A Reputation For Revenge

It was luxurious, all gleaming white marble and shining silver. Tossing her tattered backpack on the marble counter, where it looked extremely out of place, she started to dig through it for a toothbrush. Some great packing job, she thought in irritation. In the forty seconds she’d rushed around their tiny apartment in Honolulu, trying to flee before Vladimir Xendzov could collect Bree as his rightful property, Josie had grabbed almost nothing of use.

The top of a bikini—just the top, no bottom. Her mother’s wool cardigan sweater, now frayed and darned. Some slippers. She hadn’t even remembered to pack underwear. Gah!

Desperately, she dug further. A few cheap souvenirs from Waikiki. Her cell phone, now dead because she’d forgotten to pack the charger. A tattered Elizabeth Gaskell novel which had belonged to her mother when she was a high-school English teacher. A small vinyl photo album, that flopped open to a photo of her family taken a year before Josie was born.

Her heart twisted as she picked it up. In the picture, her mother was glowing with health, her father was beaming with pride and five-year-old Bree, with blond pigtails, had a huge toothless gap in her smile. Josie ran her hand over their faces. Beneath the clear plastic, the old photo was wrinkled at the edges from all the nights Josie had slept with it under her pillow as a child, while she was left alone with the babysitter for weeks at a time. Her parents and Bree looked so happy.

Before Josie was born.

It was an old grief, one she’d always lived with. If Josie had never been conceived, her mother wouldn’t have put off chemotherapy treatments for the sake of her unborn child. Or died a month after Josie’s birth, causing her father to go off the deep end, quitting his job as a math teacher and taking his seven-year-old poker-playing prodigy daughter Bree down the Alaskan coast to fleece tourists. Josie blinked back tears.

If she had never been born…

Her parents and Bree might still be happy and safe in a snug little suburban home.

Squaring her shoulders, she shook the thought away. Tucking the photo album back into her bag, she looked at her own bleak reflection, then grabbed her frayed toothbrush, drenched it in minty toothpaste and cleaned her teeth with a vengeance.

A moment later, she stepped into the steaming hot water of the huge marble shower. The rush of water felt good against her skin, like a massage against the tired muscles of her back and shoulders, washing all the dust and grime and grief away. Using some exotic orange-scented shampoo with Arabic writing—where on earth had Kasimir gotten that?—Josie washed her long brown hair thoroughly. Then she washed it again, just to be sure.

It was going to be all right, she repeated to herself. It would all be all right.

Soon, her sister would be safe.

Soon, her sister would be home.

And once Bree was free from Vladimir Xendzov’s clutches, maybe Josie would finally have the guts to tell her what she felt in her heart, but had never been brave enough to say.

As much as she loved and appreciated all that Bree had sacrificed for her over the past ten years, Josie was no longer a child. She was twenty-two. She wanted to learn how to drive. To get a job on her own. To be allowed to go to bars, to date. She wanted the freedom to make mistakes, without Bree as an anxious mother hen, constantly standing over her shoulder.

She wanted to grow up.

Turning off the water, she got out of the shower. The large bathroom was steamy, the mirrors opaque with white fog. She wondered how long she’d been in the water. She didn’t wear a watch because she hated to watch the passage of time, which seemed to go far too slowly when she was working, and rushed by at breakneck speed when she was not. Why, she’d often wondered, couldn’t time rush by at work, and then slip into delicious slowness when she was at home, lasting and lasting, like sunlight on a summer’s day?

Wrapping a plush white towel around her body, over skin that was scrubbed clean with orange soap and pink with heat, she looked at the sartorial choices offered by her backpack. Let’s see. Which was better: a wool cardigan or a bikini top?

With a grumpy sigh, she looked back at the dirty, wrinkled T-shirt, jeans and white cotton panties and bra crumpled on the shining white tile of the bathroom floor. She’d worn those clothes for two days straight. The thought of putting them back over her clean skin was dreadful. But she had no other option.

Or did she…?

Her eyes fell upon something hanging on the back of the bathroom door that she hadn’t noticed before. A white shift dress. Going towards it, she saw a note attached to the hanger.

Every bride needs a wedding dress. Join me at the rooftop pool when you’re awake.

She smiled down at the hard black angles of his handwriting. She’d thought she hadn’t wanted a dress, that she wanted to keep their wedding as dull and unromantic as possible. But now… how had he known the small gesture would mean so much?

Then she saw the dress’s tag. Chanel. Holy cow. Maybe the gesture wasn’t so small. For a moment, she was afraid to touch the fabric. Then she stroked the lace softly with her fingertips. It felt like a whisper. Like a dream.

Maybe everything really was going to be all right.

Josie exhaled, blinking back tears. She’d taken a huge gamble, using her last paycheck to come back to Honolulu, trusting Kasimir to help her. But it had paid off. For the first time in her life, she’d done something right.

It was a strangely intoxicating feeling.

Josie had always been the one who ruined things, not the one who saved them. She’d learned from a young age that the only way to make up for all the pain she’d caused everyone was just to take a book and go read quietly and invisibly in a corner, making as little trouble or fuss as possible.

But this time…

She tried to imagine her sister’s face when Josie burst in with Prince Kasimir and saved her. Wouldn’t Bree be surprised that her baby sister had done something important, something difficult, all by herself? Josie, her usually unflappable sister would blurt out, how did you do this? You’re such a genius!

Josie smiled to herself, picturing the sweetness of that moment. Then she looked down at her naked body, pink with heat from the shower. Time to do her part, but maybe it wouldn’t be so awful after all. How hard could it be, to get dressed in a fancy wedding gown, and marry a rich, handsome prince?

Pulling the white shift dress off the hanger, she stepped into it. Pulling it up her thighs, she gasped at the feel of the sensual fabric against her skin. It was a little short, though.

Josie frowned, looking down. It only reached to her mid-thigh. Maybe it would be all right, though. She reached back for the zipper. As long as it wasn’t…

Tight. She stopped. The zipper wouldn’t zip. Holding her breath, she sucked in her belly. Nervously, she moved the zipper up inch by inch, afraid she’d break it and ruin the expensive dress. Finally the zipper closed. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Her full breasts were pushed up by the tight dress, practically exploding out of the neckline. She looked way too grown-up and, well, busty. Bree would never have let her leave the house like this in a million years.

But it was either this or the dirty clothes. She decided she could live with tight. She’d just have to be careful not to bust a seam every time she moved.

Going to her backpack in mincing steps, she grabbed a brush and brushed her wet brown hair down her shoulders, leaving traces of dampness against the silk. She put on her pink flip-flops—it was either that or fuzzy slippers, and she was in Hawaii, after all—and some tinted lip balm. She left the bedroom with as much elegance as she could muster, her head held high.

Tottering down the stairs to the bottom floor of the penthouse, Josie went through the rooms until she finally found her way to the rooftop pool, with the help of the smiling housekeeper she’d found in the big kitchen. “That way, miss. Down the hall and through the salon.”

The salon?

Josie went through a large room with a grand piano, then through the sliding door to the rooftop pool. She saw Kasimir at a large table, still dressed in his severely black suit, leaning back in his chair. He was talking on the phone, but when he saw her, his eyes widened.

Nervously, Josie walked along the edge of the pool towards him. She had to sway her hips unnaturally to move forward, and she felt a bead of sweat suddenly form between her breasts. The sun felt hot against her skin.

Or maybe it was just the way her bridegroom was looking at her.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he breathed to the person on the phone, never looking away from Josie, and he rose to his feet. His gaze seemed shocked as it traveled up and down her body. “What are you wearing?”

“The wedding dress. That you gave me. Should I have not?”

“That—” his voice sounded strangled “—is the dress I left you?”

“Yeah, um, it’s a little tight,” she said, her cheeks burning. She wasn’t used to being the center of any man’s attention, let alone a man like Prince Kasimir Xendzov. Then she bit her lip, afraid she’d sounded like she was complaining. “But it was really thoughtful of you to get me a wedding dress,” she added quickly.

He slowly looked her up and down. “You look…”

She waited unhappily for his next word.

“… fine,” he finished huskily, and he pulled out a chair for her. “Please sit.”

Fine? She exhaled. Fine. She could live with fine. “Thanks.”

But could she sit down? Clutching the edges of the short hem, she sat down carefully. The expensive craftsmanship paid off. The seams held. She exhaled.

Until, looking down, she saw she was flashing way too much skin. With the dress tugged so hard downward, her breasts were thrust up even higher, and the fabric now just barely covered her nipples for decency. Trying to simultaneously pull the dress higher over her breasts and lower over her thighs, she bit her lip, glancing up in chagrin.

Fortunately, to her relief, as he sat down across the table from her, Kasimir’s gaze seemed careful not to drop below her eyes. He indicated the lunch spread across the table. “You’ve come at the perfect time.”

She looked at the chicken salad, fresh fruit and big rolls of crusty bread. It all looked delicious. But even Chanel craftsmanship would only go so far. “I probably shouldn’t,” she said glumly.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You must be starving. You fell asleep before breakfast. You’ve not had a decent meal for days.” Taking a plate, he started to load it with a bit of everything. “We can’t have you fainting during our wedding this afternoon.”

She almost laughed aloud. Her? Faint from hunger?

Food had always been Josie’s guilty pleasure. She felt self-conscious about the extra pounds she carried around, sure, but not enough to give up the pastries and candy she loved. Unlike Bree, who boringly ate the same healthy salad and nuts and fish every day, Josie loved trying exotic new cuisine. Maybe she didn’t have the money or courage to travel around the world, but eating at a Thai or Mexican or Indian restaurant was almost as good, wasn’t it? Especially when she found a half-price coupon. She looked at the delicious meal in front of her. And this was even better than half price!

She gave him a sudden grin. “Who says there’s no such thing as a free lunch, huh?”

“Glad you understand.” Placing the full plate in front of her, Kasimir gave her a wicked grin. “You are going to be my wife, Josie. That means, as long as you are mine, all you will know—is pleasure.”

Their eyes locked, and she felt that strange flutter in her belly—a flutter that had nothing to do with cookies, couscous or even chocolate. “Okay,” she whispered as heat pulsed through her body. She unconsciously licked her lips. “If you insist.”

“I’ll admit the dress is a bit tight. Women’s fashions are often a mystery to me,” he said huskily. “I very rarely pay attention to them—except when I’m taking them off.”

“I bet,” she said shyly, shaking a little. Could he see that she was a virgin with zero sexual experience? Could he tell? Suddenly unable to meet his eyes, she dropped her own back to her plate. Even across the table, he felt so close to her. And too good-looking. Why did he have to be so good-looking? Not to mention sophisticated and powerful. He looked like a million bucks in that dark vested suit.

Sitting back in his chair, he filled himself a plate, then pushed a pile of papers towards her. “You need to sign this.”

“What is it?”

“Our prenuptial agreement.”

“Fantastic,” she said, looking up in relief.

His eyebrows raised. “Not the usual reaction I’d expect.”

“Remember, I want to keep our arrangement nice and official.” She started reading through the first pages, pausing to sign and initial in places. As she read, she took a bite of a crusty bread, then a nibble of the ginger chicken salad. It was surprisingly good, with carrots, lettuce and cilantro. She ate some more. “Have you found my sister yet?”

“I might have an idea where Vladimir could have taken her.”

“Where?”

“I’ll look into it further.” He tilted his head. “After we are married.”

“Oh. Right. The deal.” She took a deep breath. “But she’s safe?”

He snorted. “What do you think?”

She looked up. “You think she is?”

“She is crafty. And sly. I doubt even my brother will be able to control her,” he said dryly. “It’s more likely she’d be putting him through hell.”

Feeling reassured, she leaned her elbows against the table. “You don’t like my sister, do you?”

“She’s a liar,” he said evenly. “A con artist.”

“Not anymore!” Josie cried, stung.

“Ten years ago, she told my brother your land was legally hers to sell. Then she tried to distract him from doing his due diligence with her big weepy eyes and a low-cut blouse.”

Josie licked her lips. “We were desperate. My father had just died, and violent men were demanding repayment of his debts—”

“Of course.” He shrugged contemptuously. “Every criminal always has some hard-luck story. But our company was still new. We wanted our family’s land back, but we could little afford to lose the thousands of dollars in earnest money she planned to steal from us. She had Vladimir so wrapped around her finger, she would have succeeded…”

She shook her head vehemently. “She told me the whole story. By then she’d already fallen in love with your brother, and was planning to throw herself on his mercy.”

“On his mercy? Right. I told him the truth about her, and he refused to believe me.” He looked away. “I decided to fly back to our site in Russia, alone. At the airport, I drunkenly told a reporter the whole story. The next morning, when my brother found himself embarrassed in front of all the world, he pushed me out of our partnership. And out of a Siberian deal he signed two days later worth half a billion dollars.”

“I’m sorry about the problems between you and your brother, but it wasn’t Bree’s fault!”

“No. It was Vladimir’s. And mine.” He narrowed his eyes. “But she still deserves to be punished.”

“But she has been,” Josie said, looking down unhappily at her empty plate. “She was going to tell your brother everything. To be honest, at any price. But he never gave her the chance. He deserted her without a word. And he left her to the wolves. Alone, and in charge of a twelve-year-old child.” She lifted her gaze. “My sister has been punished. Believe me.”

As he stared at her, his angry gaze slowly softened. “You alone are innocent in all this. I will bring her back to you. I swear it.”

She gave an awkward laugh. “Stop it, will you? Stop being so—”

“You’d better not say nice,” he threatened her.

She took a deep breath. “Just stop reminding me!”

“Of what?”

She spread her arms helplessly. “That you’re a handsome, charming prince, and I—” She stopped.

“And you what?”

She blurted out, “I’m a total idiot who can’t even remember to pack underwear!”

Oh, now she’d really done it. She wished she could clap a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. His eyes widened as he sucked in his breath.

“Are you telling me,” he said in a low voice, “that right now, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

Miserably, she shook her head, hating herself for blurting out every thought. Why, oh why, had she ever mentioned underwear? Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

His blue eyes moved slowly over her curves in the tight white dress. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I see.” He turned away, his jaw clenched. “We’ll have to buy you some. After the wedding.”

His voice was ice-cold. She’d offended him, she thought sadly. She buttered a delicious crusty roll, then slowly ate it as she tried to think of a way to change the subject. “Your Highness…”

He snorted. “I thought you said it was a worthless title.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Since when?”

She tried to grin. “Since I’m about to be a princess?”

“Just call me by my first name.”

She hesitated… “Um, I’d rather not, actually. It just feels a little too personal right now. With you being so irritated…”

“I’m not irritated,” he bit out.

“Your Highness…”

“Kasimir,” he ordered.

She swallowed, looking away. But he waited. Taking a deep breath, she finally turned back to face him and whispered, “Kasimir.”

Just his name on her lips felt very erotic, the K hard against her teeth, the A parting her lips, the S vibrating, sibilant against her skin as the M-I-R ended on her lips like a kiss.

He looked at her in the Hawaiian sunlight.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Like that.”

She swallowed, feeling out of her depth, drowning. “I like your name,” she blurted out nervously. “It’s an old Slavic name, isn’t it? A warrior’s name. ‘Destroyer of the Peace.’“ She was chattering, something she often did when she was nervous. “Very different from the meaning of your brother’s…” Uh-oh. That topic wouldn’t end well. She closed her mouth with a snap. “Sorry,” she said weakly. “Never mind.”

“Fascinating.” His body was very still on the other side of the table, his voice cold again. “Go on. Tell me more.”

She shrugged. “I’ve worked as a housekeeper for hotels for years, since I turned eighteen, and I listen to audio books from the library while I clean. It’s amazing what you can learn,” she mumbled. She gave him a bright smile. “Like about… um… botany, for instance. Did you know that there are only three types of orchid native to Hawaii? Everyone always thinks tons of orchids grow here in the rain forest, while the truth is that another place I once lived, Nevada, which is nothing but dry desert, has twelve different wild orchids in two distinct varieties. There was this, um, flower that…”

But Kasimir hadn’t moved. He sat across from her beneath the hot Hawaiian sunshine, his arms folded as the water’s reflection from the pool left patterns of light on his black suit. “You were telling me about the meaning of my brother’s name.”

She gulped. There was no help for it. “Vladimir. Well. Some people think it means ‘He on the Side of Peace,’ but most of the etymology seems to indicate the root mir is older still, from the Gothic, meaning ‘Great in His Power.’ And Vladimir is…” She hesitated.

Kasimir’s eyes were hard now. She took a deep breath.

“‘The Master of All,’“ she whispered.

Hands clenched at his sides, Kasimir rose to his feet. Frightened by the fierce look in his eyes, she involuntarily shrank back in her chair. His hands abruptly relaxed.

“My brother is not all-powerful,” he said simply. “And he will know it. Very soon.”

“Wait.” As he started to turn away, she jumped to her feet, grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so stupid, always letting my mouth get ahead of my brain. My sister always says I need to be more careful.”

“I’m not offended.” Looking down at her, he gave her a smile that didn’t quite meet his blue eyes. “You shouldn’t listen to your sister. I respect a woman who speaks the truth without fear far more than one who uses silence to cover her lies.”

“But I told you—she’s not like that. Not anymore.” With a weak laugh, she looked away. “If she were, we’d be rich right now, instead of poor. But she gave up gambling and con games to give me an honest, respectable life. And just look at the trouble I’ve caused her.” She looked down at the floor. “I gambled at that poker game, and she had to sacrifice herself for me. Again.”

He touched her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Josie.” His eyes were deep and dark as a winter storm on a midnight sea. “The choice she made to sacrifice herself to my brother was not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Not my fault?” she repeated as, involuntarily, her eyes fell to his sensual lips. He seemed to lean towards her, and her own lips tingled, sizzling down her nerve endings with a strange, intense need. Somewhere in her rational mind, she heard a warning that she couldn’t quite hear; her brain had lost all power over her body. Her traitorous heart went thump, thump in her chest. Still staring at his cruelly sensual mouth, she whispered, “How can you say it’s not my fault?”

“Because I know your sister. And I know you.” Cupping her face, he tilted her head back. “And other than my mother, who died long ago, I think perhaps you are the only truly decent woman I’ve known. And not just decent,” he said softly. “But incredibly beautiful.”

Josie’s mouth fell open as she looked up. Her? Beautiful?

Was he—cripes—was it possible he was flirting with her?

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself savagely. He’s being courteous. Nothing more. She had no experience with men, but she did know one thing: a devastatingly handsome billionaire prince would have no reason to flirt with a girl like her. But still, she felt giddy as she looked up at him, mesmerized by his blue eyes, which seemed so warm now, warm as a June afternoon, warm as one of the brief summers of her childhood in Alaska.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

“Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that,” he said softly.

She swallowed, lifting her gaze to his. “Then don’t tell me I’m beautiful. It’s… it’s not something I’ve ever heard before.”

“Then all the other men in the world are fools.” His blue eyes burned through her. “Our marriage will be short, but for the brief time you are mine…” He put his hand over hers. “I am not going to stop telling you that you’re beautiful. Because it’s true.” His lips curved up at the corners as he said softly, “And didn’t I just say that one should always speak the truth?”

Stop, Josie ordered her trembling heart as she looked up at his handsome face. There would be no schoolgirl crushes on her soon-to-be husband! Absolutely none!

But it was too late. The deed was done.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready?” she breathed.

He smiled, as if he could see the sudden brutal conquest of her innocent heart. “To marry me.”

“Oh. Right.” She bit her lip. “Um, yeah. Sure.”

Pulling her into the foyer, he took a bouquet of white flowers out of a waiting white box. He placed a bridal bouquet in her hand. “For you, my bride.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, fighting back tears as she pressed her face amid the sweetly scented flowers.

He scowled. “Don’t you dare tell me no man has ever given you flowers before.”

She hesitated. “Well…”

“You’re killing me,” he groaned. “The men you know must be idiots.”

She gave him a wan smile. “Well, I don’t really know any men. So it would be unreasonable to expect them to buy me flowers.”

“You don’t know any men?” He stared at her incredulously. “But you’re so friendly. So chatty.”