Rich Man's Revenge. Katherine Garbera

Dead and gone forever. And left in his place was nothing but a selfish, coldhearted tycoon.

      She missed the man she’d loved. She missed him as she hadn’t allowed herself to do for a full ten years. The way he’d held her, respected her, the way he’d made her laugh. He’d still been strong, but he’d looked out for those weaker than himself.

      But that man was gone—gone forever.

      Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks as she bowed her head and cried in the moonlight. Even the cool water of the ocean couldn’t wash away her grief and regret.

      For all these years, she’d pompously lectured Josie that she must be strong as a woman—must never give a man power over her. Bree wiped her eyes.

      She was a fraud. She wasn’t strong. She never had been.

      “Breanna.”

      She heard his low, deep voice behind her. Whirling around with a gasp, she saw him walking at the edge of the surf, coming toward her.

      “Vladimir,” she whispered, taking an involuntary step back into the ocean. “You followed me?”

      “I couldn’t let you go.” He walked straight into the waves, never looking away from her. Moonlight traced the strong muscles of his naked chest, and the dark hairline leading to the low-slung waistband of his jeans.

      She folded her trembling arms over her wet, flimsy robe. “What more could you possibly do to hurt me?”

      His eyes were dark and hot, his voice low. “I don’t want to hurt you. Not anymore. Never again.”

      “Then what do you want?” Then suddenly, Bree knew, and her body shook all over. Backing away, she held up her hand. “Don’t—don’t come any closer!”

      But he didn’t stop. He waded nearer, until the water rose higher than his thighs, to his lean, sexy hips, where the wet jeans clung.

      Vladimir’s gaze fell to her body. Looking down, she realized her robe was completely soaked and sticking to her skin. Even in the moonlight, the color of her nipples was visible through the translucent, diaphanous pink silk.

      They stood inches apart, waist-deep in the ocean. Their eyes locked. A current of electricity flashed through her.

      “I won’t be your possession, Vladimir,” she whispered. “I won’t be your slave.”

      His lips curved. “How could a woman like you,” he said, “ever be any man’s slave?”

      A large wave pushed her forward, and the palm she’d held out against him fell upon the hot, bare skin of his solid chest. Without moving her hand, Bree looked up at him. Her heart was beating wildly.

      “But you’re mine.” His dark eyes gleamed as, grabbing her wrists, he pulled her tightly against his body. Twining his hands through her wet hair, he cupped her face and tilted her mouth upwards. “You’ve always been mine.”

      “I’m not—”

      “Your own body proved it. You belong to me, Breanna. Admit it.”

      She shook her head wildly. “I despise you.”

      “Perhaps I deserve your hatred.” His words were low, barely audible over the surf and the plaintive cry of faraway seagulls. “But you belong to me, just the same. And I’m going to take you.”

      As the surf thundered against the beach, Vladimir lowered his mouth to hers.

      His kiss was searing, passionate. But she realized something had changed. As he held her against his body like a newly discovered treasure, his lips were exploratory, even tender. His kiss was full of yearning and heartbreak—of vulnerability.

      It was the kiss she remembered. The exact way Vladimir had kissed her when Bree’s world had been reborn.

      A choked sob came from the back of her throat. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed him back with all the aching passion of lost time. Standing on the edge of the moon-drenched ocean, they clung to each other as the waves tried, but failed, to pull them apart.

      Without a word, he lifted her against his naked chest. Their wet bodies dripped water as he carried her out of the ocean, back to the white-sand beach. And as he carried her up the moonlit cliff path that led to the villa, she closed her eyes, clinging to him.

      You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Your own body proved it.

      It was true. Even though she hated him, it had always been true.

      Bree was his. And whether she wished it or not, she always would be.

      Vladimir left a trail of sand and water as he crossed the floor of their bedroom, then gently lowered Bree to her feet beside the bed.

      Neither of them spoke. Almost holding his breath, he slowly stroked down her soft arms to her slender waist. He undid the silken tie of her robe. Never taking his eyes from hers, he peeled the wet, translucent silk off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

      She now stood before him naked and beautiful, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. Looking at her, this sensual angel, Vladimir trembled, racked with desires both sacred and profane.

      He’d taken her virginity. He couldn’t undo that.

      But he could change her memory of it.

      Pulling her naked body into his arms, against his bare chest, he cupped the back of her head, tangling his hands in her long wet hair, and lowered his mouth to hers.

      This time, without so much anger and prejudice in his heart, he finally felt her inexperience, the way she held her breath as she hesitated, her lips shy, then tried to follow his lead. He noticed everything he hadn’t wanted to see.

      This time, he did not plunder. He kissed her softly. Slowly. His lips suggested, rather than forced; they taught, rather than demanded. He let her set the pace. He felt her small body tremble in his arms, and then, with a deep sigh from the back of her throat, she relaxed. Her arms reached around his neck, and he felt her mouth part for him, offering freely what he’d earlier taken like a brute.

      As Vladimir held her naked, soft form, still wet from the ocean, waves of desire pummeled his own body with need. But he controlled himself. He would not take her roughly. This time, he would give her the perfect pleasure she deserved. The night he’d wanted to give her long ago …

      Standing beside the four-poster bed, he kissed her for a long time, holding her tight. The two of them swayed in the shadows of the bedroom. Her soft breasts felt like silk, brushing against his bare chest. His ran his hands over the smooth, warm skin of her back, beneath her wet hair.

      Their kiss deepened. He did not force it, and neither did she. It just happened, like magic, as the hunger grew like fire between them. He felt the tip of her tongue brush his, and his whole body suddenly felt electric. He could almost see colors in bursts of light behind his closed eyes, like an illumination in the darkness. She was his guiding light and North Star. His one true point.

      He held on to her as if, by kissing her, he could go back in time and be the openhearted young man he’d once been. The fearless one …

      Bree’s hands moved slowly down the sides of his body, pausing at the recent scars. She drew back to look at his skin. “The racing accident did this?”

      He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he gave a single unsteady nod.

      Her fingers traced the other scars she saw. “And this?”

      “Boxing.”

      “And this?”

      “Skydiving.”

      “So reckless,” she sighed. “Don’t you know you could die?”

      “We’re all going to die,” he said roughly. “I was trying to feel alive.”

      Her fingertips explored, accepted fully. As she touched his scars, he held his