn’t that what wealthy people do?” He didn’t sound proud this time. He sounded as though he honestly believed what he said to be true.

She lowered her gaze from the details of the cavernous room to the man who stood inside it. He was sexy, powerful, and commanding in a way that could either intimidate or impress depending upon his mood and intention. Why did he care about all this posturing? Exhaling slowly, she tried and failed not to be curious about his origins and motivations. The truth was that Anatoly Zaretsky fascinated her on a dangerous level.

“Well?” he prodded.

She chose her words carefully. “In my experience, those who are the wealthiest and are secure in that wealth don’t need to show off. They simply live their lives to their own level of comfort and to hell with what anyone else might think.”

Anatoly threw his head back and laughed once again. It was disconcerting at best. Why she made the man laugh was beyond her. But instead of feeling as though he were mocking her, she got the feeling that he relished the humor he found in what she said. It was oddly flattering to be able to make such a man laugh.

Oh yes, she was in big trouble.

Trisha walked past the living room and into the kitchen. It was large, with a center island and gourmet appliances that would have made her mother moan with envy. Once again, though, she got the feeling that it was more for show. What was the real Anatoly like?

“Come,” he said. “Dinner awaits us on the terrace.”

ANATOLY WATCHED TRISHA’S progress through his penthouse and wondered at the strange feeling of satisfaction it gave him to have this woman in his personal space. He could feel her presence behind him. Her well fitting black dress accented every curve in her athletic body. He doubted she even realized how sensual she was when she moved. The sheer grace of her walk put an unconscious sway in her hip motion, making Anatoly’s libido rise to the occasion.

But that was not what he needed to be thinking about right now.

He opened the sliding glass doors to the terrace. “Please, join me.”

The table had been set for two with a pristine white cloth, candles, and fine china. He’d had the hotel restaurant cater up a seafood dinner of braised salmon. The dishes were displayed on a silver cart beside the table, and there was a uniformed waiter standing by to serve them. It was exactly as he’d ordered.

Trisha chose a chair. Before she could sit, he swept it out and seated her with very little fuss. Then he took the seat adjoining her at the table. Even being across from her was too much distance. Despite the delectable aroma of the food, he could smell the light feminine fragrance that seemed to be her natural perfume. Truly, this woman was a mystery he wanted to unravel.

“Of course, you would have dined like this by yourself if I had refused your invitation, right?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Of course.” Not! But she did not need to think about that. Anatoly had planned this evening to seduce, and there was no place for her doubts in his plan.

“Wine?” he asked, lifting the bottle.

She put a hand over her wineglass. “I think I’ll stick with water. It pays to remain clear headed when camping with the enemy.”

“As you say.” He shrugged and poured himself a glass.

One nod and the waiter placed their salads before them. Anatoly watched her pick up a fork and dig in without reservation. His anxiety began to recede.

“Tell me about yourself, Trisha Copeland,” he coaxed.

“Me?” She swallowed her bite of salad and gazed up at the soft night sky above the terrace. “You act as if this is some sort of date.”

“Perhaps it is,” he suggested, just to see what she would say.

She took a few more bites of salad, obviously in no hurry to answer. Anatoly found himself struggling to be patient. He ate a few bites himself just to give his mouth something to do.

“I’m from Cleveland, Ohio.” She rolled one shoulder, the scoop neck of her dress giving him a plain view of her delicate collarbone. “I’m not sure there’s much more to say.”

Anatoly hid a smile behind the rim of his wineglass. Trisha might not think there was more, but he fervently disagreed.

Chapter Four

Trisha felt the cool night breeze on her warm cheeks and wondered when this situation had gotten so entirely out of hand. It was time to be completely honest with herself. She was out on a date with a Russian mobster who was holding her hostage on some bogus charge of cheating his casino. The idea was ludicrous, and yet here she was laughing and enjoying herself over the best tiramisu she had ever tasted.

“Isn’t tiramisu Italian?” she teased. “What? Aren’t Russian desserts good enough for you?”

Anatoly laughed. A few glasses of wine had loosened him up a little. At least, that was Trisha’s perception. He didn’t seem to be pushing any agenda anymore. He was just enjoying himself. The result was devastating. His dark eyes gleamed and sparkled with mischief, and the hard planes of his face relaxed into something even more enticing.

“Ah,” he said in an almost musical voice. “We have many wonderful desserts and sweets native to this country. But I will always have a soft spot for certain things. This is why I brought in a cook from France and one from Italy to work in my hotel.”

“Very posh,” she said in a teasing tone. “Nothing says class like a French chef.”

“That does seem to be the world perception. No?”

Trisha could not suppress her curiosity. “Do you own other hotels?”

“
Da
,” he said. Until now, they had been conversing in English. He was exceptionally fluent, although some of the idioms still seemed a mystery to his comprehension. Now he switched to Russian. “I own hotels all over the world. Here in Russian I have two in Moscow. One in Saint Petersburg, and two resort spas in Siberia.”

“What is it with Siberia?” Trisha could not suppress her giggle. “In America we think of it as this desolate place where people are sent as some form of punishment.”

“In actuality, it is quite beautiful and much more populated than it was at one time.”

Trisha sobered. She thought of Minka. Her friend was likely worried sick, and here Trisha was laughing and flirting as she ate a salmon dinner with a criminal who was holding her prisoner.

“What is wrong, poppet?” His gentle question was completely incongruent with the heartless picture she had painted of him in her head.

Gazing at him in the soft glow of the carriage lamps set into the terrace’s brick wall, she tried to reconcile the two masks of Anatoly Zaretsky. There was the stoic and powerful leader of an organization she could barely imagine. Then there was also the laughing man who sat before her. He was a guy who could have easily picked her up in a bar or a club, or even the grocery store. He was charming, witty, a great conversationalist, and strangely sensitive all at the same time.

“I don’t understand,” Trisha said at last. “You seem like a super nice guy.”

“Perhaps I
am
a super nice guy.” He sat back in his chair, twirling his wineglass by its stem.

“If that’s true,” she said slowly, fully aware that she was about to walk into a verbal minefield. “Then why not let me go home tomorrow?”

ANATOLY’S MIND DISMISSED that possibility before she was done suggesting it. Why would she even ask such a thing? It was ludicrous! Let her go? Why? So she could fly a million miles away and deprive him of this strange and wonderful feeling of normalcy?

No. It was time to turn this around on her. “Why would you want to go? You seem to be enjoying yourself. I can tell from your conversation that you have enjoyed your stay in Moscow. In fact, you seem bored with your life at home anyway. Why not just appreciate the opportunity I have provided you?”

“Opportunity?”

The flat tone of her voice should have been the first indicator that this was about to take a turn for the worse.

Still, Anatoly pressed forward. “Yes. I have given you a rare opportunity to live in complete luxury while on an extended vacation in a country that you love. I am in a position to show you far more than any mere tour could provide. We shall tour the museums, visit historic places, and even take a short trip to one of my spas if you wish.”

“Vacation.” She was actually sputtering. Her cheeks were turning red, and he watched in fascinated horror as the flush spread down her neck to her chest. Even the creamy tops of her full, round breasts were a pale shade of pink. “You think I should just be happy to have my independence taken away and
appreciate
the
opportunity
of taking a vacation with my jailer?”

Trisha shot to her feet so quickly that her chair flipped over backward. She stumbled away from the table, tripping in her kitten heels. She marched stiffly toward the railing of the terrace. The big stone pillars were fairly solid, but Anatoly could not help but wonder if in her current state she might actually be capable of ripping them off their foundations.

“I was right earlier,” she snarled. “You are so off your meds! What would ever possess me to want to
vacation
with a man who just accused me of cheating his casino all in some weird bid to make me his pet?”

He could see her point, of course, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Standing up, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides. She drew back almost as if she were afraid of physical retribution for her words.

That made him angry. When had he
ever
shown any inclination to hurt her in such a way? Had someone else hurt her like that? The idea made his blood boil. He would show her that he had no intention to harm. In fact, his inclinations ran quite the opposite.

Grabbing her about the waist, he pulled her close. The feel of her curves against his body was exquisite. He nearly groaned aloud at the pleasurable sensations that whipped through his senses. Before she had time to process what was happening or push him away, Anatoly put his lips on hers and took her mouth in a deep kiss of total domination.

HE WAS KISSING her, and Trisha didn’t even have the wherewithal to stop him. What the hell was the matter with her? But he tasted so good! How could he taste so good? She twined her arms around his neck and touched the silkiness of his hair with her fingertips.

Anatoly’s lips were beyond soft. She sighed, giving a tiny moan. He took advantage of her muddled state. Slipping his tongue into her mouth, he rubbed it alongside hers. Trisha was shocked to feel a spurt of moisture between her legs. In fact, she was positively melting below her belly button. Everything down there was in flames. She squirmed a little, the movement pressing her breasts even more firmly against his chest. He held her closer, and her nipples beaded into hard points.