Chapter 31
S amara
Like in bed, when Gregor took control… he took complete control .
He awoke me hours later. I was surprised to see it was already dusk.
Ordering me to dress, he made several phone calls in swift succession. I overheard one which seemed to be Gregor giving instructions to have a plane gassed and ready. A private plane?
My objections fell on deaf ears.
“You have two options, Samara,” growled Gregor, “You can either walk onto the plane or be carried, but either way you are getting on that plane.”
He was right. It was time to stop running. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Gregor, but I knew I would never sort it out until I confronted my parents, because based on last night’s attempted kidnapping, things had gotten way out of hand. As much as I hated the thought, it was time to return home.
As we entered the small metal door to the massive hangar, my jaw dropped. When he said we would take his plane back to Washington, I envisioned a grueling bumpy ride on some little Samara, single-engine four seater.
“What the fuck, Gregor!”
“Language, Samara!” he scolded as he grabbed my hand and led me toward the descended staircase. I knew better than to even ask about customs or having to show my ID knowing a man of Gregor’s resources would probably bypass such pedestrian necessities.
The plane was at least one hundred feet long.
It was white with two crossing sabers emblazoned on the tail in gold, part of Gregor’s family crest. If I wasn’t mistaken, this was a Global 5000.
It had a crazy security system with integrated cameras in the forward belly, quad, and even in the stabilizer fin.
Some casino had sent one to pick us up when Yelena had hit big on some well-placed track bets.
That was when we learned we needed to keep a lower profile.
I ducked my head as we crossed the threshold. The interior was gorgeous. Four oxblood leather club seats took up most of the space. In the front galley there was a polished bronze bubinga bar stocked with crystal decanters filled with deep amber liquids.
“Seriously. Just how wealthy are you?” I asked as I tried to remember how much this plane probably cost. I mean, there was money and then there was money . Gregor apparently had money .
At the back of the plane was a massive king-size bed covered in black and gold satin.
I met Gregor’s knowing gaze and blushed.
He led me past the club chairs to the bed.
I resisted, although the thought of someone witnessing Gregor fucking me senseless gave me a voyeuristic thrill.
Gregor stroked his knuckles down my cheek. “You’re mine. And I don’t share.”
The pure unadulterated masculine arrogance of his statement made my heart skip.
A little embarrassed by my reaction to his declaration, I looked back to the bed and the various size packages heaped on top.
“What is all this?”
“Clothes for you,” he said nonchalantly as he opened his laptop.
I surveyed the signature orange Hermes bag and the glossy black Coco Chanel bags. There was even one from Louis Vuitton.
“How? Why?” I stuttered.
“I knew you would need something to wear for what I had planned, so I arranged for a personal shopper to drop those off.”
I wanted to ask how wearing designer clothes fit into his plan of us returning to Washington to reason with my father, but the tone of his voice warned me not to.
I opened the largest box from Chanel. With a delicate touch, I peeled away the tissue paper and gasped.
Lifting the dress by the shoulders, I pulled it free from the box.
It was a vintage Chanel dress in champagne silk.
The surplice v-neckline was trimmed in small white pearls.
It looked like a dress Audrey Hepburn would have worn in a movie wedding scene.
“Gregor? You can’t mean for me to wear this?”
“I do. It’s part of the plan,” he said without looking up. “Everything you need is there.”
Peeking inside the rest of the boxes, I found lingerie, a purse, and shoes. The large black garment bag next to my packages looked to contain a Giorgio Armani suit for Gregor.
“What exactly is this plan?”
Gregor closed his laptop and approached me. Without saying a word, he lifted me in his arms.
“Gregor! What are you doing?”
He took a few steps and deposited me in one of the club chairs. He then reached for the seat buckle and latched me in tightly. He gave me a quick peck on the lips. “Be a good girl and sit still for take-off. After that, get dressed without asking me any more questions.”
I crossed my arms over my chest with a petulant huff.
Just to tweak me further, Gregor teased, “You’re just going to have to trust me, malyshka.”
* * *
Two hours later, I peered out the small oval window through the midnight blue evening sky to see the orange and white runway lights of Reagan International Airport.
After our takeoff, Gregor had personally supervised undressing and redressing me with a pleasurable interlude in between.
Good lord, what that man could do with his tongue.
Feeling more than a little overdressed, I waited as the plane taxied into Gregor’s private hangar.
ThenI unbuckled my seatbelt and searched around for my purse as I prepared to disembark.
“Not just yet, baby. We are waiting for a guest first,” said Gregor as he rose from his seat and moved to the bar. He poured himself a vodka and me a glass of chilled wine.
“Gregor. Do we have time for this? I want to see Nadia.”
“We’re making time. And trust me, you’re going to want a drink.”
Perplexed by his secretive mood, I took the offered glass.
Shortly after, there was a knock on the plane door. The pilot opened the hatch and an older man in a dark suit entered.
“Gregor,” he said in warm greeting as he crossed down the aisle to shake Gregor’s hand.
“Judge Matthews. Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice.”
The judge shrugged. “It’s incredibly irregular, but after that little mishap you extracted me from last year, how could I refuse the chance to return a favor?”
Gregor put his arm around my shoulders as he eased me forward. There was no mistaking the tension in my body.
“Samara. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Judge John Matthews.”
I nodded my head. “Your honor.”
The judge reached for my hand. “Well, I certainly understand your haste now, Gregor. She is stunning. If I were thirty years younger…”
“We are in a hurry, Judge,” interrupted Gregor.
“Of course! Let me just get the marriage paperwork signed, and we will get to it.”
Marriage!
I took a step back… then another.
Marriage!
Gregor moved his dark gaze to me.
I shook my head.
He took a step forward.
I held up my hand in a useless effort to hold him at bay as I continued to back up as far as the plane would allow. All too soon, my back bumped against the wall of the plane.
“Samara. Listen to me.”
I just shook my head.
Marriage.
I knew that was his aim, but never in a million years did I think he would pull a stunt like this. I thought I would have more time to convince him we would never suit. I figured he would want a church wedding and all the pomp and circumstance. I thought I had months… weeks… not minutes.
“You’ve lost your mind,” I rasped. My voice sounded strange to my ears. High-pitched and strained.
Gregor nodded. “Quite possibly.”
“You can’t actually think I’d say yes to this?”
“I wasn’t planning on giving you a choice in the matter.”
What the fuck?
“That’s not how these things work. You kind of need my permission,” I snapped as panic set in.
“Let’s just say that Judge Matthews isn’t one to stand on a little formality like the bride’s agreement.”
I stared at Gregor. His shoulders were set, his jaw firm. Arrogant and confident. Holy shit! He really meant this.
“No! No! I won’t do this.”
Gregor leaned close, resting both hands against the wall on either side of my head. Nudging my hair aside with his nose, he whispered into my ear, “Do I have to remind you I will never take no as an answer from you?”
I gasped.
Gregor ran a knuckle down the front of my dress to circle the barest outline of my nipple through the delicate satin.
“If necessary, I will strip you out of this dress and spank that beautiful ass of yours red right in front of the Judge. I couldn't care less if you are married in satin or your bare skin,” he threatened.
“You would, wouldn’t you?” I asked him, my eyes wide with shock.
“In a heartbeat,” he growled.
“This is insane,” I breathed as I shook my hands in a lame effort to quiet the frenetic pace of my heart.
“Trust me, malyshka. I’m doing this to protect you.”
God, when he purred those strong, protective words to me, I almost believe him.
In a daze, he took my hand and led me back to the Judge.
Someone handed me a pen; I didn’t even know who. I tried to read the official-looking document. There were our names, neatly scrawled in permanent ink.
Samara Federova
Gregor Romanovich Ivanov
I turned to Gregor. In a last ditch effort to slow this speeding train, I asked, “What about my friends?”
“We will have a full ceremony later. Sign,” he ordered.
With a sigh, I signed my name. My signature looked delicate and shaky next to the thick slant of Gregor’s confident one.
As the pilot stood witness, the Judge began with the ceremony. I leaned heavily on Gregor as I stood by his side.
I wasn’t even listening.
It was all just a dull white noise.
“Samara?”
“Samara?”
Everyone was looking at me expectantly.
I quaked.
I couldn’t do this. This was insane.
“I can’t do this. I don—”
Gregor grabbed me by the shoulders and turned my body to face him. His dark gray eyes pierced my own, trapping me with the intensity of his gaze. Without taking his eyes off me, he said, “She does.”
He didn’t even wait for the judge to finish the ceremony.
Gregor claimed my lips in a fierce kiss full of possession and promise. His tongue swept into my mouth, swirling and capturing my own. Taking by force what was now his right.
Setting me aside, he shook the judge’s and pilot’s hands.
We immediately disembarked to find Jim waiting inside the hangar.
Gregor handed him our signed marriage certificate.
“See that gets filed first thing and send out a press release. Make sure it is in all the morning papers. I don’t want there to be any doubt.
Samara Ivanova is now under my complete protection. ”
Samara Ivanova.
Samara Ivanova was Gregor Ivanov’s wife and under his protection.
But who was going to protect me from Gregor?