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so she was naked in front of him.
    Roman lifted her effortlessly onto the bed. He was still fully clothed, except his massive erection. So big…so masculine…
    The room was spinning. There were two of everything, but the images smeared together. She blinked to clear her vision, but it didn’t help. All shapes and colors bled into one. The room was like a painting that had doubled and collided, and all the colors crashed into one another and then faded into black.
    Roman was on top of her, pulling her arms over her head. So big…so big…
    Even he was blurry like a dream, but he felt real. Cold metal ensconced her wrist and then a clink sound. Georgina blinked. What was happening? Something was wrong. Oh God. The room was going black. Fuck, this wasn’t the vodka. Keep your eyes open! her mind screamed, but the words were lost. She was already being dragged under. So tired…so dark…
    ROMAN LOCKED THE cuffs onto the bed. She had passed out. Shame. He would have enjoyed fucking her.
    He had hoped he was wrong. He ran a hand through his cropped blond hair and swore. Well if she died, he would know she’d tried to assassinate him. He would know soon enough if she had been sent to kill him or merely incapacitate him to gain access to his home. For her sake he hoped it was the latter, though he would not be grieving her loss if it were the former.
    He had spotted her immediately in the Hermitage, staring openly at him from the shadows. He knew her game instantly, knew she had been sent to try to take him down. That was a constant in his life, people plotting, threatening. The tactics had changed considerably over the years. Before it was crude, a car bomb or a simple bullet; now they sent beautiful women. And Christ, she was beautiful—red hair and the palest skin, almost translucent. Her breasts were small but high and firm, and the nipples were the softest shade of pink, only slightly darker than her milky skin. She was stunning. A bit too thin for his liking, but that came with her career.
    Of course he knew who she was. She was Georgina Fairley, only the most sought-after ballerina in Europe, the world maybe. For an instant he had allowed himself to entertain the idea that she was here with him because she wanted to be. The way she kissed and stroked him gave the notion credence. But no, she was just another player in this chess match, although an exquisitely beautiful one. She was very skilled; she faked it with the best of them.
    Roman picked up her purse and dumped the contents over his desk: keys, credit cards, lipstick, breath mints, condoms, a smart phone, and cartoon character keychain. He squinted as he held it up. No, she would not have a childish kitten keychain in her possession. He ripped the head from the plastic body. Inside was a small listening device. A bug. She had been sent to bug him, not kill him; that meant she was sent by a government, not a rival. Interesting.
    Roman returned to the bed. He picked up her wrist, feeling for a pulse; it was slow and strong, her breathing deep.
    She would sleep this off and be fine in the morning.
    If he didn’t kill her.
    If she were a man he would have killed her by now. His gaze swept over her body again, settling on the thatch of red curls between her thighs. Definitely not a man.
    Fuck .
    He still might have to kill her. That had not been ruled out. The night was young.

Chapter Four
    Georgina’s head pounded in time with the throbbing pain in her knee. Her mouth was dry and tasted like she had been sucking on moldy dishrags. The room was spinning. Without opening her eyes, she reached for the painkillers on the bedside table.
    Cold metal bit into her flesh when she tried to move. “What?” Her hands were shackled to the bed. “Shit,” she whispered. Her heart jumped into her throat. What was going on? Flashes of last night…the Hermitage…Roman…the drive to Peterhof…kissing…
    Oh God. She couldn’t remember anything past kissing Roman and