Prisoners of Our Own Device

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Summary

TWO POWERFUL WOMEN TWO DIFFERENT WORLDS. A VOLATILE COCKTAIL, LEADING TO TRAGEDY AND DEATH Ella Michaels is a time bomb waiting to go off and Agafina Mihailovna is the fuse. We are all 'PRISONERS OF OUR OWN DEVICE' - Ela Michaels is the prisoner of her own repressed passions. Will she ever break free from her abused childhood and confront her demons. Mihailovna, wo escaped Soviet oppression to become the greatest female tennis player in the world, is a sexual predator used to getting what she wants. Max Cauldwell is a ruthless man who will stop at nothing to possess unique pieces of art. The stolen sculpture, which has already cost one life, is almost in his grasp - but there must be no more, it must be the only one...

Status
Complete
Chapters
81
Rating
5.0 (1 review)
Age Rating
18+

Part One - Chapter 1

Thwack, the ball smashed into the racquet, the sound reverberated around the court, and a host of heads turned simultaneously following its course. A puff of chalk stirred the still mid-afternoon air as the ball bounced alongside the farthest white line. Agafina Mihailovna punched the air with her clenched fist and mouthed the word “Yes” through clenched teeth.

“Advantage Miss Mihailovna.”

Mihailovna steadied herself, nailing her opponent with a steely stare as she skipped to and fro on the back line of the court. She bounced her chosen ball four times, her obsessive little quirk, swayed backwards onto her heels, and almost lazily tossed the ball into the air. Thwack, she rushed the net, braking sharply, her Nike tennis shoes raising a little dust where the court was worn, the tension in her muscles taut, then relaxed and smiled with satisfaction as the ball touched on the left of the center line and crashed resoundingly into the far barrier unhindered.

“Game Miss Mihailovna. Miss Mihailovna leads five games to four. First set.”

Both players walked to their respective chairs at the side of the court. Mihailovna took the towel from the ball girl and proceeded to wipe the handle of her racquet, casually scanning the crowd seated immediately in front of her, when her gaze was riveted, jarred, by the penetrating glance of a pair of arctic blue eyes. A small shudder crept along her spine. The sunlight glinted on a mane of white blonde hair, turning its’ wayward strands to spun silver as the slight breeze teased it. Mihailovna took the proffered drink and sipped slowly as her eyes swept over the face, down the graceful curve of the throat and came to rest on the deep shadow between the golden orbs of the woman’s breasts. A slight lopsided smile played about her lips as the nipples began to rise and swell beneath the damp thin silk of the woman’s chemise. Shifting her gaze back, she raised her eyebrows questioningly as a slight flush spread across the woman’s high cheekbones and lips parted emitting a small audible gasp.

Shit, thought Mihailovna as the umpire announced, “Time ladies please.”