Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride (8 page)

The big man’s eyebrows went up. His shock was obvious. “And the message?”

“His daughter belongs to me now.” Anatoly felt a deep jolt of satisfaction at those words. “You have heard it from her own lips. It is true. Trisha Copeland is mine and will remain with me until I have no further use for her.”

The skinnier man actually started to lunge at Anatoly. His companion threw out an arm to prevent him. The bigger man cleared his throat. “Have you actually
met
Jonathan Copeland?”

“No.”

Now there was an actual smile of amusement on the big man’s lips. “Then I’ll give him the message that his daughter asked me to deliver along with yours and let him decide how he wants to proceed.”

Anatoly had a moment’s misgiving about the strange smile. Was the man actually
satisfied
by this outcome? He had failed in his duty, had he not? Why would that satisfy him? The puzzle did not sit well with Anatoly. “Why is this funny?” he demanded.

“You’re pretty hot stuff here in Moscow,” the big man said evenly. “We all know that. So you can make an asinine decree like the one you just delivered.”

“Asinine?” Anatoly didn’t appreciate that. “How?”

The man waved his hand. “Oh, she’s yours until you’re
done
with her. How do you think her father will like that one? His daughter apparently believes you’re a better person than the rest of the world is inclined to give you credit for. She sat here and told us you’re not the monster we all think you are.”

Now it was the skinny man’s turn to speak. “So even though we all know that you would shoot her in the head to save yourself, she’s willing to turn her back on her family and her regular life because she sees something in you that the rest of the world does not.”

Anatoly felt oddly flattered by this knowledge. However, it also made him uncomfortable. Had he somehow misrepresented himself to Trisha? Surely not. He was the man he was. It wasn’t as if he tried to be someone else. He had taken her captive against her will after fabricating false charges against her for cheating in his casino. There was no element of hiding in that scenario.

The big man turned to walk away. “Best of luck to you, Mr. Zaretsky.”

“I’m sorry,” Anatoly snapped. “Did I give you permission to leave?”

“We’ve stayed too long already,” the big man said with amusement. “And it wouldn’t do you much good to shoot the messenger, would it?”

Anatoly watched the two men leave and felt even more confused and off balance than he had while standing in the stairwell only a few moments ago. What was it with Trisha? She could never behave the way he expected. People were self-serving. It was the one consistent thing in his life. Or it
had
been consistent until he had met Trisha.

Chapter Ten

Trisha sat primly in her seat in the back of the limo. She was worried for those men. What if Anatoly got angry with them? It wasn’t like she wasn’t aware of the sort of violence he was capable of. She just believed he was capable of controlling that urge in order to be compassionate or even merciful.

The back door swung open, and Anatoly slid into the car. “Frederick, drive us home please?”

“What about my things?”

“I’ve put them in the trunk.” He cocked his head at her. “Did you think I would forget after all of the trouble we’ve gone to in order to retrieve your luggage?”

“No.” She felt her cheeks blush red hot. “I guess I just didn’t realize how distracted I was. I didn’t see or hear you put anything in the trunk.”

“So.”

Anatoly’s tone suggested he was done talking about the incident in the dormitory. Damn. Trisha wanted to know if the men were okay. She’d asked them to give her father a message. What if they couldn’t do it? Trisha needed to speak to her father, or he would just keep sending people to bring her home.

Of course her host was completely oblivious to this need. “You have expressed an interest in seeing other parts of the continent. Would you like to go to one of my resorts in Siberia?”

“Like for a vacation?” The issues with her father were momentarily forgotten. “Yes! That would be amazing!”

He tilted his head, a lock of dark hair sliding across his forehead and giving him an almost boyish appearance. “You make it sound as though you have never gone on vacation.”

“Oh, not since I was little,” she said dismissively. “My parents took me on the obligatory trip to Disney World when I was seven. My father doesn’t believe in travel or vacation. He likes to say that vacation time is better spent relaxing at home.”

“I would disagree.” Anatoly’s tone suggested that was his pronouncement and there was no other opinion on the topic worth discussing. “So we will go to Siberia.”

“When?”

He smiled, and she felt her belly knot with excitement. “I believe now is as good a time as any. Don’t you?” He gestured toward the trunk of the car. “We have your luggage all ready to go.” He pushed a button, and the glass went down between the front and the back of the car. “Frederick, take us to the train station please.”

“A train?” She could not even attempt to contain her excitement. “Are we actually taking the Trans-Siberian Express?”

“Of course. I have my own car.”

Trisha snorted. “Of course you do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re a man of means and influence, so why wouldn’t you have your own train car, unlike us mere mortals who ride in coach like normal people.”

“You’re not normal people.” He seemed a little stiff. Had she
offended
him? “You’re with me. Therefore you’re at the top of every list.”

“Thank you.” She decided to quit teasing him, or whatever it was that she was doing, and just appreciate what he was doing. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I suppose I’m just not used to feeling as though people cater to me.”

“Perhaps you should get used to it. While you are with me, that is how things will go.”

He reached across the seat and took her hand. Trisha swallowed, feeling the thrum of nervous excitement in her veins. Anatoly turned her hand palm up and traced the lines with his fingertips. In spite of everything that was happening, she felt a corresponding pull begin just below her belly. It felt so good to be touched by him. The electricity between them seemed to be ever present.

Her mind called up images of the night before. She remembered his hands on her bare thighs and the way it had felt when he’d pressed inside her body. A damp ache began to build between her legs. She squirmed a little on the seat. It was almost uncomfortable to sit there and not move. Still he gently rubbed her palm. Then his fingers slid down over her wrist and up her arm. He touched the tender skin on the inside of her elbow.

His gaze was overwhelming. The dark depths of his eyes seemed to stare past her skin and into the core of her soul. She wondered what he would see there. Would he be able to tell that she was quickly getting in much deeper than was wise where he was concerned? Would it be obvious to him that he had an incredible amount of power over her?

“Does this feel good?” he whispered.

She swallowed and finally managed to speak. “Yes. It feels very good.”

“Shall I continue?”

“That depends,” she teased. “What do you mean by continue?”

The car pulled up to the curb in front of the enormous railway station in Moscow. Anatoly opened the door and slid out of the car. “I suppose I meant that we will continue this discussion in the rail car.”

“I see.” She slid out of the car, feeling almost lightheaded. “And where is this conversation going?”

“Siberia, of course.” He tapped the end of her nose, obviously enjoying their little verbal sparring match.

“And if I choose to ride with the other passengers so that I can have the full Trans-Siberian experience? What will you say?” She hadn’t actually considered that possibility until that very moment, but now that she’d said it, she wondered how he would respond.

He frowned, the expression making him look almost mean. “There are no seats on the other cars.”

“Is that right?”

“No. There is only room for you beside me.”

Trisha suspected that Anatoly himself did not fully understand what it was he was saying.

She was in very big trouble and getting in worse with each passing second.

THE SCENERY WHIPPED by outside the train car’s window. Inside, Anatoly lounged on a settee with a cocktail in hand and a beautiful woman for a companion. He might have said it was just like any other weekend, except the woman was Trisha and his primary goal had nothing to do with getting under her skirt. Well—that might have been
part
of his goal, but it encompassed much more than just a desire to see her naked again.

“Do you always travel like this?” Trisha asked.

Anatoly had been watching her explore their accommodations for going on twenty minutes now. “You’ve probably given this car a more thorough examination than I did when it was delivered to me.”

“Seriously?” She turned around and flashed him a quick smile before shaking her head in obvious consternation. “You rich people never pay much attention to what you purchase. You just fork over a huge amount of money and assume you’re getting what you pay for.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

She snorted. “I would.”

“So what is your assessment then?” he prodded, curious to know her thoughts.

She turned a slow circle in the center of the car. “The construction seems to be good. I would say airtight with good soundproofing since you don’t hear much in the way of noise from the air rushing by. Although, you don’t hear much from the appliances going in here, either.”

“And the furnishings?” He raised his glass to her before taking a drink.

“The bar is nice. It’s obviously well stocked. I’m guessing those couches over there convert to beds of some sort.” She gestured to the far end of the car.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Would you like to find out?”

“Gee, let me think, having sex in the middle of the day on a speeding train where anyone could walk in or take a peek through the windows. No thanks!” She actually laughed at the idea. “You’re cute, though. I’ll give you that.”

“You’ve made mention of rich people several times,” he commented, wanting to draw her out on the subject. “It seems like you might be prejudiced against people with money.”

“Only when they feel like it entitles them to anything they want.” She passed him a meaningful glance.

“I assume by your pointed look that you are referring to me?” He didn’t particularly like being lumped in with “all those rich people,” but there was nothing he could do to refute her accusations.

“I’ve known several rich people in my lifetime,” she mused. “None of them were particularly nice, and even though they could afford to be generous, they weren’t.”

“If we gave it all away, soon everyone would be the same.”

She gave him a look filled with sarcastic mockery. “I’m sorry, don’t they call that communism?”

“Touché,” he said, loving her wit. “Although the only difference between communism and capitalism is that communists take better care of their poor people.”

“Ouch!” She placed a hand over her heart. “I don’t suppose I can really argue against that.”

He waved his hand. “Enough with politics.”

“Shall we move on to religion?” She raised an eyebrow and fingered the brocade curtains hanging over the windows.

He watched her stroke the rich fabric and completely lost track of anything but the memory of what it felt like to have her hands on his skin. When had he become so enamored? It was a little frightening.

“Tell me about your work.” Her soft tone was encouraging, as if she were truly curious. “What makes the mafia different from any other kind of business? In my experience, all business practices balance on the edge of ethics anyway.”

“True.” Settling back more comfortably into his seat, he thought about what he did for a living. For some reason, he was eager to explain himself to her. It was preposterous, but he could admit that’s how he felt. “I run hotels and casinos. It isn’t the traditional mafia way, but it has been quite lucrative for me.”

“What’s the major difference?”

“Well, most of the mafia families deal in drugs or illegal fighting, and there is a lot of involvement in the skin trade as well.” He shrugged. “I don’t find those to be profitable enterprises.”

Something about the set of her chin gave him the impression that she disapproved. Then she shrugged. “I suppose that’s good for you, but what makes what you do illegal and classifies it as—” She used air quotes. “—mafia?”

“I don’t like red tape,” he said flatly. “I bribe or intimidate my way around rules and regulations that do not suit me, and I own the police force in Moscow.”

“Well, that certainly
sounds
like the mafia,” she muttered.

“And you?” He quickly switched the focus back to Trisha. “We’ve spoken almost no English, and yet you seem to have no difficulty understanding me. Your command of the Russian language is impressive.”

“I was a Russian history major. This study abroad program at the Moscow Academy was the last part of my degree.” She sighed, staring out the window and looking almost wistful.

“What did you intend to do with your degree?” He actually wondered what she
could
do with it. The thing seemed rather pointless, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

She chuckled. “I think I chose that as my major just to piss off my dad. He wanted me to go into social work.”

“And you did not like this idea?”

“Not particularly. It’s depressing.”

“Ah.” He didn’t understand the entire concept of the job a social worker performed, but that didn’t really matter. “So was your father angry?”

“He’s never angry.” She turned and offered him a smile. “He’s
disappointed
. There’s a difference. I’m his only child. I wasted myself and my money on this ridiculous degree, blah, blah, blah. It is all very guilt inducing.”

“And yet you are here now and there is no need for guilt.” He shrugged. For him, the matter was closed. “We will soon be at my resort and all will be well.”