CHAPTER EIGHT
Later that afternoon Michiko came to tell her that once more she was required by Ruslan.
“Why me?” Cressida complained. “Isn’t it someone else’s turn?” The last thing she felt like was being subjected to the crude lusts of a man she despised.
“You had better not let him hear you speak like that,” Michiko answered. “He is not in a mood to be trifled with, I can promise you. I should be very careful, if I were you.”
Cressida’s heart sank. She sat glumly while Michiko prepared her. Her hair was elaborately coiffed, her henna tattoos redone, her face carefully made up. Michiko handed her a pink box with the words Agent Provocateur on the outside. Cressida thought she might have heard the name before. Inside she found, wrapped in tissue, a set of black satin lingerie. The bra
