A Reputation For Revenge Page 8

  With a sigh, he reached down and untied the white sash from her mouth. “I warned you what would happen if you didn’t stop screaming,” he said regretfully. “You were driving the pilot crazy. Tark’s been in some rough places, flown military missions all over the world. But even he had never heard the kind of curses that came shrieking out of your mouth.”

  Her mouth now free, Josie coughed. “You kidnapped me, you—” And here she let out a torrent of new invective against his manhood, his intelligence and his lineage in her sweet Sunday-school voice, that left him wide-eyed at her creative vulgarity.

  “Ah, my dear.” He gave a soft laugh. “I’m beginning to think you are not quite the innocent I thought you were.”

  “Go to hell!”

  He tilted his head. “Who taught you to swear like that?”

  “Your mother,” she bit out insultingly. Then with an intake of breath, Josie looked up, as if she’d just remembered that his mother had died. She bit her lip, abashed. “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. She held out her wrists. “Would you mind please untying me now?”

  Kasimir stared at her. After the way he’d thrown her bodily into his helicopter, ignoring her protests, tying her up—she felt guilty for her single thoughtless insult? She was afraid of causing him pain?

  Bending to untie her wrists, he muttered, “You are quite a woman, Josie Xendzov.”

  “So you keep telling me.” She looked around his enormous, luxurious white canvas tent, from the four-poster bed to the luxurious Turkish carpets lining the hard-packed sand floor. A large screen of carved wood covered the wardrobe, illuminated by the soft golden light of a solar-powered lamp. “Where are we?”

  “My home. In the Sahara.”

  “Where in the Sahara?”

  “The middle,” he said sardonically.

  “Thanks.” Narrowing her eyes she tossed her head. “I’m grateful you’re not just going to leave me in chains. As your prisoner.”

  “It’s tempting,” he said softly. “Believe me.”

  As he loosened the knots around her wrists, he tried not to notice the alluring softness of her skin. Tried not to imagine how the white lacy bra and panties looked beneath her clothes. Tried not to think how easy it would be to push her back against his bed, to stretch back her arms, still bound at the wrists, against the headboard. To press apart her knees, still bound at the ankles. He tried not to think how it would feel to lick and caress up her legs, to the inside of her thighs, until he felt her tremble and shake.

  No. He wouldn’t think about it. At all.

  A bead of sweat broke out on Kasimir’s forehead. His word of honor. That meant his lips and tongue couldn’t possibly yearn to suckle her full, ripe breasts. His hands could not ache to part her virgin thighs. He couldn’t hunger to stroke and kiss her until he lost himself deep, deep, deep inside her hot wet core.

  The bindings on her wrists abruptly burst loose and, as the rope dropped to the floor, Kasimir took a single staggering step back from her. He ran his hand over his forehead, feeling dizzy.

  She rubbed her free wrists, looking up at him dubiously. “Are you all right?”

  Blinking, he focused on her beautiful brown eyes, expressive and still slightly resentful, in the fading afternoon light. Her voice was like the cool water of an oasis to a man half-dead with thirst. Did she feel the same electricity? He’d been so sure of it in Honolulu. In Marrakech, he’d been absolutely confident of the answering desire in her eyes. But now, he wondered if that had just been a mirage in the desert, an illusion created by his own aching, inexplicable need.

  Josie took a deep breath. “Please,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he said hoarsely. He wanted to please her. He wanted to push her back against the pillows and rip the clothes from her body. He wanted to thrust himself inside her until he felt her scream and explode with joy.

  “Please—” she held out her ankles “—finish untying me.”

  Kasimir exhaled. “Right,” he said unsteadily.

  Holding himself in check, he knelt at her feet. From where she sat on the bed, her long legs were stretched towards him, her heels on the Turkish carpet. Even in the baggy jeans he’d loaned her, she had legs like a houri—the pinnacle of feminine beauty. As he undid the ropes, his fingertips unwillingly brushed against her calves, against the tender instep of her sole. He felt her shiver, and he stopped, his heart pounding. He looked up her legs, straight past her knees to her thighs, and the heaven that waited there, then to her breasts, then to her face. His body broke out into a hot sweat.

  His word of honor.

  With a twist and a rip, he yanked the rope off her ankles. His own legs trembled as he rose to his feet. He clenched his hands at his sides, his body tight and aching for what he could not have.

  “I shouldn’t have tied you up,” he said in a low voice. “I should have told Tark to go to hell and just let you scream curses at me for two hours.”

  “No kidding.” She stared at him, waiting, then she gave a crooked smile. “So are you going to say you’re sorry?”

  “Mistakes were made,” he said tightly, and that was the best he could do.

  Her smile widened. “You’re not used to saying you’re sorry, are you?”

  “I don’t make it a habit.”

  “Too bad for you. It’s a big habit with me. I say it all the time. You should try it.”

  “It’s been a while.” Kasimir’s throat burned as he remembered the last time he’d apologized. Ten years ago, he’d arrived in St. Petersburg to discover his “interview” was all over the business news. He’d immediately phoned his brother, still in Alaska. Kasimir still writhed to remember the pitiful way he’d groveled. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was a reporter. Forgive me, Volodya.

  But his brother had just used his confession against him, convincing Kasimir his mistake was a betrayal and they should end their partnership immediately. And all along Vladimir had secretly known a billion-dollar mining deal in Siberia was about to come through.

  “How long has it been since you apologized?” Josie asked softly.

  Kasimir shrugged. Saying sorry was tantamount to admitting fault, and he’d learned that humbly asking for forgiveness was a useless, self-destructive exercise, like flinging your body in front of a speeding train. It could only end in being flattened. “Ten years.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

  “I have to go.” His shoulders felt tight in his suit jacket. “Just stay here, all right? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To change out of these clothes. And take a quick shower.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her immediately glance at her old backpack on the floor. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. Fine, let her dig for her phone. Let her try to use it out here—with no way to recharge the dead battery and no connection even if she’d had power. He looked back at her. “Make yourself comfortable. But don’t try to leave the encampment,” he warned. “You’re in the middle of the desert. There is no way for you to escape, so please don’t try.”

  “Right.” Josie nodded, her expression blank and bland. “No escape.”

  “I mean it,” he said sharply. “You could die a horrible death, lost in the sand.”

  “Die a horrible death. Got it.”

  With a sigh, he tossed back the heavy canvas door, and went to a nearby smaller bathing tent. He knew Josie was up to something, but she’d soon see there was nowhere to go. He twisted his neck to the left, cracking his vertebrae. She’d hopefully spend the next ten minutes trying to get her phone to work. He gave a low laugh.

  Taking off his suit, he used silver buckets filled with cool, clean water to wash the grime of civilization off his skin. He exhaled, feeling his shoulders relax, as they always did here. He changed into the traditional male caftan over loose-fitting pants. His body felt more at ease in a lightweight djellaba than he’d ever felt in a suit. He loved the natural wildness of the de
sert, so much more rational and merciful than the savage corporate world.

  As he left the bathing tent, Kasimir looked up at the endless blue sky, at the white-sand horizon stretching to eternity. There were eight large white tents, most of them used by his Berber servants who maintained this remote desert camp, surrounding the deep well of an oasis. On the edge of the camp was a pen for the horses, and farther away still, a helicopter pad. He’d given up trying to drive here. He’d destroyed three top-of-the-line Range Rovers trying to drive over the sand dunes before he’d finally given up on driving altogether and turned to horses and helicopters.

  Now, he looked across the undulating sand dunes stretching out to the farthest reaches of the horizon. Sand muffled all sound at this lonely spot on the edge of the Sahara. The sun was falling in the cloudless blue sky.

  His oasis in the desert was as far from Alaska as he could possibly get. He had no memories here of the bleak, cold snow. Or of the only promise he’d ever broken.

  Yet.

  Kasimir sighed. He was starting to think it was a mistake to wait until he had the land before he searched for Bree. Not just because it was making Josie so unhappy, but also because it was growing agonizing for him to be near his wife and unable to touch her.

  “Sir.” One of his most trusted servants, a man in a blue turban, spoke to him anxiously in Berber. He pointed. “Your woman…”

  Kasimir’s lips parted as he saw Josie struggling up a nearby dune, kicking off her flimsy flip-flops, her bare feet sinking in the sand to her knees.

  A sigh escaped him. He should have known that mere warnings of death wouldn’t be enough to stop Josie from trying single-handedly to rush off to save that sister of hers. Irritated, he went after her.

  Catching up with her easily, he grabbed her hand and pulled her all the way to the top of the dune. Then he abruptly released her.

  “Look where you are, Josie,” he raged at her. “Look!”

  With an intake of breath, Josie turned in a circle, looking in every direction from the top of the dune. It was like standing in the middle of an ocean, surrounded by endless waves of sand.

  “There’s a reason why I brought you here,” he said quietly. “There is nowhere for you to go.”

  She went in circles for five minutes before the truth of his words sank in on her, and she collapsed in a heap on the sand. “I can’t stay here.”

  Kasimir knelt on the sand beside her. Reaching out, he tucked some hair away from her face. “I’m still going to save your sister. So stop trying to run away,” he said gruffly. “Okay?”

  Wiping her eyes, she sat on the sand, looking at him. “You can’t just expect me to just sit here and do nothing, and leave her fate in Vladimir’s hands. Or yours!”

  “I thought you said I was a good man with a good heart.”

  She hiccupped a laugh, then sniffled. “I changed my mind.”

  His jaw tightened. “Your sister is in no danger. Vladimir has done nothing worse to her than making her scrub the floor of his villa.”

  “How do you know?”

  “His housekeeper in Hawaii was not pleased to see him treating a female guest so rudely. But Bree has always been my brother’s weakness. That is why I—” Why I arranged for them to cross paths in Hawaii, he almost said, but cut himself off. He could hardly admit that now, could he? Josie’s trust in him was on very tenuous ground already. He set his jaw. “I’ve just found out he has her at his palace in St. Petersburg, where his company is busy with a merger.”

  “And he’s not—bothering her?”

  His lips curved. “From what I’ve heard, her greatest suffering has involved too much shopping at luxury boutiques with his credit card.”

  Josie frowned. “But Bree hates shopping,” she said uncertainly.

  “Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think.” He stood up, then held out his hand. “Just as she does not truly know you.”

  She put her hand into his. “What do you mean?” she said softly.

  “She’s spent the last decade treating you like something fragile and helpless. You are neither.” He pulled her up against him, looking down at her. “You are reckless, Josie. Powerful. Fearless.”

  “I am?” she breathed, looking up into his eyes.

  “Didn’t you know?” He searched her gaze. “You risk yourself to take care of others. Constantly. In a way I cannot imagine.”

  She bit her lip, looking down.

  His hand tightened on hers. “No more escape attempts. I mean it. I swear to you that she is safe. Just be patient. Stay here with me. From this moment, you will be treated not as a prisoner, but as an honored guest.”

  “Honored guest? You said I was more.”

  “I cannot treat you as my wife,” he said huskily. “Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean? Of course you…”

  “I cannot make love to you.” His eyes met hers. “And since we kissed in Honolulu, it’s all I can think about.”

  He heard her intake of breath.

  “But I gave you my word of honor. I will not touch you. Kiss you. Make love to you for hours on end.” Kasimir’s larger hand tightened over hers. He looked down at her beautiful face, devoid of makeup. Her luminous brown eyes were the sort a man could drown in. And her lips… He shuddered. “You are safe, Josie,” he whispered. “Until the end.”

  She slowly nodded. Holding her hand, he turned to lead her down the dune. They walked sure-footedly down the spine of sand, pausing to collect her discarded shoes, until they reached the encampment below. He thought about the cake he’d ordered for her, left behind in Honolulu. He’d order a wedding feast for her tonight. He would do everything he could to treat her as a princess—as a queen. That much he could do.

  At the door of his tent, he glanced back to tell her how he planned to make her evening a happy one. Then he saw how her shoulders were slumped in his old black T-shirt, how the jeans he’d loaned her had unrolled at the hem, to drag against the ground. Her face was sad.

  Something twisted in Kasimir’s chest.

  He suddenly wanted to tell her he was sorry. Sorry he’d brought her here. Sorry he’d dragged her into his plans for revenge. And sorry above all that when she discovered the blackmail against her sister, it would be a crime that even Josie’s heart would be unable to forgive. She would despise him—forever. And he was starting to realize hers was the one good opinion he’d regret.

  But when he opened his mouth to say the words, they caught in his throat.

  Clenching his jaw, he turned away, pointing at the wardrobe. “You have fresh clothes here.” He gestured towards the large four-poster bed, the sumptuous wall-to-wall Turkish carpets. “I will ask the women to bring you refreshment and a bath. When you are done, we will have dinner.” He gave her a smile. “A wedding feast of sorts.”

  But she didn’t smile back. She didn’t seem interested, not even in the bath—a rare luxury in the desert. Sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, she lifted her gaze numbly.

  “I don’t want to stay here with you,” she whispered. She was so beautiful, he thought. His gaze traced from her full, generous mouth down the curve of her long, graceful neck. Like a swan. So unself-conscious, as if she had no idea about her beauty, about the way her pale skin gleamed like cream in the shadows of the tent, or the warmth and kindness that caused her to glow from within, as if there were a fire inside her.

  And that fire could be so much more. Standing beside the bed, he felt how alone they were in his private tent. He could push her back against the soft mattress and see the light brown waves of her hair fall like a cascade against the pillows. He could touch her skin, stroke its luminescence with his fingertips and see if it was as soft as it looked.

  He had to stop thinking about this. Now.

  Kasimir turned away, stalking across the tent. He flung open the heavy canvas flap of the door, then stopped. Standing in the late-afternoon sun, he heard the sigh of the wind and the distant call of desert birds. Shoulders
tight, without turning around, he said in a low voice, “I never should have kissed you.”

  He heard her give a little squeak. He slowly turned back to face her.

  “I was wrong.” He took a deep breath. And then, looking into her shocked brown eyes, he spoke the words he hadn’t been able to say for ten years. “Josie,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AN HOUR LATER, Josie was in the tent, bathed, comfortable and wearing clean clothes. And more determined than ever to escape.

  Okay, so her phone didn’t work and her impulsive escape attempt had been laughable. But she couldn’t stay here. Whatever Kasimir thought, she couldn’t just be patient. She had no intention of abandoning Bree for weeks in her ex-boyfriend’s clutches and trusting all would be well.

  Why had Kasimir even insisted on keeping her here? There was no reason he couldn’t have her sign some kind of letter of intent or something, promising to give him the property. Something just didn’t add up. She felt as if she’d become almost as much a prisoner as Bree was. Two prisoners for two brothers, she thought grimly.

  And yet…

  Josie brushed her long brown hair until it tumbled softly over her shoulders. Somehow, he’d also made her feel free. As if she, of all people, could be daring enough to travel around the world, learn to drive on a Lamborghini and boldly catch a powerful man in a lie.

  You are reckless, Josie. Powerful. Fearless.

  Could he be right? Could that be the voice inside her, the one she’d ignored for so long, the one she’d been scared to hear?

  Dropping the silver-edged brush, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Well, she was listening to it now. And that meant one thing: maybe she would have accepted being in a cage once…

  But she’d be no man’s prisoner now.

  Josie stood up in her pale linen trousers and a fine cotton shirt she’d found in the wardrobe, in her exact size. She’d just come back from the bathing tent, where she’d been delightfully submerged in hot water and rose petals. As she’d watched the Berber servants pour steaming water into the cast-iron bathtub, she’d felt as though she was in another century. In Africa. In Morocco.