Chapter 3

Lauren’s eyes blinked open, and she forced herself to remain completely still, the waves of vertigo doing more to pin her to the bed than...

Wait a minute. Bed?

A familiar voice floated over her, but it did nothing to reassure her. Dimitri Korba was speaking in rapid O?rois, his words delivered in the same brusque, professional tone that she’d heard him speak when he’d been hauling her and her friends through O?ros’s back country this past week, keeping them out of the spotlight of the paparazzi. Them, or more to the point, Emmaline, who’d made a splash with her whirlwind romance with the prince of the realm.

Figures that Em gets the prince and I get the frog.But she honestly wasn’t upset about that. Emmaline had been dealing with so much for so long, while Lauren’s life was damned near perfect. She didn’t have the right to complain about anything. Not when in almost all cases, she had the ability to change her circumstances or walk away without thinking twice. Of course, that “almost” was an issue, but not tonight. Tonight she simply had to get back to the palace. Right after she could see normally again.

Another burst of chatter, this time not Dimitri, refocused her. He was talking to someone on some sort of screen, standing near enough to touch. She shifted the minutest inch, then froze.

Something was around her now-bare foot, tethering her to the bed.

It wasn’t thick or clunky—not a manacle. But it wasn’t a heavy rope either. Zip tie? Twine? Whatever it was, it was attached to the bed or the post and was silent. So not a chain, not metal. Had to be plastic or cord of some sort.

Fury ripped through her, followed closely by outrage and embarrassment. She was to blame here, dammit. She’d gotten herself into this predicament. The last thing she remembered was running past Dimitri, sprawling forward, then...nothing.

The asshole clearly had hauled her here like a sack of grain.

And where was here, anyway? She squinted at her surroundings without moving her head. They were in some kind of office. She wasn’t on a bed after all, but a low, flat couch, the kind of thing that could double as a cot if need be. The room was utilitarian, some kind of command outpost. A desk, a chair, this cot thing, and electronics. Dimitri hadn’t turned on the light, probably hoping she stayed asleep until he finished whatever he was doing. Then he would cut her loose and get her back to the castle.

At least, that was what she assumed he was going to do.

How dare he tie me up at all?

Another bolt of irritation cut through more of her fog. She tested her wrists, her other foot—only one was attached to the bed. Only one needed to be, of course, to keep her in place. But why a foot? Why not her wrist?

The panic, she realized. Dimitri had realized that for her to wake up with her hands bound would be infinitely scarier, and he apparently hadn’t wanted her to be frightened. He’d simply wanted her to stay put.

Gee, how chivalrous.

But what were they doing here, anyway? As she turned her head slowly, Lauren realized that Dimitri was standing far closer to her than she first realized. Shielding himself with the chair, he stood at attention behind his giant desk, his eyes glued to the screen as he spoke. Whether he knew she was awake or not wasn’t material. He couldn’t look down, not with the focus of his supreme overlord on him, or whoever was on the screen. Cyril Gerou, she assumed, the chief advisor to the king and Dimitri’s boss.

So that explained why he wanted to keep her quiet. Probably wouldn’t be good form to reveal that he had a drunk, passed-out American in his little captain’s office or whatever this place was. And he might not want her to slip away while he was giving his report, but that was too bad. He’d definitely crossed the line by tying her to a freaking couch. She smiled, feeling better by the second. Because you just didn’t tie Americans to couches. So Dimitri would have to pay for that.

She reached out and tugged gently on his pants leg.

Right in the middle of his sentence.

To his credit, Dimitri didn’t flinch. The only reaction she noticed was him becoming, if possible, even stiffer, his muscles knotting beneath the thin cotton of his trousers. And she could tell those muscles were tense too, since she reached up with both hands to encircle his left thigh—and her fingers didn’t touch. His legs were tree trunks, and she imagined them, suddenly, beneath her, her own legs spilling over him, her hands on his chest.

Right. No.

The idea of getting anywhere near this man in an intimate way had every one of her instincts screaming “danger.” She’d learned the hard way not to disobey her instincts. She chose her partners with excruciating precision—they had to be discreet, easy to hide, and easy to manage. With those provisions in place, she had plenty of play toys to choose from.

Dimitri Korba was definitely not a play toy.

His breath seemed to catch as another flurry of words poured out from the screen, and Lauren refocused. It was the advisor, Cyril, speaking to Dimitri in such harsh tones. Then again, he’d always sounded harsh to her, despite the fact that O?rois was arguably one of the more beautiful languages in the world.

Dimitri’s breath hitched again and she realized that she’d unconsciously moved her hands up his leg as she’d been lying there, trapped in her own thoughts. Now her questing fingers had slipped up dangerously close to the good captain’s groin, and she could tell by the strain on the fabric that Dimitri was not unaffected by what she was doing. Power curled inside her, and she smiled with a triumph that reached all the way to her toes.

Then she reached up farther yet, stretching to the extent that her tethered foot would allow.

Dimitri’s shaft was full and ready, and she brushed the top of his trousers, reveling in the sensory explosion. Her foot was now taut enough against the zip tie that her toes had fallen asleep, and her heart rate had definitely picked up. The tactile pleasure of the rough cotton twill of Dimitri’s khakis stretched tight across his groin and his backside, both of which she was kneading, squeezing, pressing beneath her fingers. Being bound and yet in control at the same time was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, and she reveled in it, her breath coming harshly between her parted lips before she clamped her mouth shut.

For a second, she imagined Dimitri naked, and white-hot need seared through her.

Back it down, she admonished herself. This could only be a tease. If she kept things in check, no one would know. Because no one could know.

She needed to stay away from Dimitri.

Still, the man had tied her down. And he was right here, so hard, so hot, so different from anyone she’d allowed herself to touch…

She skated her fingers up the hard curve of his shaft, fascinated by the way he didn’t move, didn’t twitch, other than the unmistakable throb beneath the touch of her fingers. Dimitri’s voice remained solid and sure, untroubled, as he answered Cyril’s questions. He leaned forward, and she felt the powerful flex of his hamstrings beneath her other palm. Once again, her mind returned inexorably to the image of those legs, naked and strong beneath her, on top of her, straddling her, and she almost whimpered.

She wasn’t an innocent, and there were plenty of guys out there hotter than this giant. Well, prettier guys, anyway. Dimitri Korba was arguably one of the hotter men she’d encountered in recent memory, at least when he didn’t look at her with a snarl marring his lips or disdain in his eyes. She knew better now, though. She knew he found her attractive. Her or at least the idea of her, which was enough for what she needed. From attraction, it was always a very short distance to control, and the idea of controlling Dimitri Korba in secret, for merely a moment or two…

She could totally pull this off. And no one would know. Because, again, no one could know.

As she pressed her fingers into him, teasing him with smooth, hard strokes, Lauren thought about all the ways she could tantalize the man in the few short days—maybe a week, maybe two, but no more—that she’d be stuck in O?ros. She’d make sure they were barely in the same room with each other, but she’d give him a glimpse, a taste. She knew from experience that was the way to make a man insane—denying him what he thought he wanted. She’d have fun playing the game until she could get out of O?ros and on with her life. Maybe she’d see him again at the wedding, if the wedding between Kristos and Emmaline actually happened.

She hoped it did. For their sakes, she really did. No one should go through life expecting relationships never to work out. She did enough of that for everyone.

The sudden silence in the room didn’t fully penetrate her awareness until it was a hair’s breadth too late. Then Dimitri’s hand snaked down and wrenched hers away from his body, and he pressed her down into the couch.

“Something you want, princess?”