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She knew exactly what she was doing by wearing that dress.

The worst part? It worked. When Anya walked into the dining room wearing that, my brain short-circuited, fixating on a strip of bare skin at the top of her thigh and the way more was revealed each time she took a step.

I never should have assumed she’d stay in her room during the dinner. I should’ve locked her in.

Instead, I spent the entire family dinner tormented by her in an infuriating push-and-pull of attraction and annoyance.

She pressed herself to my side while she not-so-surreptitiously plied my family with questions that, from my wife, would seem perfectly innocuous.

They had no reason to hide anything because kidnapping Anya had been a gamble of a plan I’d enacted on my own.

There was no reason to clue them in until it was finished, and as the head of the family, that’s my choice to make. Except tonight, it backfired on me.

Oleg is the last to leave. Anya insists on walking him to the door, and I have no doubts as to why.

He’s the weakest link in the family, the one most likely to give her anything she asks, given that he has no field experience and spends most of his day behind a desk.

I accompany her, smirking at the glare she gives me when I insist. She’s gotten more than enough out of him tonight.

“It was so nice to meet you,” Anya says, pulling him in for a hug that makes the tips of his ears turn pink. “Come back soon, okay? I want to get to know all of Matvei’s siblings, starting with you.”

I don’t like to see her draped over another man, not even my own brother, not in that outfit. That touch of jealousy annoys me. She’s not really my wife; she’s just a bargaining chip. So why do I care so much?

“Take care getting home,” I tell Oleg, shutting the door behind him. The motion lights flick on in the front, and the dogs walk him to the gate.

I round on Anya before she can retreat to her bedroom, catching hold of her hand. She teeters on her heels and then steadies herself smoothly.

“Are you pleased with yourself?” I encircle her wrist with my fingers, holding her still. It’s fragile, like a bird’s bone, and I’m careful not to squeeze. “Did you succeed in your goal tonight?”

Her face is mutinous. She flicks her head, whipping a strand of dangling hair out of her face.

“I just wanted to meet your family. I’m your wife, remember?

That’s what married couples do: they meet the family.

If you didn’t want me to get to know your siblings, maybe you shouldn’t have, you know, forced me into marrying you? ”

She tugs away from me, but I hold tight. Given that she weighs absolutely nothing, there’s no escape unless I choose to let her go. And I haven’t finished with her yet. Not after she toyed with me all night.

“And this is how you dress to meet them?”

I look her over from head to toe, a mistake that sets my blood heating again. Dammit. I want her. I want to take her right here against the door, want to shred that scrap of a dress with my hands.

Her eyes flare with defiance, and she stops trying to pull away, pressing toward me instead. “Tell me you don’t like me in it, and I’ll apologize.”

That would be a flat-out lie, and she knows it. “That is besides the point.”

She moves a step closer, until there are only a few inches between us and I have to look down to meet her eyes. “What is the point, husband? That I should stay in my room and do as I’m told? We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“You are a spoiled brat,” I growl, feeling the spike of arousal at her nearness.

Arousal mixed with annoyance. Why can’t she just do as she’s told? If she would just behave, things would be easier. Smoother. I wouldn’t spend every minute in her presence fighting the urge to fuck her brains out.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have married me,” she spits back, setting her hand on my chest and pushing me back. Trying to, anyway.

“Someone needs to keep you in line.” She’s close enough that I can see the flecks of gold around her pupils, and I’m having trouble thinking straight. At forty years old, I should be better than this. A girl half my age shouldn’t be able to make my head spin.

She rolls her eyes like the spoiled brat she is, and I wonder how she’d squirm if I put her over my knee then and there.

“And that someone is you?” She presses the tips of her nails into my chest. “Because you’re such a big, tough guy? Funny how I seem to keep getting my way.”

That’s it. I kiss her, quick and hard, filling it with every ounce of frustration and desire coursing through me. For a moment, her lips part in a soft gasp of surprise, then she’s kissing me back, her kiss as hungry and bruising as my own. I want more. More of her taste, her touch, her bare skin.

There’s no control in this kiss. No patience.

Just a driving need. Her fingers dig into my chest, fisting my shirt to pull me closer against her because any space is too much.

I feel it too. I want to rip that dress off of her and see every inch of her bare skin for me.

I want to turn her around and spank that pale little ass until it’s bright red with my handprint and she’s finally learned to tame her mouth.

Our tongues tangle in a war for dominance, and there’s nothing gentle here.

Her teeth nip at my bottom lip. I spread my fingers through the hair at the back of her neck, cupping the curve of her head, and tug it softly, just enough to tilt her head back.

Her neck is bared and I press my lips to it, sucking and teasing along the side of her throat, feeling the beat of her rapid pulse beneath my tongue.

She whimpers, fucking whimpers, and my cock hardens to a painful degree.

I press her back against the wall, cushioning her head with my hand as our bodies collide.

The strap of her dress is sliding off her shoulder, and I help it along, freeing her perky breast like I’ve wanted to do since the moment I saw her in this thing.

If ever there was a dress made to be puddled on the bedroom floor, it was this one.

She moans when I take her nipple in my mouth and swirl my tongue around the pink peak, bucking up against me. Her hands slide beneath my shirt, roaming over my chest, scratching across my skin when I start to tease with my teeth.

“Oh fuck, I like that,” she says, breathy, eyes rolled back.

She drops one hand down to stroke me through the fabric of my pants, and my breathing hitches, ragged as hers.

I pull my mouth from her nipple and kiss my way back up her bare chest, to her neck, along her jaw, and to the delicate skin of her ear just to feel her shudder.

This woman drives me crazy. I want to do the same to her, but in the most sinful ways.

I never intended to keep her. To steal her from her family, her life, was just a move on the game board and she was never meant to be more than a pawn. She’s too young to get involved with. She’s my enemy. My prisoner.

And my wife.

I work my way back to her lips, catching the next moan with my mouth, stroking my tongue along hers. She arches forward against me, lifting one leg to hook around my hip. I wrap my arm beneath it, supporting her, cupping her ass. Finally. I missed this perfect, round little thing.

She grips my shoulders, pressing her hips against mine and swirling them, giving me a rub of friction across my aching dick.

Kneading her ass, I guide her movements as she grinds against me, every kiss hungrier than the last. I need her.

Need to be inside of her, need her moaning my name beneath me, her long legs up around her ears, and every trace of brattiness wiped off of her face.

I break the kiss just to tell her so, and her gaze catches on mine.

Her pupils are blown wide, darkening those blue eyes to grey, and something stills within me.

She looks… vulnerable. Open. There’s more than lust in her eyes, and it pours over me with the same effect as a bucket of cold water.

Shit. She’s young. She’s my prisoner. I cannot do this.

No matter how much my body is screaming at me that it can, that it needs to.

The pulse in my ears thrums. I’m the biggest idiot in the goddamn world, but I release her ass and set her back firmly on the ground, putting a hand’s width of space between us.

“We can’t do this,” I say, running my hands through the stubble of my hair.

The vulnerability I saw a second ago cracks into a thousand pieces, leaving a mask of anger in its wake. She shoves me backward, and this time I let her, stepping back another foot.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that? Is this some kind of game to you? Weaponizing sex to do what, exactly? Soften me up?”

“Don’t push, princess.” I don’t want to argue, but it seems impossible to do anything else with her. “Just leave it.”

She shakes her head and lets out a completely unamused laugh. “Fine. Pretend all you want, but I know the truth. I felt it. You want this just as much as I do, so whatever power play you’re pulling here, it’s not going to work.”

Power play. The words almost make me chuckle. If only she knew that I’d done this entirely for her benefit, that if I’d had it my way, she’d be having her third orgasm right now.

“I’m going to bed.” She stomps down the hall, stopping at the end just to toss one more curse my way. “Go fuck yourself, husband. ”

***

Suffice it to say, I’m on the shit list. The morning after our incident in the hallway, Anya storms into my office just as I’m sitting down with my coffee, steel in her eyes. I sigh and ready myself for whatever is about to come, knowing I probably deserve it.

I like her like this, and what does that say about me?

The sight of her in full brat mode, fiery, chin raised like the rest of the world is full of peasants, has me thinking absolutely filthy thoughts.

It doesn’t help that she’s wearing a miniskirt that barely covers her panties and a gauze thin top through which I can make out the dark circles of her nipples. No bra.

“I’m leaving the house today.” She crosses her arms, pushing her perky boobs up, and glares a challenge at me. “You’re going to take me to one of your Abashin businesses.”

I raise an eyebrow and take a slow sip of coffee while I absorb what she said. That’s not where I thought this was going.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because,” she says with a flip of her shoulder-length hair.

It’s down today, shiny and sleek, and I can smell the fresh scent of shampoo when it moves.

The thought of Anya in the shower is a very distracting thought.

“I need to know more about your business before I talk to Anton. Otherwise, I don’t know what you have to offer him.

He’s not just going to accept whatever I say just because you have me. ”

“No?” I rub my palm over the stubble on my chin. “I’m not so sure. His sister in the hands of his enemy makes for a weak starting position in negotiations.”

She smirks, dimpling one cheek. “But you didn’t just kidnap his sister, Matvei. You married me. That says you’re not looking to just steal me and murder me if he doesn’t pay a ransom. That says long-term. He’ll know you want an alliance, and he’ll want to know how that benefits him.”

I study her face. Is she bluffing? Going for bravado when she knows I hold all the cards?

There’s no sign of it. Just that brazen confidence.

Spoiled princess indeed. As the youngest member of the Milov family, and the only girl, I doubt she has much sway in her family’s business.

From what I saw of her that night in the club, Anya is a sheltered woman who enjoys the benefits of the Milov name and lifestyle without the negatives of it.

There’s little chance Anton Milov takes her word on whether or not the Abashins are worth allying with, even if she is married to one.

He will know that she is nothing more than a bargaining chip and will likely attempt to do his own digging into our affairs.

Unlike the Milovs and the Shevchenkos, however, we play things closer to our chests.

We don’t have the firepower to flaunt our name around.

For us, subtlety is the only way to succeed.

She takes my silence as a sign I’m going to refuse and slams her hands down on my desk. “Take me with you today, or I’ll call my brother right now and tell him I’ve been kidnapped by the Abashins. He might not know exactly where you are yet, but I’m pretty damned sure he’s closing in. Fast.”

“I wasn’t going to say no.”

Her surprised smile is all the gratification I need.