The Last Dance (5 page)

Georgina swallowed hard. She needed to make it happen, fast. Just once. She would allow this insanity just once. Tomorrow she would explain the attraction away and carry on with this as another job. She pulled frantically at the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers would not move fast enough.
Damn it.
She pulled harder. One by one the buttons flew off.

She unbuttoned his trousers. His cock sprang free, long and hard, ready. Like everything about him, it was large. Without thinking, she reached out to stroke it, needing to feel him. She wanted him everywhere, in her hands, in her mouth, deep in her throat, and between her thighs, pounding into her.

Her head was foggy. Her movements slowed. She had to concentrate on each movement to make her muscles comply. She’d had too much to drink. She wasn’t used to vodka. She should have refused the last drink…the last several drinks. No, she was fine. She reached behind her back and pulled down on the zipper of her dress. She needed to feel her bare skin on his. Her dress dropped to the floor. She didn’t need a bra because her breasts were small, and she’d chosen to wear no panties because it would ruin the line of her dress, so she was naked in front of him.

Roman lifted her effortlessly onto the bed. He was still fully clothed, except his massive erection. So big…so masculine…

The room was spinning. There were two of everything, but the images smeared together. She blinked to clear her vision, but it didn’t help. All shapes and colors bled into one. The room was like a painting that had doubled and collided, and all the colors crashed into one another and then faded into black.

Roman was on top of her, pulling her arms over her head. So big…so big…

Even he was blurry like a dream, but he felt real. Cold metal ensconced her wrist and then a
clink
sound. Georgina blinked. What was happening? Something was wrong. Oh God. The room was going black. Fuck, this wasn’t the vodka. Keep your eyes open! her mind screamed, but the words were lost. She was already being dragged under. So tired…so dark…

ROMAN LOCKED THE cuffs onto the bed. She had passed out. Shame. He would have enjoyed fucking her.

He had hoped he was wrong. He ran a hand through his cropped blond hair and swore. Well if she died, he would know she’d tried to assassinate him. He would know soon enough if she had been sent to kill him or merely incapacitate him to gain access to his home. For her sake he hoped it was the latter, though he would not be grieving her loss if it were the former.

He had spotted her immediately in the Hermitage, staring openly at him from the shadows. He knew her game instantly, knew she had been sent to try to take him down. That was a constant in his life, people plotting, threatening. The tactics had changed considerably over the years. Before it was crude, a car bomb or a simple bullet; now they sent beautiful women. And Christ, she was beautiful—red hair and the palest skin, almost translucent. Her breasts were small but high and firm, and the nipples were the softest shade of pink, only slightly darker than her milky skin. She was stunning. A bit too thin for his liking, but that came with her career.

Of course he knew who she was. She was Georgina Fairley, only the most sought-after ballerina in Europe, the world maybe. For an instant he had allowed himself to entertain the idea that she was here with him because she wanted to be. The way she kissed and stroked him gave the notion credence. But no, she was just another player in this chess match, although an exquisitely beautiful one. She was very skilled; she faked it with the best of them.

Roman picked up her purse and dumped the contents over his desk: keys, credit cards, lipstick, breath mints, condoms, a smart phone, and cartoon character keychain. He squinted as he held it up. No, she would not have a childish kitten keychain in her possession. He ripped the head from the plastic body. Inside was a small listening device. A bug. She had been sent to bug him, not kill him; that meant she was sent by a government, not a rival.
Interesting.

Roman returned to the bed. He picked up her wrist, feeling for a pulse; it was slow and strong, her breathing deep.

She would sleep this off and be fine in the morning.

If he didn’t kill her.

If she were a man he would have killed her by now. His gaze swept over her body again, settling on the thatch of red curls between her thighs. Definitely not a man.

Fuck
.

He still might have to kill her. That had not been ruled out. The night was young.

Georgina’s head pounded in time with the throbbing pain in her knee. Her mouth was dry and tasted like she had been sucking on moldy dishrags. The room was spinning. Without opening her eyes, she reached for the painkillers on the bedside table.

Cold metal bit into her flesh when she tried to move. “What?” Her hands were shackled to the bed. “Shit,” she whispered. Her heart jumped into her throat. What was going on? Flashes of last night…the Hermitage…Roman…the drive to Peterhof…kissing…

Oh God. She couldn’t remember anything past kissing Roman and stroking his cock. What had happened next?

No
.

Shit, she knew what had happened next. How did she end up shackled to his bed? Fuck, she needed to remember. She had to piece this together. She could not make a plan if she couldn’t piece it all together.

The room was completely black, but she knew he was beside her. He wasn’t touching her, but heat radiated from his body. She was chained to Roman Zakharov’s bed. Her heart beat faster still. His proximity was too much; just knowing he was near sent her pulse racing.

She would have never agreed to being handcuffed, which meant Roman had figured out her motives…or… Shit, maybe she had agreed to being chained. The desire was real; she had wanted him. She remembered that much. She had wanted to have sex with Roman. Maybe she would have agreed to handcuffs. Damn it. Why couldn’t she remember?

Alcohol did not affect her this way. She could handle her liquor as well as any man in Russia.

The tranquilizer.

She had taken the drugged shot. No, she would not have been that careless. She never would have made that mistake. Roman switched them. He knew.

Oh, fuck.
She took in a ragged breath. But he would have killed her if he knew, and her knee was in agony, so she was very much alive.

“Good morning.” Roman’s deep voice sounded in the darkness. The mattress dipped under his weight as he rolled over. Her heart jumped into her throat. He was in bed beside her. Terror slammed against her with every violent beat of her heart. She was defenseless now, not that she’d had any power before, but at least she had not been shackled. She was completely at his mercy. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she sucked in air. She could not slow her breath any more than she could slow her pulse. What was he going to do?

He stood up and switched on the light. The chandelier above lit up. Thousands of crystals sparkled above them. Light ricocheting off every surface blinded her. She could not open her eyes; the light was far too bright.

Oh, shit.
Think. What do I do?
Her brain would not engage. All training was lost to the frantic fugue of thoughts.

“I trust you slept well,” Roman said. He was standing above her. She blinked several times to clear her vision. When she finally did she regretted it: he was completely naked, just like her. The remaining breath in her body left her in an audible whoosh.

“Uncuff me.” Her voice cracked. Her throat was dry. Water, she needed water… Roman towered above her, wearing nothing but a scowl. He was menacing enough when he smiled. When he scowled, it was the stuff of nightmares.

The scar on his face reached down his neck and over his shoulder, ending below his chest where his heart should be. She squinted to study his body; it was oversized perfection. Georgina was used to men with long, lean muscles. She used to think that was what a man’s body should look like, but she was wrong. Men’s bodies should look like Roman’s, with large muscles and deep grooves that defined each one. Roman would never struggle to lift her. She would not need to starve herself if he were her partner. If all male dancers were built like him…

His body was beautiful…but terrifying.

“Uncuff me,” she said again.

Slowly Roman shook his head. “We both know I can’t do that.”

Georgina swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was still alive. If he wanted her dead, he could have already done it. And whatever depravities he wanted with her body, he had already done them, and the only thing that hurt was her knee. She could get through this.

Roman held up the transmitter. “Small. Government issue. You are from United States, yes? What do the Americans want from me? All of my businesses there are legitimate.”

Georgina forced a smile to her face. Any fear she felt, she could hide. And she would not bother denying it was a bug. “No doubt that is where the money ends up after it is well laundered.”

“So your government sent you. I did not know they had stooped to making women whore themselves for God and country.”

Georgina took in a sharp breath. She forced her gaze to return to his. “Call me a whore, and I shall call you a murderer. So what. We are who we are. Now are you going to let me go or are you going to kill me? I’m not really bothered about which you pick. Just do it quickly.”

The unscarred side of Roman’s face hitched in a smile. “You are not panicking or begging. Not a single tear.” He reached down and stroked her face as if to make sure. He had the callused hands of a laborer.

“Do you want me to cry and beg? That gives me tremendous insight into your sex life. Is that what the handcuffs are about? You want me to beg?”

Roman’s smile broadened. “I could make you beg.” His low voice sent ripples of pleasure through her body. No, she would never beg. Georgina had lost a lot, but she still had her pride.

“I need to be at the theater by ten for rehearsal. If I am not there I am as good as dead. Katia will take my roll. So kill me or let me go.”

Roman studied her intently. It was more than a little unnerving to have him so close and naked. She forced her gaze to never leave his scarred face, but her peripheral vision was filled by his hard body.
Don’t look.

“Your career means that much to you?”

She replied without hesitation. “My career means everything to me. You don’t become prima ballerina by accident.”

“Then why fuck it up with this?”

Georgina looked away. She had fucked it up years ago. This was damage control. This was not what she had dreamed about as a little girl in Montana, her grandma taking her to ballet classes four days a week. This was not the dream Georgina had worked for.

“Who sent you?” Roman demanded again.

Georgina refused to look at him.

“Was it your director? Is this the way you secure wealthy patrons? First with your pussy and then with blackmail?”

Georgina didn’t respond.

“Everyone knows beautiful women always fuck for a price. Is this how you worked your way out of the chorus, on your back?”

Georgina snapped her head back to face Roman. “I am the principal dancer because I am the best. I work the hardest, and I want it the most. If you want to insult me, stick to calling me a whore.”

“You would rather be called a whore than a mediocre dancer?” Roman’s deep voice was incredulous.

“My abilities as a dancer have never been in question. Are you going to kill me or not?”

“You are either new to this or stupid. I won’t tell you if I am going to kill you. At least until right before I do it, so I can enjoy the terror in your eyes. Of course as the murderer you say I am, I would want to relish that moment as long as possible, but if I tell you too soon, you will dissolve into tears and beg and plead for your life. All that screaming might lessen my enjoyment or perhaps heighten it. Who is to say? Perhaps we will find out.”

“I will slit my own wrists before I beg you for anything.”

Roman ignored her and carried on. “If I tell you I’m not going to kill you, you will become even more arrogant. And that is not attractive in a woman. And you are already working at a deficit in that department because you are so scrawny.” Roman made a show of looking over her body from head to toe and back again, his gaze settling on her modest breasts. His scowl deepened as he shook his head, clearly displeased with what he saw.

Georgina ground her teeth until her jaw ached. He wanted her to retaliate, but she was not some needy girl. She didn’t need this scarred monster to validate her in any way. “So tell me you are going to kill me and just be done with it. My knee hurts. So either snap my neck, let me go, or drug me again so I don’t have to feel it anymore.”

Roman sat down on the bed. His large hands went to her left knee. His touch was as gentle as it could be for a man his size, but she still winced. “You favor that leg when you walk.” He rubbed her leg gently.

“I don’t.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her in place. She closed her eyes as the pain turned into relief. If he rubbed her knee like that all the time, she might be able to cut down on the ibuprofen and give her liver a much-deserved rest.

“Then how did I know it was this knee?”

“I only have two. The odds were not bad that you would guess correctly.” Nobody knew of her injury, not even Maxim. The other dancers would be on it like flies on shit. Injuries ended careers, and Georgina had fought too hard to keep her secret hidden.

“You can tell when you are onstage too.”

Georgina’s eyes narrowed. “You said you did not know who I was.”

“I lied. Why do you look surprised?” His mouth hitched in a grin. “Oh, I see. How sweet. You thought perhaps I was a noble murderer, happy to kill but honest.”

Georgina looked away. Christ, she had been stupid. She had let her guard down with him. Why? Because she found him bizarrely attractive? No, she was just plain stupid. She had been out of the game too long. The five-month hiatus was too long; she had forgotten the rules to this part of her life. “I know you have no integrity. You drugged me and fucked me. There is no integrity in that,” she replied pointedly, praying he would not stop rubbing her knee. This was the most relief she had felt in months, years maybe.