Still I gaped. "You would do it? Trap a guy?"
"If the circumstances were right."
"No, you wouldn't. Don't say that!"
"Don't judge me, Cat. I have a seventeen-year-old sister and a sickly mother living in poverty, who go to sleep each night to the sound of gunfire. For them, I'd do anything. Trap a man? In--a--heartbeat. What wouldn't you do for those you love?"
I exhaled. "I'm sorry I was criticona. Judgmental." I'd once read on a T-shirt: The judgiest people are the ones who've lived the least. "But for the record, I did not set out to get prenada."
"It's still an option, you know. There's always next month."
The idea nauseated me. "Ivanna, when I thought I could be pregnant, it was like someone punched me in the throat. I never cry in front of others, but I was about to. I kept telling myself Morning-after pill, morning-after pill like a prayer."
"So that's how you addressed it?"
"No, a doctor came to give me a shot and insert an IUD--to be really, really sure. Each method is ninety-something percent certain. Add those two together and it equals: one paranoid Russian. Still, I was relieved. Getting knocked up would be one of the stupidest things I could do. Sevastyan must think I'm stupid."
I defensively pulled my knees to my chest. For some reason, it was imperative to me that he not believe that. "Why wouldn't he? I guzzled bottles of alcohol and let down my guard with a strange man. I never let down my guard. I won't ever again."
"Apparently, he let his guard down as well. Have you ever considered why he's so paranoid? He's a mobster AND a politician--is there any man more incapable of trust? Surely he's learned that faith in another can invite punishment." Only always! "Perhaps you have an IUD right now because Sevastyan wanted to enjoy you regularly?"
I narrowed my eyes. It wasn't as if I had asked for the thing. "Then maybe he's less paranoico--and more manipulador--than I'd thought."
"Speaking of manipulative, you should know, Sevastyan's man of affairs called me, asking questions about you."
Vasili! "What did you tell him?"
"As little as possible, because that's obviously what you've been doing--and it's working! Count on me not to deviate from this plan. Though I don't know much anyway. I told him that you don't have a car, and you sing a lot. I informed him that when you eat one of those cuppy containers of flan, you are in heaven and smile for the rest of the day. I also mentioned that you adore me and have promised always to take care of me."
I exhaled with relief. "Thank you."
"So, what's it like between you and Sevastyan? Since you're essentially living together?"
"We fight a lot." After sex, as soon as we left the bed--or the couch or the shower or the floor--he would grow ice cold again.
Once we'd recovered from our frenzied fuck yesterday, he'd dragged me into the study, dumping me into a seat in front of a computer. No Internet access, of course. "Make yourself useful." A fifteen-page document in Spanish had been pulled up on the screen. "Translate it, then print a copy. You've got three hours."
The document had been about the Panama Canal. I began to suspect he was in Miami to take advantage of the upcoming canal expansion. Interesting.
Three hours later, I'd found him in the living room on the phone with his brother Dmitri.
Whenever he talked to his younger brother, his mood plummeted, and nothing ever seemed to get resolved. Yet he talked to the man a lot. Sometimes I could even hear Dmitri yelling, but Sevastyan never raised his voice or got angry in return. If I were Maxim's girlfriend and I gave a damn about him, I'd try to limit those calls.
When I'd dropped my printed report onto his lap, he'd ended the call. As if it were a chore to read, he'd exhaled and turned the cover sheet to the first of fifteen identical pages:
I'd turned on my heel and sauntered back to my room.
Ivanna said, "It can't all be bad."
"No, it's not. Sometimes, I like it here with him." Between Sevastyan and the floors of gun-toting mafiya guards, I felt safer than I had in years. Up in his tower, I was getting used to luxury, to not scrubbing toilets, to gourmet food, to views that went on forever. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a changed woman--skin glowing, eyes clear, dark circles gone.
I was officially recharged and heading toward . . . bored. I hadn't been bored in three years!
I'd hit the penthouse library (because ten thousand square feet of space meant it had a library). I'd finished novel after novel by the pool. Then I'd discovered on-demand video. I'd found a yoga class. Somehow I got through it. I would never scoff at yoga again.
"Is the sex amazing?" Ivanna asked.
"He puts me . . . he puts me in a chastity belt." Normally, I'd never tell her about this, but I had to vent.
She gave a throaty laugh. "How unexpected!"
"You aren't outraged for me? It's archaic! And I don't have any clothes. I either wear a shirt of his or go without. So basically I'm left naked and available for his use whenever he wants me."
"Your accent just thickened, and your voice grew husky. He's not the only one enjoying your situation."
I lay back, staring at the ceiling. "All I can think about is him. His body. It's like I'm drugged. My brain goes on a loop, replaying things we've done, imagining things we'll do. I walk around in this lust-fueled haze."
"It sounds enchanting."
"Have you ever had a man put you into chastity?"
She sighed. "I've never had one who cared enough to."
Care? He'd assured me he would toss me out as soon as he was done using me. And where would that leave me? Crushed. "I don't think that man's capable of caring. Ivanna, he can be so cold. Por Dios, I'd get whiplash if I tried to keep up with his moods."
And yet . . . he could also be a dream. This morning when he'd made love to me, he'd pinned my wrists over my head. But then he'd threaded his fingers through mine, locking our hands together.
Lock and key. Intertwined.
The pleasure he continued to give me was indescribable. And in those sweet twilight moments after sex, he drew me like no other man before. Earlier, as we'd caught our breath, he'd confessed, "I have little control with you. Stranger still, I'm making peace with it." Yet then he'd grown chilly once more.
Ivanna said, "Despite his moods, it seems as if you like him."
If I was honest with myself, I'd say that I did. I enjoyed his tricky mind and his intensity. His passion. But only an idiot would get attached to a guy like that.
Besides, if I developed feelings for him, then that meant he was trouble. Any impulse I had to like him or trust him should be taken as irrefutable evidence to do neither. You can't argue with science.
I told Ivanna, "I just want my freedom."
"Could you fall for him?"
"I . . . maybe?" Idiota! "I don't want to find out! Which is why I need to get away from him as soon as possible!"
"Why wouldn't you want him? Cat, are you already involved? Do you have a man?"
One hunting the city to kill me! I gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah. You could say I'm involved with another man."
"Do tell!"
I sighed. "Another time maybe."
"Very well. Then let's think about your end game. With as much access as you've been given to Sevastyan, have you learned any scoop to tell me about his past? His deep dark secrets? We could sell such a story."
"His deep dark secrets? Those are the kind I keep best."
"So you won't tell me what he's doing in Miami?"
If I had to guess, Maksimilian Sevastyan was buying up as much of the city as possible. From what I could glean, Miami was the closest ultra-deep port to the Panama Canal, which meant tons of new shipping traffic for the city--traffic that would demand warehouses, infrastructure, and rail spurs.
Yet I told Ivanna, "He's here to work on his tan?"
"I see," she said in a knowing tone. "Chin up. Now that you have a phone, you can call others. Maybe another friend could do more than smuggle in contraband?"
"You're right. I'll burn up the wires, dialing everyone I can count on. . . ."
After we'd hung up, I threw my arm over my face, tempted to fling the phone across the room.
I was still friendless. Still trapped in this belt. Trapped with a man who looked forward to the day when he could discard me. I was about to scream with combined frustration when I shot upright, remembering Mrs. Abernathy's threatening message. Mierda! If she called INS . . .
I dialed the woman up. "Hi, Mrs. Abernathy, it's Cat. I'm confirming for the thirty-first. Si, senora. I'll be there at nine a.m. sharp. Gracias." My jaw dropped when she started a lecture about work ethics.
Work ethics. From someone who didn't have a job.
I'd just hung up and hidden the phone in the guest room closet when I heard Sevastyan return.
Already? The sun was still high in the sky. I smiled when he bellowed, "Fucking come to me, witch."
CHAPTER 20
Knowing how much it would piss him off, I'd added a sixth slash to Sevastyan's mirror this morning.
Not long after, he found me in the pool, doing topless laps to music as per my usual. As per his usual, he was dressed to the nines. His tailored dark blue suit lovingly fit his broad shoulders and lean hips. His sunglasses made his hotness catapult off the charts.
He always looked flawless--except on those occasions when I could muss his hair. He picked up the remote, turning down my tunes.
"You and your clothes, Ruso. How much did that suit cost?"
"In U.S. dollars? Ninety or so."
I gaped. "Thousand?"
"A Dormeuil Vanquish suit doesn't come cheap." He jerked his chin at me and said, "I always pay for quality."
Thanks for the reminder. He was as hot and cold as ever, but his overall mood deteriorated with each day I remained here.
So why hadn't he kicked me out of his tower? Though I was thinking more clearly today--he'd decided I could use a night's uninterrupted sleep without my belt--I couldn't figure him out.
And when exactly had the belt become my belt?
"I'm leaving for the morning, then holding meetings here from three on. You'll need to stay out of the common areas."
"Why? You don't want your associates to see your prisoner walking around braless in your T-shirt?"
"I don't need to give you a reason why. This is what I want from you." So says the king.
"If you have to hide me, then why don't you just send me packing?"
"You'll remain with me until I'm done with you."
Ooh, that burned me up! I wanted to slap him. At times like this I actually missed my shitty existence. Though I felt safe and had spare time, and had eaten so much lobster I was nearly sick of it, I did yearn for things.
Like having an occupation and running. I even missed attending class. "Oh, I see. Poor Sevastyan is still wanting this ass." I gave a theatrical sigh. "I suppose if I'm going to be your quote-unquote prisoner for another day, then I'll need things. I know you like to keep me barefoot and not-pregnant, but my uniform is getting old."
"Give me your address, and I'll send someone to fetch whatever you need."
"I can't give you that kind of information. You know why, chulo? Because I do fear a besotted client, and we both know that you want me more than I want you."
His shoulders tensed up. All arrogance, he said, "Then it's fortunate that I don't give a fuck if you want me or not. Don't test my patience. This week I'll have little enough of it."
I'd hit a chink in his armor! "Speaking of this week. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve."
"Do not remind me." Arctic blast. Somebody doesn't like Christmas? "Your partner will have to miss your smiles for the holiday. Never forget, Cat, you're here for my use--at my disposal."
Spanish left my lips, insulting him and all his ancestors. Yet then I grinned evilly, planning to shove seven figures' worth of his suits into the hot tub. To begin with.
He did a double take at my expression, then stormed off, barking something to Vasili on his way out. Probably: "Watch her."
I stewed for another thirty minutes, deciding how else to screw with Sevastyan.
In the shower, I lit on an idea. I couldn't dial out on the hotel phone, but I could dial down.
I dressed in one of his T-shirts for the last time, then called the concierge. "I'm Maksimilian Sevastyan's girlfriend," I told him. "And I'm going to need some things brought up to the penthouse and billed to the room."
"Of course. My name is Alonzo, and I'd be happy to be of service."
Muy bien. "Do you have a pen and paper?"
The man didn't miss a beat when I ordered bathing suits, cover-ups, lingerie, slip-on beach sandals, dresses, Louboutins, makeup, and my favorite brands of toiletries. I ordered multiple pairs of running shoes, athletic boy-shorts, and sports bras.
To go with all my workout wear, I kind of bought a treadmill.
When boxes began arriving, Vasili, the hulk of Russian bodyguards, scowled at me from the lobby. Three new security guys were with him, now searching the boxes. They were as impassive as robots, their holsters and guns visible--because they were ready to drop anybody not authorized to be on this floor.
Ha! Do your worst, Edward.
The treadmill delivery made Vasili's scowl deepen, folds appearing on his bald head. "Not smart."
"Sevastyan shouldn't have taken on the responsibility of a new pet if he didn't have time to watch her. My breed is very destructive."
In broken English, he said, "Boss not type of man to fuck with."
"I'll let you in on a secret. I'm not the type of woman to fuck with." Everyone always underestimated how tough I was. I kept getting knocked down, but I also kept rebounding, every--damned--time. During this enforced vacation, I would run miles in addition to swimming laps, getting even stronger.
I directed the deliveryman to set up the treadmill in front of the wall of windows in the guest bedroom. Ah, a view of the water for my jogs.
After that, I opened packages and tried on my swag for hours. The bathing suits alone were amazing. I'd told Alonzo to get a shopgirl to pick out "crazy sexy," and in Miami, that wasn't a phrase to be taken lightly.
I ate my room-service lunch, then moisturized with a light oil that made my skin shimmer. I changed into a scarlet micro-thong that had a little bell on the back. Love! My skimpy black bikini top barely covered my areolas.
On my way to the pool, my boudoir heels click-clacked, accompanying my bell.
Once I'd made sure I had a tan line over my ass to taunt Sevastyan, I rang up Alonzo for a hair stylist to come trim my hair. A manicurist as well. Vasili had glowered at them when they arrived, but he'd let them through.
While Sheila and Vera worked, we three enjoyed room-service pina coladas with ground nutmeg on the top. The cocktail was so delicious I called down to the bar manager to pass on my compliments, or rather, the Russian's. "All the drinks for the hotel are to be put on his tab today. Tell everyone Salud and Feliz Navidad from Mr. Maksimilian Sevastyan!"
I tipped the girls in Louboutins and dresses that were too big for me.
They departed not long before Sevastyan and his business associates arrived.
I was just returning inside myself. Que coincidencia! Naturally I tugged down the back of my thong so that the tan line was visible.
The group looked like European businessmen--with an edge. For every man in a suit, there was a tougher, less polished bodyguard.
And still, Sevastyan looked more dangerous than all the others put together.
When they caught sight of me, they stutter-stepped at my getup. Even Vasili raised a brow.
Maxim's piercing blue eyes promised revenge. So why was I never afraid of him?
In a purring voice, I told the men, "Buenas tardes, senores." I made a show of turning and shutting the sliding door, knowing how my ass would move, how that little bell would go off.
Ring ring ring . . .
I heard stifled groans behind me and gave them a silly m
e smile over my shoulder.
"Who is this, Sevastyan?" one asked.
He bit out, "Katya was just going to her room."
I narrowed my gaze. Oh, it's on, Russian. Now I was really going to fuck with "boss." I sashayed away.
In my dressing room, I rummaged among all my drawers of new clothes. I chose a tight black sports bra, pulling it on. My hot pink boy shorts surrendered to the cleft of my ass. I donned running socks and shoes, then pulled my hair up in a high ponytail.
I definitely needed to get water out of the kitchen before I tried out my new treadmill. Hydration is important!
I sauntered out. Though Sevastyan had his back turned and hadn't seen me yet, he must've noticed his associates' brows-drawn looks of lust, because his shoulders bunched with tension. Vasili stood by, shaking his head at me in warning.
"So sorry," I told the men. "I needed something to drink. Tanning makes me parched."
On my way back from the kitchen, one of them said in English, "You don't have to hide her away, Sevastyan. It looks as if there is plenty to go around this table."
Another said, "Share the wealth, man."
A few of the other men made sounds of agreement.
I'd just reached Sevastyan, so I paused and draped myself over his back. "Oh, there's no sharing. I'm Maxim's alone. Isn't that right, mi tesoro?" My treasure. "I'm his baby-mama. Or I would've been. So close," I sighed to the men, my words heating Sevastyan's ear. His muscles tensed against me. "You see, I'm not very bright. Someone like me wasn't able to discern the manifest economic inutility of a woman my age getting pregnant with a strange man's kid." I giggled. "As my island grandmother always advised, 'Don't use your brain, mi preciosa. Use your uterus.' "
Between gritted teeth, he bit out, "Are you done, Katya?"
"Por ahora." For now. I whispered at his ear, "Have fun in your stodgy meeting. And know that once I've logged my miles, I'm going to finger myself furiously." I nipped his earlobe, smiled at the men, then traipsed away.
CHAPTER 21
"Pleased with yourself?"
I whirled around in the shower.
"Sevastyan!"
He was leaning against the doorway in the bathroom, watching me bathe. "I like it better when you call me Maxim." He wore only an opened shirt and his slacks.