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"Then what's the problem?" Nikky asked with absolute arrogance. "You have needs. I have needs." He reached under her pajama top, placing his hand high on her waist, on her bare skin. "You want me." His thumb swiped that sensitive spot under her breast and her knees wobbled. "I want you." He drew her close. "I'll want you even more," his nose scrunched up,

"after you shower."

She stunk. Her cheeks grew hot. "If it keeps you away from me, I may never shower."

"Alone." He grinned. "You have some great ideas, Brat." He bumped her toward the bathroom. "I'll be happy to try them out." He brushed his hand across her breasts.

"Bite...," She stopped, remembering what he'd done the last time she told him that.

"Yes? You were saying...?" He bared his teeth.

Straight white teeth. Tasting of that orange gum he chewed. She backed over the threshold.

"Out." She shoved him and slammed the bathroom door, locking it.

"Until later, Brat." She heard his chuckle through the door.

Walmart. Fucking Walmart. Nik stormed down the fluorescent lit aisle, Pavel following close at his heels. His John Lobb-clad heels. John Lobb, makers of some of the best dress shoes in the world. Meanwhile, his fiancee was clothes shopping at fucking Walmart.

When he phoned Boris for an update, he'd had to ask the man to repeat himself. Yes, he stupidly hadn't restricted her movements, but he didn't think he had to. All she owned was a pair of bloodstained pajamas and those the maid trashed while the brat took a nap.

Naked. In his bed. Nik scanned the aisles. That was one perk of this pain in the ass phony relationship. A small perk to make up for this trouble.

He heard her laughter first, followed by the rumble of Boris' reply. Nik pivoted in that direction, speeding up. Then he stopped short, his shoes squeaking on the floor.

His entire body hardened. She wore one of his white dress shirts, the tails skimming her calves, sleeves rolled up; a black belt, his, cinching her waist; flip-flops...and that was it. It was surprisingly decent, yet not. The vision of her in his shirt, her frizzy brown curls damp, was one of the most erotic things Nik had ever seen.

As she reached to grab a toothbrush from the shelves, the shirt pulled up. She laughed at something Boris said. Boris, his bodyguard, his single, good looking bodyguard, with his eyes on...

"What the hell are you doing?" Nik roared.

A woman, turning into the aisle with her cart, backed out. The brat simply smiled. "Oh, hi, Nikky." Nikky? She waved. "I need a toothbrush. Two, as I had to use yours. Sorry."

That wouldn't be the only thing of his she'd have in her mouth. He approached her. "We have people for this. If you asked, all of it would have been delivered to you." He indicated her full cart then peered closer. White cotton underwear, a six pack in plastic. People actually bought underwear that way? Deodorant. Another multi-pack, this time of black sports socks. White cotton bras in cheap-assed boxes. Black pants with elastic. Tank tops.

Orange flavored gum. Pink plastic disposable razors. More clothes. "Not all of it. You are not buying clothes from Walmart."

"Nikky, my dear, darling fiance," she looked pointedly at Boris, "we talked about this. It doesn't make sense for me to buy pricey clothes, not while I'm in a state of transit."

She was playing the doting fiancee. Fine, he'd play along. "Boris, Pavel, wait for us at cash."

He dismissed them. The younger bodyguard gave Tatyana one last wistful look before leaving. He would have to be reassigned. Nik couldn't have his bodyguards ogling the brat.

"My fiancee only wears designer clothes." He leaned against the cart.

"Well, your fiancee is not paying for designer clothes. They're a waste of money." Her entire focus was on the toothbrush selection, not on him where it belonged. "She'll be leaving them behind when her dear, darling fiance dies."

He wasn't dying and she wasn't going anywhere. "My fiancee has no cash. She can't pay for anything." Forget the cash. Was she wearing panties? His gaze fixed on the apex of her legs.

"Not yet," she mumbled. "Hard or soft?" She held up the toothbrushes.

"Hard." Definitely hard. She tossed two toothbrushes into the cart. She wasn't wearing a bra, he knew that, her nipples dark through the shirt. Panties? He wasn't sure. "You don't need cash. Anything you want, I'll buy for you." There were advantages to being wealthy.

"I need a laptop."

"You'll have one tomorrow." Tonight, he wanted her full attention. "We're leaving, Brat.

Draw up your list of demands and give them to me later." He pushed the cart along. Him.

Nikolay Kaerta, a member of one of the wealthiest families in America, pushing a cart at Walmart.

"I wasn't done shopping." She clumped behind him, her flip-flops slapping against the linoleum.

"You are now." He spotted his men at the front, both of them smiling. Because he was pushing a cart. At Walmart. This rumor would make the rounds at the casino, for damn sure.

"Where are we going?" Another irritating question.

To the limo where he would find out the answer to the panty question. "You're being dropped off at a boutique. Buy something appropriate there because you'll be meeting my parents for lunch." That conversation hadn't gone well, his mother had been hurt over him springing a surprise future daughter-in-law on them. Damn Grandfather and his secretive plans.

"Oh."

"Pavel, drive the Bentley to the boutique." He had things to do and he couldn't wait all morning for her to figure out what to wear. "Boris, pay for this." He pushed the cart at the infatuated young man. "We'll be in the limo."

After the limo door closed behind him, Tatyana vented. "You're a very, very bossy man and I don't know why they put up with you. I'd never work for you. Not in a million years."

"I'd never hire you, Brat. Not in a million years." He sat down and pulled on her arm. She fell with a thump on his lap. "I require obedience from my employees."

"You won't get that from me." A hand on her stomach pressed her back against his arousal.

Her face flushed. "What the hell...let me go." She struggled.

"Not yet." His voice was sinfully deep.

If not now, when? "What do you think you're doing?" She stiffened as his hand moved up her bare legs. Surely, he didn't plan to... She looked around at the heavily tinted windows, the solid divider between them and the driver. Here?

"I need some answers." His palm on her thighs. "Ahhh...my boxers." He nodded in appreciation.

"My clothes were gone." Although she was fully covered, it felt decadent gallivanting around in his shirt. "I had nothing else to wear."

"What's mine is yours, Brat." A flick of the boxers' button fly and long fingers slid inside.

And what was hers was his. "It doesn't go both ways, ass." She clasped her legs together tightly, blocking his access.

"Language." He withdrew his hand. He was giving up so easily? She wiggled in disappointment, legs opening slightly. "And it does." He cupped her, lightning fast, and grinned. "Mine." His middle finger moved. She trembled. "You're wet for me, Brat." She was.

Embarrassingly so.

"You'll die." Multiple stab wounds to the stomach. It'd be painful. She tensed up, the memory harsh. That death had hurt. She suspected that if she let him go further, this one would also.

"I'll take that chance." He kissed her neck.

"We shouldn't," she warned, tilting her head so he could reach her ear.

"We have to." He obliged, nipping the sensitive skin. "I'm a physical man. You're a physical woman. People will expect us to be in a physical relationship." They would. No one would believe she could keep her hands off him, not with the way he smelled. And touched her. He mouthed over the top of the white shirt, leaving damp tracks, until he reached her breast, all the while stroking her.

"You're going to die." She reminded herself she couldn't care for him.

"All the more reason not to wait." As he sucked on her nipple through the thin cotton, he entered her with his finger. The dual impact made her buck. "Steady, Brat." He chuckled, his finger still inside her. "You are so tight, so hot."

"Nikky." All her thinking done, she twisted on his lap as he pulled his finger out.

He pushed into her once again. "I need more." He withdrew, pulling the boxer shorts off.

"Much more." She heard the sound of a zipper. There was jostling as he shed his jacket and yanked his pants and boxers down. "I can't wait. Next time, I'll take my time, I promise.

Now, I need." He lifted her so she straddled him high on his stomach. "I need you. Take me, Brat. Take me into you."

What? Did she hear that correctly? She was to do everything her own damn self?

"Brat?"

He was a lazy ass. She positioned him with shaking hands, and lowered herself. Too tight.

He was too big. It wasn't going to work. She paused.

He didn't give her time to figure it out. "Can't wait, Brat, can't." He placed a hand on her hip, pushing down as he thrust up.

Pain seared through her. She squeezed her eyes shut to capture the humiliating tears. She'd forgotten about the pain.

There was a long stretch of silence, her sitting completely impaled, him throbbing inside her. It was the strangest feeling. "Brat?"

"Give me a sec." Her voice sounded small to her own ears.

"You're not a virgin?"

"No." Oh, hell, he couldn't tell? Had she really done it that wrong?

"How many?" His hand rested on the curve of her back. "How many men?"

"One." She shifted her body, adjusting to accommodate him. It no longer felt like she was sitting on a red hot poker.

"Fuck." A curse from him, insensitive bastard. "How many times? When?"

"Twice."

Another 'fuck'. He then sucked in his breath sharply as she flexed experimentally. The pain was almost gone.

"Six years ago." Back when she was young, foolish and selfish. As selfish as she was now, condemning this handsome man to death.

This handsome, angry man. Three more rapid fire 'fuck's' flew from those beautiful lips. He was angry because he had needs he didn't think she could meet. She'd show him how wrong he was. She could do anything any other woman could do. She rose up, her knees leveraging off the seat, then sank back down.

"Brat," he groaned.

With pleasure. Yes, she could do this. She repeated the motion. Another groan and his grip on her hips tightened. As she moved again, he took control. He crushed her to him, sucking and nibbling and nuzzling her cotton-covered breasts, raising her up and down, thrusting into her. Faster and faster. There was the beginning of something, she wouldn't call it pleasure but it wasn't pain, when he cried, "Tatyana!" Heat and moisture filled her.

"Shit." He grabbed the boxer shorts, stuffing them under her. Between them. "You should have told me, Brat."

He was still angry, after all she'd done to make him happy. That irritated her. "And what?"

She swung her leg over, sore.

He wouldn't let her move to her own seat, holding her close. "We should have remained celibate the entire time? Because I can't keep a lover alive long enough to gain any experience? Well, the hell with you, then." His laughing didn't ease her irritation. She struggled to get away from him. "Let me go, you ass." He was too strong. "And don't you dare laugh at me! It's not funny. The last man I fucked died a slow, agonizing death."

That sobered him. "I would have killed him, anyway, Brat. For having fucked my fiancee as you so crudely put it."

There was something thrilling about his possessive tone. "I'm not your real fiancee, idiot.

And you'll die, too." It'd be all her fault.

"Not before I fuck you properly. That, I swear." The passion in his eyes made her look away.

She couldn't care for him. He was going to die. She sat in his lap, staring out the tinted windows. The car was moving. They were on the way to that fancy boutique of his.

"I can't try on clothes with no underwear." She plopped down in the seat across from him.

The briefs she'd been wearing were a sticky, wet mess; she patted herself dry once more.

Her new panties were with the bodyguard.

"We, you..." The arrogant ass appeared flustered. "We don't have to go to the boutique. I'll have clothes sent to you."

She knew the type of clothes he'd have sent. Boxy black suits. Like his entire team wore.

"No way. I'm picking out my own clothes." If she was to be kept under lock and key, she'd wear whatever the hell she wanted. "Give me your underwear."

"What?" Dark brows rose.

"Your underwear. They're fairly clean, aren't they?" They would be. She'd never met a man so well groomed. "You go commando. I wear the boxers. Unless you want me to flash my hoo-ha at the entire world." She enjoyed shocking him. "Boris would never..."

"Enough." He pulled his boxers off, giving her a full view of his goods. Yes, a well groomed man, all over. "You shouldn't talk like that, Brat." He tossed them to her.

"You monitoring my speech now, ass?" They were warm. She slipped them on, tucking the waistband under her belt.

"Respect." He waved his finger at her as he dressed.

"In public. We're not in public, are we?" She smiled sweetly at him.

No, they weren't in public and if it weren't for lunch with his parents, he'd spend the morning in the privacy of their hotel room. Her third time. The only man alive. Nik hadn't been joking about killing the first. He would have committed that murder himself, to be the only man.

"We met at the casino three months ago," he informed her, searching in his jacket pockets.

They had to get their story straight. No one would believe it, otherwise. "You were losing at slots."

She laughed. "I always lose."

"No one always loses." He frowned at the interruption, drawing out a ring box.

"I do. Always. I never win anything. Never win anything and everyone I come into contact with ends up dead. Hey..." A sad smile. "I may be the unluckiest woman alive."

"Until you met me. And no talking about people dying."