"Twice."
Another 'fuck'. He then sucked in his breath sharply as she flexed experimentally. The pain was almost gone.
"Six years ago." Back when she was young, foolish and selfish. As selfish as she was now, condemning this handsome man to death.
This handsome, angry man. Three more rapid fire 'fuck's' flew from those beautiful lips. He was angry because he had needs he didn't think she could meet. She'd show him how wrong he was. She could do anything any other woman could do. She rose up, her knees leveraging off the seat, then sank back down.
"Brat," he groaned.
With pleasure. Yes, she could do this. She repeated the motion. Another groan and his grip on her hips tightened. As she moved again, he took control. He crushed her to him, sucking and nibbling and nuzzling her cotton-covered breasts, raising her up and down, thrusting into her. Faster and faster. There was the beginning of something, she wouldn't call it pleasure but it wasn't pain, when he cried, "Tatyana!" Heat and moisture filled her.
"Shit." He grabbed the boxer shorts, stuffing them under her. Between them. "You should have told me, Brat."
He was still angry, after all she'd done to make him happy. That irritated her. "And what?"
She swung her leg over, sore.
He wouldn't let her move to her own seat, holding her close. "We should have remained celibate the entire time? Because I can't keep a lover alive long enough to gain any experience? Well, the hell with you, then." His laughing didn't ease her irritation. She struggled to get away from him. "Let me go, you ass." He was too strong. "And don't you dare laugh at me! It's not funny. The last man I fucked died a slow, agonizing death."
That sobered him. "I would have killed him, anyway, Brat. For having fucked my fiancee as you so crudely put it."
There was something thrilling about his possessive tone. "I'm not your real fiancee, idiot.
And you'll die, too." It'd be all her fault.
"Not before I fuck you properly. That, I swear." The passion in his eyes made her look away.
She couldn't care for him. He was going to die. She sat in his lap, staring out the tinted windows. The car was moving. They were on the way to that fancy boutique of his.
"I can't try on clothes with no underwear." She plopped down in the seat across from him.
The briefs she'd been wearing were a sticky, wet mess; she patted herself dry once more.
Her new panties were with the bodyguard.
"We, you..." The arrogant ass appeared flustered. "We don't have to go to the boutique. I'll have clothes sent to you."
She knew the type of clothes he'd have sent. Boxy black suits. Like his entire team wore.
"No way. I'm picking out my own clothes." If she was to be kept under lock and key, she'd wear whatever the hell she wanted. "Give me your underwear."
"What?" Dark brows rose.
"Your underwear. They're fairly clean, aren't they?" They would be. She'd never met a man so well groomed. "You go commando. I wear the boxers. Unless you want me to flash my hoo-ha at the entire world." She enjoyed shocking him. "Boris would never..."
"Enough." He pulled his boxers off, giving her a full view of his goods. Yes, a well groomed man, all over. "You shouldn't talk like that, Brat." He tossed them to her.
"You monitoring my speech now, ass?" They were warm. She slipped them on, tucking the waistband under her belt.
"Respect." He waved his finger at her as he dressed.
"In public. We're not in public, are we?" She smiled sweetly at him.
No, they weren't in public and if it weren't for lunch with his parents, he'd spend the morning in the privacy of their hotel room. Her third time. The only man alive. Nik hadn't been joking about killing the first. He would have committed that murder himself, to be the only man.
"We met at the casino three months ago," he informed her, searching in his jacket pockets.
They had to get their story straight. No one would believe it, otherwise. "You were losing at slots."
She laughed. "I always lose."
"No one always loses." He frowned at the interruption, drawing out a ring box.
"I do. Always. I never win anything. Never win anything and everyone I come into contact with ends up dead. Hey..." A sad smile. "I may be the unluckiest woman alive."
"Until you met me. And no talking about people dying."
Her bottom lip curled. "I like to warn people. Gives them a fighting chance. Not that it helps them. They all die." She twirled a frizzy curl around her finger. Had there been styling mousse in that cart? He couldn't remember.
"No talking about death," he repeated. Nik slid the ring onto her finger. He'd walked into the store, intending to buy the biggest, flashiest diamond on the planet, but then he spotted the ruby solitaire.
"Blood red," she observed. "Apt." It didn't fit, damn it. The weight of the stone spun the ring around her finger. She straightened it again, crooking her knuckle to keep it in place. "It's huge. I now see why I need a bodyguard."
But she continued looking at it. She liked it. Nik grinned. "We'll get it sized, Brat." It'd be hers to keep, regardless of what happened.
"Not yet." She covered the ring defensively.
Nik's grin widened. "We met at the casino three months ago. It was love at first sight. End of story."
"That's it?" Lines appeared between her muddy green eyes. "Why haven't I met anyone there before?"
"You haven't been back since. I got your number then, took our relationship private."
Simple. No one would dare question him.
She fiddled with the ring, trying to catch the light in the stone. "You have a lot of private relationships?"
It hadn't been his third time. "They won't ask."
"Why wasn't your dad part of Maggy's meeting?" Another question.
"I'm Grandfather's heir, the family's number two." The blood ties had been important, but he had fought for and won that position. Until
