Read Online No More Sweet Surrender by Caitlin Crews - Free Book Online Page B

over him, on that hard warrior’s face of his, on the tough and ruthless body he’d packed into dark trousers and another expensive-looking T-shirt that licked over his muscled torso, and even the tailored jacket that trumpeted his wealth at high volume, so well did it mold itself to his titanlike shoulders.
    There was no mistaking who or what he was. Ivan Korovin. Desperately rich. Shockingly famous. And in complete and utter control of this situation, no matter how keenly Miranda might feel she was flying apart at the seams. Or even because of it.
    Her limbs ached with the effort of keeping her upright, even her neck seemed too weak to support her head, and it was not until she saw the movement of her own chest in the mirror that she realized she was breathing shallow and fast.
    Like prey.
    “I don’t want—” she began, panicked beyond endurance, and he was so close—
    “Quiet.”
    Miranda didn’t know what was worse: that he believed he could speak to her like that, that he had the right, or that she heard that autocratic command and obeyed.
    Instantly.
    It was, she knew, representative of everything she hated about herself.
    Ivan stepped up onto the raised platform and stood behind her, and it was too much. Too much. Her eyes eased closed, as if that might protect her, from him or from herself she wasn’t sure she could tell. There was too much noise in her head, too much chaos, and she was aware that she was trembling—that her heart was fluttering wildly against her ribs, and she knew, somehow, that there was no way he would miss that. He would know— but she couldn’t do anything to help herself. She felt caged. Trapped.
    And somewhere deep inside, she was very much afraid that she didn’t hate that feeling as much as she knew she should. It was one more betrayal in a long line, and this game of theirs had hardly started.
    How was she going to survive weeks of this? When she wasn’t sure she could survive another three seconds?
    “Look at me,” he ordered her, his voice soft and yet no less authoritative, directly into her ear. She felt the tease of his breath, imagined she felt that clever mouth directly against her skin. Miranda shuddered, but opened her eyes, afraid of what she would see.
    He loomed there behind her, not quite touching her. His dark head was bent to hers, and he was so big— so big— his wide shoulders and his height making her seem slight and small before him. He exuded power like a searchlight, blinding and unmistakable.
    And he was breaking their agreement, and she couldn’t let that happen. For far more reasons than she was prepared to admit to herself.
    “You promised,” she whispered, her voice only the faintest scratch of sound, hardly audible over her own heart beat. “You can’t do this kind of thing when we’re alone. You can’t shift. ”
    She could feel the heat he generated, and there was nothing but smoke and flames in his dark gaze as it slammed into hers in the mirror. Nothing but that consuming, impossible fire that echoed in her, simmering and treacherous, no matter how she ordered it to stop.
    “There are security cameras in the corners,” he murmured, so that only she could hear, and then he touched her.
    And Miranda told herself she was the kind of woman who kept her promises, no matter how difficult, so she let him.
    * * *
    Ivan traced a lazy path from her wrist to her upper arm with one hand, then back down again. He could feel the way she shook with the effort of not moving, not wrenching herself away from him, and it nearly made him smile. It nearly made him spin her around and take her mouth again, and this time, with no intention of stopping.
    But this was supposed to be a seduction. It was too soon.
    He traced the length of her elegant spine, and ordered the fire in him to subside. But she was wrapped in a glorious spill of fabric that made her skin look like cream, and he wanted a taste.
    He wanted.
    He bent his head closer, his lips so close