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hadn’t known her long enough for a sentiment that deep to develop. But he did feel a strong attraction. The thought of her in his bed, lying next to him, excited him. In his mind’s eye he watched her emerge from the bathroom, the light illuminating her sculptured form, merely dressed in a negligee, before joining him and slipping beneath the covers.
    He knew he had to have her, one way or another. The story he’d told her wasn’t even the half of it. Yury’s men wouldn’t merely kill her if her husband continued to play hide and seek with his money. They would do horrible things to her that no woman should endure. Especially not his woman. For no other reason than the fact he’d taken a fancy to her, he now considered her his, and he knew Yury would agree and never lay a finger on her as long as this was so.
    He hadn’t told her, of course, for fear she might balk at his proposal, but Yury would expect their union to be blessed with a child very soon. From the day they were married, the clock started ticking, and if Joanna wasn’t with child within weeks, the powerful leader of Lincoln’s foremost crime syndicate would know something was wrong.
    One way or another, he had to conceive a child with her, or all bets were off. He knew she would refuse him out of hand, not sharing the strong feeling of attraction he harbored for her. Nevertheless, he would have her, or else they would both be dead.
    His hand stole down from her shoulder to her chest, and he briefly cupped her breast, full and firm, and weighed the tender flesh in the palm of his hand. She stirred under his touch, and he instantly retracted his hand, only to replace it moments later, gently touching it to her belly. He could just imagine her being with child—his child—and somehow the notion stirred something deep and primal within him. His cock responded by flushing with blood, and within moments he felt the rigidity set in as if on cue.
    Yes, he would have her, one way or another.
    Everything depended on it.
    Joanna stirred awake when the engine was turned off, and the cool night air wafted through the open driver side door. She rubbed her eyes, surprised she’d fallen asleep in spite of the tension releasing spurts of adrenaline into her blood stream. She must have been exhausted.
    For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or what was going on. Then she remembered, and the tension surged through her system with renewed force. She was going to meet Vitaly’s boss. Yury.
    Taking Ram and holding the dog close, she stepped from the van when Vitaly opened the door and offered his arm. Leaning on the sturdy man, she followed him blindly as he escorted her to a large mansion. Outlined against the night sky, the house dwarfed her, a massive white-brick structure, three stories high, balconied windows looking down upon her, a stone staircase leading up to a heavy oaken door.
    As Vitaly led her up the steps, he repeated in a whisper, “We are very much in love, remember? We only just met and we are getting married soon.” He eyed her wryly. “So whenever you feel the urge to kiss me, do not hold back.”
    She merely shrugged at the impropriety, remembering the kiss he’d stolen from her before. As far as she was concerned, it was the last kiss he’d ever get.
    The door swung open as if on cue, and a liveried manservant appeared, his eyes slightly drooped closed, an unhealthy pallor on his face indicating he, too, had been brusquely stirred in his sleep.
    “Mr. Abraskamov is expecting you,” the man intoned curtly, and led them down an opulent hallway, complete with portrait paintings and a sumptuous carpet draped across the white marble floor. Chests lined the corridor, laden with trinkets and knickknacks that would have interested Joanna if her stomach hadn’t been turning somersaults at the prospect of meeting the lord of the mansion.
    Vitaly’s grip on her arm tightened the moment they reached double ceiling high doors, intricately carved