You Belong to Me

  Passion was a fickle emotion, easily redi­rected. Suddenly Vasili felt he would die if he couldn't kiss her. Suddenly Alexandra couldn't take her eyes off his sensual mouth.

  And then, as if she'd willed it, she had the taste of him, fiery hot, wild. It was better than she remembered. He was crushing her against him and that was also better than she remem­bered.

  Her fingers gripped his arms, pressing into his muscles, but not to push him away. A hand on her bottom lifted her, locked her to his heat, and she was melting, dissolving, mindlessly wanting something just beyond her reach and understanding.

  She was arched to the point of breaking, Vasili was bent over her so far, as if he would take her to the ground by his lips alone. His wanting to make love to her so badly made him forget every golden rule of seduction that he had adhered to in the past.

  This was no seduction where he controlled every move and nuance to a desired end. He had no control, was in the grip of pure emo­tion, the taste and scent of her filling his senses, the feel of her intoxicating him, driv­ing him beyond what he knew as rational.

  And then they were suddenly on the ground, neither of them the least bit aware of it. Vasili was driven toward a single goal; Al­exandra was consumed only by the sensations clamoring inside her, the sheer pleasure de­rived from his touch, his weight now covering her, his hand sliding up her thigh, until...

  Her moan was lost in the depth of his kiss, his hand now cupping her heat sending her so close to the edge—and he knew, and had never felt such keen satisfaction in a woman's yielding response before.

  He would have taken her right there on the ground, and she would have let him. That was the horrifying realization that dawned on both of them when Sultan's Pride nudged them a few breathless moments later, and they both scrambled to their feet.

  Alexandra was mortified by what Vasili had made her feel, again, and her reaction was to slap him this time, hard. She should have given it more thought first, because his reac­tion was to slap her back, not hard, but just enough to shock her that he would.

  "Well, that certainly served no purpose," she remarked dryly.

  Vasili was still trembling, wanting nothing more than to yank her back into his arms. How did she dare to stand there and appear totally unaffected by what had just passed be­tween them? As for that slap, she shouldn't have caught him when he was so—not him­self.

  "Yell at me all you like, sweetheart, only the next time you want to get physical, you can be sure I won't hit back," he promised.

  "You won't?"

  He shook his head slowly. "No. I'll take you off in the bushes and make love to you in­stead."

  She had to be crazy not to try to change this subject. "Why didn't you this time?"

  "I believe in fair warning—when your choice in the matter will be taken from you."

  "You'd do it even if I fight you?"

  His smile was chilling. "Exactly."

  "You know what thaf s called, don't you?" she said with biting scorn.

  "When you've been given fair warning? I would call it an invitation."

  It was his sexual frustration that had led him to make this alarming threat, she was sure. And she could think of no way to gain back the upper hand when his promised conse­quence far surpassed her own. But she wasn't worried about slapping him again. She could restrain herself from doing that—somehow. It was the kissing she had to keep from ever happening again, the kissing caused by his frustration, the kissing that she had succumbed to so completely.

  She was going to have to concede or risk having his frustration get worse, risk having him start thinking about his rights again. Heaven help her, he might even try seduction on her if he got desperate enough, and she could still remember the special smile of his that he had turned on that tavern wench. She didn't want to find out if she could withstand its being turned on her.

  But she hated giving in, and she did it now with ill grace, snapping, "Go, then! Go back to the last town and find yourself a whore. Spend the whole day with her. We'll wait for you in the next town."

  Whether that was what Vasili wanted to hear, he was damned if he was going to go with her permission.

  "No, I don't think so," he said thoughtfully, his eyes dropping deliberately to her breasts. "I think I'll wait until you slap me again."

  Alexandra gritted her teeth against the blush she felt rising, but it mounted her cheeks anyway. Slapping him again was just what she felt like doing. She had never known anyone who deserved it more.

  Instead she threw caution to the wind and taunted him. "A wise decision, Petroff, one that won't benefit you, of course, but nonethe­less wise—because I probably would have changed my mind as soon as you left. And think how embarrassing it would have been when I interrupted you and your whore— hopefully at a crucial moment."

  "Did anyone ever tell you what a bitch you can be, sweetheart?" he asked in a deceptively lazy tone. The glow was back in his eyes.

  She injected some sweetness into her own tone, just as false. "I do try."

  She then turned abruptly toward her horse. Vasili reached out to stop her, though she didn't notice it. But whatever might have hap­pened next didn't happen at all, because they were both distracted.

  Alexandra first saw why Sultan's Pride had nudged them earlier. He'd wanted to get her attention because Vasili's stallion was en­croaching too close and taking nips at his haunches. Then she saw something even worse, but something she should have ex­pected.

  The Razin brothers had started after her. And apparently Vasili's guards had ridden af­ter them to prevent their interference, because the lot of them were halfway between the road and the tree, literally rolling on the ground as they pounded one another.

  Vasili swore beneath his breath before he cast Alexandra a black look. "Now look what you've done," he growled accusingly.

  "Me? Did you think my Cossacks would just sit there and do nothing when they saw you hit me?"

  "I didn't hit you."

  "Then what would you call it?" she de­manded even as she mounted.

  "A tap on the cheek to get your attention," he said, also mounting. "If I had hit you, you would have been knocked flat on your back— which isn't a bad idea, actually."

  That was the last straw. "Consider yourself lucky that Bojik didn't follow me, or your men would be spending the rest of the morn­ing burying you instead of attending to their black eyes. And get control of your damn horse!" She was shouting at him now, since they were both riding back to break up the fight, and she had easily taken the lead. "If he nips at mine again, I'm going to let Sultan's Pride have at him—and I hope you're on him at the time!"

  "Alex?"

  "What?"

  "I'll consider any violence from you or at your instigation a slap."

  She shut up.

  19

  “The hell of it is," Vasili was telling Lazar as they rode ahead of the party, "I had no desire to bed her. I merely wanted to prove to myself, and to my little barbarian, that I could."

  Lazar nodded, not the least bit surprised. But then, Lazar understood Vasili better than most people did because he knew all of his quirks and foibles, all of his faults and virtues.

  Vasili had met Claudia Shevchenko not long after they'd come down from crossing the Carpathians, when he was still boiling with resentment that he was even making this trip. He hadn't stayed with the lady a week because he couldn't resist her. He'd stayed to prove the betrothal wasn't going to change his self-indulgent lifestyle.

  Like most men, Vasili enjoyed two kinds of women, the ones he was actually attracted to and those who were merely available for the taking. He had the latter in abundance be­cause of his looks. These were mostly women who offered themselves without being asked.

  And Vasili accommodated most of them be­cause he was, after all, used to overindul­gence.

  Countess Shevchenko fell into the latter group. She was pretty enough, but she was definitely on the skinny side, and Vasili pre­ferred a mo
re voluptuous, full-figured form— like Alexandra's.

  Lazar said now, "Well, one thing did come out of that nonsense. You found out that the baroness knows how to use a horsewhip."

  Lazar got a glare for that reminder. He would have been disappointed by any other reaction. Five days had passed since the inci­dent that he wasn't likely to ever forget had occurred, and he'd been mentioning it at least once a day just to rile Vasili.

  One of Alexandra's Cossacks had suffered a broken finger from the fight, which was how it was now being referred to by all of them. Je­sus, it had been hilarious, not the broken fin­ger, but the fight itself, and Lazar had sat back and enjoyed the entire spectacle. And it had only gotten better once Alexandra had discov­ered the Cossack's injury.

  She had gone after Vasili's man with a horsewhip, and Vasili had been the only one daring enough—or annoyed enough—to get near her while she was wielding that vicious thing, to yank it out of her hands. She had been giving the guard, and Vasili, killing looks ever since.

  After that display, it was easy to see that Al­exandra loved the Razins like family. She treated them as if they were her brothers, de­fended them like brothers, insulted them like brothers. How Vasili could ever have gotten the notion that they had been her lovers was beyond Lazar, but his friend had not been act­ing like himself since he had met his "little barbarian."

  Lazar wondered if Vasili knew how posses­sive he was beginning to sound whenever he mentioned Alexandra. For that matter, he wondered if Vasili was even aware of how of­ten he glanced back throughout the day just to look at her.

  He had stopped riding off by himself as of­ten, too, and stopped completely when they reached the mountains. But then, the Carpa­thians weren't known to be friendly territory to travelers, weather-wise or otherwise, and especially if those travelers appeared to be carrying anything of value. They had man­aged to cross these mountains once without incident. Twice was more than they could hope for, particularly with the addition of two bulging wagons and a herd of prize thorough­breds.

  They were taking precautions, posting extra guards at night. But short of hiring more men from one of the mountain villages, which Vasili refused to do, given the odds were about half that they'd be hiring the thieves themselves, there was nothing else they could do.

  Some things had changed, yes, but even with the additional danger in crossing the mountains, Vasili hadn't let up on his per­sonal campaign. If anything, he seemed to be increasing his efforts to insult and ridicule Al­exandra and to provoke her temper at every opportunity. The fact that they would reach Cardinia in another week or so, depending on the weather, was likely the reason. But who would have thought it would go on this long?

  Lazar was actually finding the whole thing highly amusing, though he was quite possibly the only one who did. He'd been bored for a while when Vasili and Alexandra had been trying to avoid each other. But now they were having blowups at least once a day. And still neither one said the magic words that would end the betrothal. Instead they were both giv­ing new meaning to the word "stubborn."

  The weather was frigid, despite the sun's periodic appearances, but they hadn't yet en­countered a snowstorm, which Vasili was hoping would send Alexandra running for home. And this was another example of Vasili's desperation. While Cardinia had its share of severe winters just like every other country in this area of the continent, Vasili rarely ventured far from a warm fire during this time of year. If anyone was going to suf­fer during the extreme cold of a snowstorm, it would be he, rather than Alexandra.

  Of course, to give Vasili his due, he and Lazar had both assumed that his betrothed would be a lady of normal sensibilities. There had been no way for them to know that she was a creature of nature, more comfortable outdoors than in, and apparently that was true at any time of the year. She wouldn't complain of a snowstorm any more than she had of being continuously in the saddle for the past three and a half weeks.

  It was still early in the afternoon the day they finally reached the mountain pass and began their descent. The sun had been shining for most of the morning during the last of their climb. And with the worst of the danger at least half over now, they all began to relax somewhat, despite the gloomy clouds that blew in and hovered over the western face of the mountain.

  But the snow arrived less than an hour later and ended their run of good luck. Within thirty minutes, it was snowing so hard they could no longer see the trail in front of them and were forced to make camp.

  While the tents were being erected, Alexan­dra worked frantically to create a windbreak and shelter for the horses, which were her main concern. She made use of the wagons, all of their contents, and at least half of the ex­tra blankets she had brought along for pre­cisely such an emergency. And she cursed Vasili beneath her breath all the while, blam­ing him and his wasted week with Countess Shevchenko for stranding them on top of a mountain, far from any decent shelter.

  She was given pause, however, and reason to think she must be going snow-blind, when she saw Vasili helping her rather than seeing to his own tent and comfort. She continued to curse him, but she didn't get as much plea­sure out of it as she usually did, and stopped altogether when she felt something suspi­ciously like guilt.

  So he could perform one unselfish act. That didn't make much of a dent in all of his bad qualities—except he was helping her to pro­tect her horses, her babies. She'd have to at least thank him—when she had the time.

  The storm continued to unleash its fury all afternoon, and Alexandra continued to worry about her horses. They were as used to the cold as she was, but they usually had a warm stable to return to after being out in it. This situation was different, and her need to reas­sure them as much as herself was why she couldn't remain in her tent for longer than an hour without checking on them.

  She'd already done so twice. The third time she found someone else there ahead of her and heard him say, "Oh, Jesus," before she re­alized it was Vasili huddled in a long fur cloak. She thought he was grumbling over the weather until she reached his side and saw that the shelter she'd fought to erect was half empty.

  "What have you done?" she asked in a hor­rified whisper, blaming him automatically.

  "I wish I could take credit, but I can't." The derision in his voice was also automatic, but at her stricken look, Vasili wished he could take it back. "Damn, I knew this was going to happen. You can't expect to bring such valuable horses into these bandit-infested hills and not lose a few of them,"

  "A few? All my whites are gone!" she cried, and then: "Oh, God, this is my fault. I called in the guards." I didn't think there would be any trouble in the middle of a storm."

  "When all this snow offers the perfect cover and these mountain people are used to it?"

  He might as well have said he'd never heard of anything so stupid. She got the mes- | sage. She even agreed. She hadn't been think- " ing about bandits, only about the storm, and she'd wanted to spare her men, as well as his, | from standing guard during the worst of it, at '
  But that was no excuse, so she didn't bother explaining. And she'd already dismissed Vasi-li from her mind as she bent under the rope J that had restrained the animals and moved to i the back of the temporary corral where the rope had been cut.

  None of the remaining horses had bothered to wander off, preferring to stay close to what little shelter had been provided. And with as many that were still there, including the roan stallion, it appeared that only her rare whites had been the target.

  The trail was wide, but barely discernible, and filling up with new snow even as she stared at it. It would be gone in a matter of minutes. There was no time to summon her people or his. Even a shout wouldn't be heard over the keening of the wind. She had to follow the trail to find out where the horses had been taken, then come back ...

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  She had started to mount one of the horses—all those that had been we
aring sad­dles still had them on for added warmth— when Vasili yanked her back to the ground to answer his idiotic question. "There's no time for this, Petroff."

  "I'll get your horses back."

  "How?"

  "I'll buy them back. My cousin and I have had run-ins with these hill bandits before, or at least with similar ones. They're always will­ing to turn a profit."

  "Don't be absurd," she replied. "And leave me beholden to you? I'll get them back, and it won't cost anything but a few lives—theirs."

  "The odds are, you're talking about a whole village of thieves, Alex, not just a few."

  "I'm talking about getting my horses back, my horses, my responsibility. And the trail they've left is disappearing even as we speak. If you want to help, get the others and follow, but I'm leaving now."

  She had to shove him slightly to get him to let go of her. And it was infuriating to know that the shove wouldn't have worked if he hadn't lost his balance in the snow they'd just trampled. His high-handedness was intolera­ble, and she wished she had time to tell him so, but she didn't.

  Vasili didn't fall, but by the time he steadied himself, Alexandra was already at the end of the corral, disappearing into the swirling white beyond the camp. He shouted for the others, but only in the time it took him to mount his stallion and ride after her.

  Whether anyone heard him was doubtful, but he didn't particularly care at the moment. When he caught up with that fool woman, he was going to wring her neck, and he didn't need any help for that.

  20

  Vasili couldn't quite manage to catch up to Alexandra. He wasn't following the trail as she was; he was keeping her in his sights instead. But more than once the snow became so thick, she was lost from his view and he panicked and shouted at her, even though he knew damn well she couldn't hear him.

  Although the mountain road was no more visible than anything else, Vasili was sure they were on it and that the thieves had cir­cled around the camp to get back to it. After all, it would be the safest route for them to take, especially if they thought no one was following them, and with nightfall coming on fast.