Tamed: A Kinky Adult Fairy Tale (Bedding the Bad Girl Book 2) (2 page)

“Already planning for the second season?” She would be the one to set the tone of this conversation, thank you very much. “That’s fairly premature, isn’t it? Considering you haven’t wrapped the first week of preproduction on season one.”

“I don’t do anything prematurely, Katarina,” he said in his deep, resonant voice, the kind of voice that brought to mind furs spread before a fire and naked bodies entwined on top of them.

“Innuendo?” She kept her tone bored, ignoring the part of her that kept noticing how his accent made everything he said sound sexy as hell.

“No innuendo, just the truth.” He offered another easy smile. Did nothing irk this man? “This audition was for a different project starting production in a few months.”

“Don’t tell me, it’s called,
Real-Life Ways to Bed a Bimbo
,’” she replied dryly.

“The girls aren’t bimbos.”

“Right.” Kat rolled her eyes.

“And I would never be so derivative.” He smiled and his eyes did a sexy squinty thing that made her stomach flutter.

Focus, Kat! Fewer sexy thoughts, more ball-busting ones!

“So what’s it about?” Kat had to know what kind of reality show “audition” ended with three mostly naked girls in the executive producer’s bed.

“If I told you,” he said, with a wink. “I’d have to kill you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a joke!”

“I don’t do jokes,” she said, cheeks heating.

“Oh please, Kat—”

“You can call me Ms. Masterson.” That was good, keep the exchange formal, businesslike.

“You can call me Sergei, or Serge if you prefer.”

“I don’t prefer either, Mr. Sokolnokov. I’m here to talk business, and I think you’ll find it in your best interests to listen closely to what I have to say.” Kat forced her tone to remain even and firm, though this man wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

Sergei Sokolnokov was—in a word—magnetic. Though not much taller than her own five foot eight, he had the kind of thick, barrel-chested build and strong, muscled arms that made her thighs tingle inside her sensible black skirt. His eyes were a darker, more piercing shade of green than her own, and his salt-and-pepper hair was thick and short enough to be sensible, but long enough to be sexy.

All in all, he was her dream guy…if he weren’t a total sleaze.

But sleaze or not, Kat couldn’t keep from imagining what it would feel like to thread her fingers through his hair, to feel his thick arms around her as he hitched her up around his waist and screwed her senseless against the nearest wall.

“Katarina?” A smile danced in his fantastic kelp-green eyes.

“Y-yes?” She flushed, unable to believe that she had missed whatever he’d just said. She didn’t have the luxury of letting her thoughts drift off into a lust-induced fantasyland, especially when the man she was fantasizing about was the definition of Mr. Wrong.

“I asked if you’d like something to drink.” He stepped close enough for her to smell the musky scent of his aftershave and to realize that her nose was level with his lips. She would be able to meet his mouth with only the slightest tilt of her head.

“No thank you.” Kat swallowed hard, fighting to keep her wayward thoughts on track. “Now why don’t we talk about what I came for? And what it will take to convince me to keep quiet about your real identity and all those strip clubs you own.”

“I know what you came for. And I promise you, you’re going to get it.” He stepped even closer, until her breasts were inches away from his chest and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. “But I won’t be bullied or manipulated. Do you understand?”

She shivered, her body suddenly awash in a potent cocktail of her own hormones. Her lips parted as she struggled to put aside the rush of mental images that flooded her mind—Serge with his lips at her throat, his hands ripping at the buttons of her blazer, her nails raking over the bulge in his impeccably tailored pants before she dragged his zipper down.

Good god, what was he going to do? Was he going to kiss her? Or just talk very sternly to her in that sexy voice of his? The uncertainty was terrifying and terribly, terribly exciting. Her sex grew slicker, her body voicing its appreciation for everything Serge had to offer.

She wanted him so badly it was shocking.

A case of all-consuming lust was the last thing she had expected to put a wrench in her plans. She had to get some distance, to liberate herself from the mind-muddying effects of pheromone overdose before she pulled up her skirt and begged him to feel how wet she was through her silk bikini panties.

“I, um. Yes, I understand,” she whispered as she backed away.

Katarina never backed down or fled the scene. But when compared to the shame of launching herself at the man in front of her and kissing him breathless, stepping back was the less pride-destroying option.

“There’s no need to be sorry. I understand that you’ve had a hard time and are anxious about the project. You’re a smart woman and I’m sure you realize how much is riding on your performance in this game.” He crossed the room to grab a coat the same seal gray as his suit pants from the back of his desk chair. “But while I appreciate that, I believe we can come to a meeting of the minds without resorting to base tactics.”

“Of course,” Kat said, her throat tight. “I agree.”

He was right, but she didn’t have to like it, or to enjoy the reminder of what a rough, classless piece of work she’d become. When had blackmail become such an easy thing to consider?

She used to be a queen, for god’s sake. What had happened to her?

But she already knew the answer to that question. The dungeon had happened to her, and the drugs and the lies and the betrayal and all the rest of it. It was surprising that she wasn’t even more jaded and rough around the edges.

Still, she should be demanding better of herself. She didn’t want to be that woman anymore.

Hadn’t she just been thinking about “upward spiraling?”

“Lovely. Let me give you a ride to the location.” Serge crossed the room in a few easy strides, coming to cup her elbow in his warm hand and lead her toward the door. “We’ll be a few minutes late, but that’s no trouble.”

He was so smooth and the feel of his hand on her body so exactly what she’d been craving, it took a second for her to realize she was being herded to the slaughter without having had the chance to speak her piece.

“Can we talk first?” She dug her heels into the soft carpet.

Man, this guy was good, he’d had her in the palm of his hand without breaking a sweat.

“Katarina, don’t press me.” He sighed as she slipped her arm from his grasp. “If you fail to show up for the filming of the first meeting with the other women, you will be costing me money. I refuse to let that happen.”

“I’m going to show up,” she said with a smile. “I just want the freedom to direct the best course for my part in this venture.”

“Impossible.” His full lips drew into a tight line.

“And why is that?” Kat asked. “Because you’ve already decided to paint me as a villainess to boost ratings?”

“You are not being painted as—”

“They made me walk down the street in my old neighborhood on the first day of filming,” she broke in. “Anywhere else in the city, I might have had the chance to interact with people who could see me as who I am, not who I was.”

“It’s who you
were
that made you a candidate for this show in the first place,” Serge said, his frustration clear. “Why else would I have hired a ex-con with the stink of the dungeon still in her hair?”

Kate flinched. “Thanks.”

He sighed and regret flickered behind his eyes. But before either of them could speak again, one of the blonde bimbos poked her head out of the door to the bathroom. “Sergey? Do you have a blow dryer?”

“Under the sink, in the brown basket.” Serge gifted the blonde with an easy smile, before turning back to Kat and leaning in to press an unexpected kiss to her cheek. “My apologies, beautiful. Forgive me for my rudeness and lets go make some fabulous television together.”

“All right,” Kat said, too flustered by the sweet, sexiness of that kiss to put up a fight when he recaptured her arm.

Damn, the kissing on the cheek thing had thrown her, but she didn’t have to give up that easily. She would have a good twenty minutes in the cab ride downtown to sort out how to change Serge’s mind.

She had to convince him to give her a fair shot. She knew how these shows worked. There was always a person that the audience loved to hate, and she was being set up to be that unlucky gal.

Why else would the producer spend the week filming inmates she had known in the dungeon or insist she parade down the street she had once called home? She had seen the cameraman stop to zoom in on the horrified faces of the rich and sophisticated people who had been her neighbors. They were going to show the entire Kingdom how hated she was, and that even her one-time friends had turned their backs on her.

She had to get it together, to stop letting fear and anxiety bring out the worst in her. She had to show the people around her the decent person she was on the inside.

That person was in there, somewhere, and desperate for a fresh start. But she had to come out of this experience with a better reputation than when she went in or she could kiss all hope of reclaiming her life goodbye. No one in her former industry, not even her best friend, Stephen, would touch her with a ten-foot pole if she were to become known as the biggest bitch in the history of reality TV.

She’d been VP of the top public relations firm in the Kingdom before everything went to hell. It was her passion, her talent, and the only job she ever wanted. It was also an industry that wouldn’t tolerate a bad rep from anyone, especially a bad rep that had been earned. No one cared that she had served her time, that she was properly ashamed of herself, or that she had no urge to repeat the horrible mistakes that had earned her five years in the dungeon.

An ex-con was an ex-con. She couldn’t get hired to man the cash register at Kingdom Burger, let alone offer consult on a client’s public image.

That’s why she had taken this gig in the first place. She was out of work and out of options. The lure of earning the money she would need to start a new life—along with the opportunity to show the Kingdom she had gotten her act together—had been more than she could resist.

She had to have faith that this could still work out, and that there was a way to salvage a working relationship that had gotten off to a rough start.

“After you, Katarina.” Serge opened the door to the office building, revealing a stretch limo with black tinted windows waiting at the curb.

She should have known they wouldn’t be taking a cab.

Now they would be alone for the next fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on traffic. Plenty of time to turn lemons into lemonade…

CHAPTER THREE

Serge

Katarina was a handful and strung so tight she looked as if she would snap in two. She was too tall and too thin, her breasts were barely apple-sized, and he imagined her hipbones would stab a man to death if he ever managed to convince her to let him be on top. She was also older than his usual girl—somewhere in her mid-thirties, though her tomboy figure made her appear younger. Her only real draws were her luxurious dark red hair that looked as soft as silk, and her stunning sea-green eyes.

But who could enjoy them when she kept her sharp face narrowed in a glare half the time?

Kat Masterson wasn’t his type, not any of them, and he was a man who appreciated a wide variety of feminine charm. She was also currently in his employ, making her off-limits. He didn’t cross that line. Sure, he had danced along it from time to time, but never crossed it.

Work and sex mixed about as well as peanut butter and salami.

So why was he so drawn to her?

“I’m sorry we got off to a rough start. I’m just really nervous.” The flush across the bridge of her nose highlighted freckles he hadn’t noticed before. “It brings out the bitch in me.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” That was
exactly
what he would have said, but she was clearly trying to make a fresh start and the freckles were cute. They softened her a bit, allowing him see the woman she might have been if her life had taken a different direction.

“You’re nice. A liar, but nice.” Her tongue slipped out to dampen her lips. “So listen, I know giving me any kind of artistic control is off limits. I get that. I just want a fair shot and a chance to show my good side as well as my bitchy one. Is that something we might be able to agree on?”

Serge nodded, still feeling bad for hurting her feelings back at the office. “Yes. I want this to be a fair competition. I’ll speak to Matthew and let him know I expect as much. Backstory is acceptable, forcing a narrative is not.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was stunning, transforming her thin face into a thing of beauty. “Seriously, thank you so much. I really appreciate it, Serge.”

With a soft sigh of relief, she leaned back against the seat to look out the window, clearly content to take the rest of the ride in silence. If only she’d chosen to cross her legs, as well. Maybe then he would have been able to look out the window, too.