“This is your house?” My tone indicated my disbelief. I saw Viktor try to hide his smile. “This isn’t a house…it’s a mansion.”

I was staring at a big stucco and stone home with a carriage-style driveway with a fountain in the center. Just the entryway alone was massive, and I hadn’t even walked inside yet.

“It’s not as big as it looks,” he said modestly.

I looked at him dubiously. “Really.”

He grinned, flashing a dimple through the unscarred part of his face and his trimmed facial hair. I blinked, trying to take in his good mood without being completely shocked. He amended his statement. “Well, okay, it’s big. But it’s not as intimidating as it looks. Promise.”

He showed me around and then left me to get settled. After I unpacked the few belongings I had, I realized I should have asked for breadcrumbs downstairs. When I finally found him again, I took a seat at the kitchen bar and he served me some food that his housekeeper-slash-cook Judy had made for him.

“Now what?” I asked, forking the pork chop into my mouth and moaning in the pure delight of the tender meat. There was something to be said for American meat. No pun intended.

“Now we wait.”

I stopped eating. “Wait for what?”

He grabbed his plate and sat down at the bar with me. “You don’t really think they’ll just let this go, do you? Either Petrov or Ramone will come for you, and we have to be ready.”

“How am I supposed to be ready at any point? And how long will we have to wait?” Was I supposed to have a backpack packed on standby? That was no way to live. So much for freedom.

“I don’t know how long. Could be days, weeks, months. The Pakhan knows where I live, but I doubt he’ll be the first to approach. He’ll wait to see with Boss Ramone does.”

I still couldn’t believe that Boss Ramone was my father. Wasn’t sure what to believe. It was so far-fetched that it sounded like a fairy tale—only, in this story, I was unsure of who the villain was.

“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

He looked at me with intensity and heat in his eyes and my choice of words was suddenly infused with a deeper, more intimate meaning. He said softly, “I have some ideas.

I cleared my throat. “I mean, where can I go if I want to get away from the house?”

The smile fell from his face. “Anya, you’re not going anywhere. Absolutely not.”

I furrowed my brow. “Uh, yes. I can. I’m not staying here for months! I’ll go crazy.” He must be mad to think I would—

“Anya, this is not a suggestion. You will do as I say.”

I laughed in his face. “You don’t own me.”

He didn’t laugh in response. Nothing about him was in a light, humorous mood. My laugh died quickly. As soon as I was silent, he shrugged and reminded me, “I have a document that says otherwise.”

My entire body went cold. I had thought he was different, but he was just like the others. They wanted to control me, like a piece of property. I had trusted Viktor, and now I was finding out that my trust was misplaced.

“Anya, don’t look at me that way. I’m just trying to protect you.” He grabbed my arm and tried to tug me to him, but I refused to budge. The tears prickling my eyes embarrassed me, and I looked away from him with resolute dignity—or at least I hoped I appeared dignified, and not just pathetic.

“Don’t touch me, Viktor,” I commanded softly.

For the first time, I wasn’t attracted to him. All I wanted was to get away from him.

He sighed. “Don’t be like that, Anya.” He tried to reach out for me again, but I shrugged him away.

“If you need me,” I informed him, ”I’ll be in my room. Locked away like a prisoner. Oh, wait. I am a prisoner.”

I was able to maintain my composure and kept my head high, until he reminded me, “It’s our room, printsessa. Don’t forget that.”

After one week in his mansion—no matter how palatial—I finally had enough.

I’d decided that Stockholm Syndrome was for the… Swedes. I was a proud Ukrainian. I did not—could not, would not—fall in love with the guard to my cell. Yes, I was probably delusional, but I was also bored to tears. I didn’t care what he was doing, I wanted in. When he got home for the day I met him at the door, having heard the purr of his car’s engine and the gravel shift on the driveway as he pulled up.

“You need to take me somewhere.” I stood there with my arms crossed.

“What? Where?” he asked, confused as he unfolded himself from the seat. “Oh. Do you need some… feminine supplies?”

I wrinkled my nose. Such a man. “No, of course not. I would just ask Judy for that. No, somewhere. Anywhere. Out.”

He rubbed his temples. “You know I can’t do that.” The car door slammed behind him with more force than necessary. I winced at the sound, and my arms fell to my sides as I approached him.

“Viktor, you can do whatever you want. That’s the point. You can do whatever you want. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here, waiting for you to get home.”

He flashed a quick smile. “Like a devoted wife?”

I didn’t smile, and his grin quickly faded. A welcoming wife with a martini, I was not. That much was clear already. “I’m serious. Somewhere, anywhere. Movies, dinner… heck, even McDonald’s.” At that point I felt an impulse to break out in a run and race him down the driveway to the main road. I needed to be free.

“Anya..,”

I cut him off by taking two steps forward, until I was directly underneath his nose, our bodies only a breadth apart. I could see how my nearness affected him. And the truth was, he was affecting me as well. I breathed in his now-familiar smell, my entire body thrumming with need for him—a need that I didn’t fully understand.

“Take me somewhere,” I whispered, not bothering to conceal my attraction to him. My hands went to his steely forearms. “Please.” I would use whatever tools were necessary to tempt him into going somewhere that wasn’t private.

“If I take you somewhere, then you’ll owe me,” he said softly.

Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a great idea. Owing Viktor? And judging by the way he was staring at me, he didn’t have perfectly innocent ideas floating through his head right now. “Owe you what?”

He grinned deviously. “Now that would ruin the fun.”

I weighed my options. I was going crazy, cooped up in here. “Where would you take me?”

“I thought you said you didn’t care?”

I sniffed indignantly. “I don’t, I’m just curious what the currency is, here. It had better be something a little better than McDonald’s. Or the gas station.”

He looked down and rocked back on his feet. “I do have this… thing that I would normally go to tonight.”

I was interested. Curious. He never told me personal things about himself, including standing plans that he apparently had. “What is it?”

“It’s uh… a blub—”

“I’m sorry, you mumbled.”

“Book club,” he repeated, looking a little embarrassed.

I rolled my eyes. “Are you going to tell me what it really is, or will I have to guess?”

He seemed confused. “No, it’s really a book club.”

“Viktor, come on. I won’t laugh. Just tell me what it is.”

He leaned forward, bringing his lips to within an inch of mine, and spoke so softly I wouldn’t have heard if I weren’t so close. “I did not lie to you, printsessa.”

I shivered, surprise and arousal battling for supremacy in my body. God, he was hot when he wasn’t being all protective and jailor-like. “You mean it’s really…”

“A book club, yes.”

I felt myself growing damp at the idea of this man of contrasts—surly but amused, violent but protective—in bed with… a book.

“You have a strange look on your face, Anya.”

“Do I?” I breathed.

What could I say? This book club revelation only added to his allure. Reading was sexy—panty-dropping, thigh-quivering, mouth-drying sexy.

In my imagination he read in bed, naked. In my current reality, the dark suit on his body did nothing to disguise his power and tenacity. He sometimes reminded me of a jaguar, but I couldn’t say why. Maybe it was his eyes.

“Anya?”

“Okay, I’ll go.” How could I not?