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“What happened to patience?” I ask. He throws me on his desk. “Take off your clothes. Now.” Okay, maybe “throw” isn’t the right word. It doesn’t hurt—his hand is at the back of my head, and the fall isn’t too steep—but it does feel like he just grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into a cave to have his way with me. In other words: Hot. As. Sin. I stare up at him, my skirts bunched up at my waist, hair in utter disarray. Yulian, on the other hand, is still impeccably dressed. Somehow, that offends me personally. “Why don’t you take off your clothes?” I fire back. “You don’t give the orders here, kitten.” He gathers my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head. “That’s not the way this works.” He acts like he’s in charge—and in so many ways, he is. The big boss, the mighty pakhan, ruler of all he touches. And yet, when he stares down at me, his eyes burning with want, with need, I realize something. He wants me just as badly as I want him.