The Master
Page 1
Praise for No.1 New York Times bestselling author KRESLEY COLE
and the first novel in her Game Maker series, THE PROFESSIONAL
"Kresley Cole brought the heat with this one, delivering page-melting erotic scenes that you'll have to read to believe. With a breathtakingly intense alpha hero and a lovable heroine, The Professional is a feast for the senses not to be missed!"
--Kyra Davis, New York Times bestselling author "Kresley Cole is getting hotter--sexy hot!"
--The Hollywood Reporter
"Every touch--every feeling--was palpable. Toe curling. Kresley Cole is a wicked genius with her words."
--Romantic Book Affairs
"The hottest, most sensually erotic scenes I've ever read! The chemistry is beyond explosive. . . . I can't tell you how many times I blushed, fanned myself, or squirmed in my seat while reading."
--HEAs Are Us
"The suspense is addictive, the characters likeable, and the drama palpable. I found my new addiction, and it comes in the shape of a hot and sexy Siberian."
--Sinful Reads
"This combination of humor, heart, and heat is absolute perfection."
--Fresh Fiction
"The book crackled with sensuality. . . . The only thing I hated? That it ended."
--Under the Covers Book Blog
"Full of beautiful descriptions, vivid imagery, great characters, and humor. This isn't a run-of-the-mill, slapped-together erotica. This is engrossing, well-written literature that happens to be sexy as hell."
--The Book Vixen
"Intriguing, smart, super hot, and just plain well written have come to be hallmarks of Cole's writing, and it comes out full force in this new series."
--The Brunette Librarian
"The romance is lusty, HOT and HOT and did I say HOT?"
--Clue Review
"Grab a fan, the smelling salts, and keep the BP cuff on hand, this is going to have you panting for more! BEST CARDIO EVER!"
--Tome Tender Book Blog
"Five sexy CAN'T-WAIT-TIL-THE-NEXT-ONE, WHAT-AM-I-SUPPOSED-TO-DO-WITH-MYSELF-TIL-THEN stars."
--Kayla the Bibliophile
"A drop-everything-now MUST-READ! . . . Intense, ridiculously sexy, and thrilling the entire way through. . . . One of the HOTTEST series I have ever read!"
--Shayna Renee's Spicy Reads
"Can someone please hand me a chainsaw to cut this sexual tension?"
--Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
"A riveting story that you won't want to put down."
--Fiction Vixen
"Scrumptious, scandalous, and scorching. . . . Natalie and Sevastyan's gloriously descriptive and deliciously detailed stolen and wildly illicit moments demanded an immediate reread."
--The Lusty Literate
"Pure adrenaline in action. The chemistry is amazing, and the back and forth between Natalie and Sevastyan is hilarious and steamy."
--KT Book Reviews
"I was pretty much enraptured from start to finish!"
--(un)Conventional Bookviews
"If you're a fan of erotica and Kresley Cole, you will definitely LOVE this story."
--The Darkest Reader
"I have popped the Kresley Cole cherry, and all I can say is, hot damn and spank me silly! . . . The sexual tension had me fantasizing about my own personal brooding Siberian enforcer."
--Scandalicious Book Reviews
"Everything a fun erotica should be."
--The Windy Pages
"Turns up the heat--the hot, molten lava kind! Cole delivers erotica on a platter of orgasmic proportions."
--Readaholics Anonymous
"Absolutely intoxicating . . . the perfect balance of intrigue, chemistry, raw sexuality, and supreme storytelling!"
--Hesperia Loves Books
Also by Kresley Cole
The Game Maker Series
The Professional The Immortals After Dark Series
The Warlord Wants Forever A Hunger Like No Other No Rest for the Wicked Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night Dark Needs at Night's Edge Dark Desires After Dusk Kiss of a Demon King Deep Kiss of Winter Pleasure of a Dark Prince Demon from the Dark Dreams of a Dark Warrior Lothaire
Shadow's Claim
MacRieve
Dark Skye
The Arcana Chronicles
Poison Princess Endless Knight
Dead of Winter
The MacCarrick Brothers Series
If You Dare
If You Desire
If You Deceive
The Sutherland Series
The Captain of All Pleasures The Price of Pleasure
First published in the USA by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., 2015
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright (c) Kresley Cole 2015
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
(r) and (c) 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Kresley Cole to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray's Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
www.simonandschuster.co.uk
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
PB ISBN: 978-1-4711-1388-8
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-4711-1389-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Dedicated to the incredible Barbara Ankrum,
who dropped everything to beta read this book
(and Dead of Winter, and Dark Skye,
and The Professional . . . ).
What would I do without your amazing vision?
The Master
"They say I'm heartless and manipulative, that I amuse myself by playing with others' lives.
They aren't wrong."
--MAKSIMILIAN SEVASTYAN
"A mal tiempo, buena cara.
To bad weather, good face."
--ANA-LUCIA MARTINEZ HATCHER
(ALIAS: CAT MARIN)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 1
Mi madre must be turning over in her grave right now.
As I rod
e the elevator to the penthouse of the ritzy Seltane Hotel--it'd taken two staffers to key me up to the fortieth floor--I chewed on a fingernail.
Was I really about to let some strange man have sex with me? For money?
The elevator arrived too quickly, forcing me onto a private landing with its own lobby and an elegant sitting area. An open newspaper lay on a coffee table, as if someone had recently left.
The entry--a pair of ornate mahogany doors--was just beyond, looming. Could I bring myself to ring the bell?
Apparently, this penthouse was one of the largest (more than ten thousand square feet) and the most expensive (thirty-two grand--a night) in Miami. Who in their right mind would spend that much money on a hotel? Clearly my first client was loco.
Other than that, I didn't know much about him. He was a Russian businessman, here in Miami for a week. He'd been not only vetted but vouched for by sister escort agencies all over the world. In other words, he was a hobbyist, a routine user of escorts.
Tempted to bolt, I pulled out my phone to call my hookup, Ivanna. She was a Ukrainian immigrant and high-class escort, making bank; I was her cleaning lady. She thought my current employment was a waste of my "spectacular figure and fresh-faced beauty." Yeah, yeah.
When she answered, I said, "I don't think I can do this." I began to pace the lobby, my stilettos silent on the plush beige rug.
"Of course you can. You don't understand how badly I wish I could be there. If this man is renting the penthouse for a week, imagine how rich he is!"
The Russian had booked Ivanna, but she'd had a reaction to Botox (she was only thirty!). She'd thought she'd be okay by tonight, so she hadn't called to cancel. A big no-no for escorts.
"If my eyes weren't swollen shut . . ."
"Ivanna, I'm not at this point yet." I'd been vacillating like crazy. Though I'd prepared to take a couple of dates--getting an exam and a waxing--I'd always suspected I'd balk. "I'm not here," I insisted. But wasn't I? Yesterday I could've sworn I'd seen Edward.
In Miami.
I'd been riding the bus home from a cleaning gig when I'd seen a tall, lanky blond stepping out of a bodega, striding toward a Porsche. The last time I'd seen him had been in the glare of headlights, his green eyes stark against his blood-coated face.
If he was here, then I needed to flee to a new city as soon as possible. But that took funds.
"You make this job sound so horrible," Ivanna said. "You're going to do great. You have the balls, and that's half the battle!"
Despite my upbringing--or maybe because of it--I was pretty shameless. Even with my, ahem, generous ass, I'd proudly strutted the beaches of Jacksonville in a micro thong bikini. I'd gotten hot and heavy with all manner of high school boys, doing everything but screwing, earning a reputation as a cocktease. When I'd started having sex with Edward, I'd studied tips and tricks, anything to tempt him. So I knew how to get a guy sprung.
Ivanna said, "You'll have inquiries from the agency site before you know it."
She'd gotten the web guy for Elite Escorts to toss up a makeshift page for me, by promising him an HR. Hand release.
I knew all the lingo, had chuckled as she'd recited acronyms, never imagining I'd be using the lingo. A BBBJ was a bareback blowjob. Swallowing was BBBJNQNS--bareback blowjob, no quit, no spit. MSOG--multiple shots on goal--meant the client could come as many times as he liked in the specified time limit. "You shouldn't have bothered with that web page for me." I'd told her I would only do this once or twice, but she'd just smiled and said, "That's what we all thought. Now pose for your site photo!"
"You only have a couple more minutes to be on time," Ivanna said. "Take a deep breath, remember my three key points, and you'll be fine."
First, I should look for a nondescript envelope of cash lying on a conspicuous surface--my "donation." I was to do nothing until I pocketed the money. And then? The name of the game was upselling, getting him to pay for services above and beyond the outcall, earnings that were all mine.
Second, since my client wasn't likely to inspire arousal--despite the fact that I hadn't had sex in forever and my libido was going crazy!--I'd need to figure out a way to furtively lube up. Most escorts did. Lube made for safer sex and limited VF, vagina fatigue. Of course, a condom was mandatory.
Third, the majority of clients that used Elite Escorts liked ingratiating, sweet dates; I was a cheeky smart-ass. So I would have to curb my personality to succeed.
Damn it, I should never be in the service industry--in any capacity.
But I needed this money to run! I had my own rules, and in three years I'd never broken them.
1. Never say anything above and beyond what is absolutely necessary.
2. Never create links between you and anything else.
3. Never stay in a place longer than six months.
4. Never get soft.
5. Never attract undue attention.
6. Forgodsakes, never, never, never trust another man.
Without funds, I was going to break rule number three.
"Trust me, Cat, with your business savvy, you're going to make a killing," Ivanna assured me.
How savvy was I? Although I had six houses to clean each week--including hers--five of the women beat me up on my fee, assuming I was an undocumented worker from Cuba.
"Just have fun," she said. "It doesn't have to feel like work. Your waxing was probably more uncomfortable than your date could ever be."
But . . . "It's been more than three years since I slept with anyone." And Edward's pitiful attempts shouldn't even count.
"That is . . . hmm. How strange," she said, as if I'd told her I liked to wear other people's skin. "We'll discuss this later. For now, remember: sex is like riding a bike."
I turned toward the elevator. "Mierda. I can't. This was a mistake."
Ivanna sighed. "I didn't want you to get your hopes up too high, so I never told you my record for one night."
"Are you going to now?" She'd been vague, saying the sky was the limit, but she'd refused to give me hard numbers.
"My record for a six-hour outcall is over twenty thousand in cash and jewels."
Twenty. Thousand.
Money like that could catapult me directly into the next phase of my life plan! When I regained the power of speech, I sang, "And we're off to fuck the wizard."
She laughed. "I hope he's a wonderful wizard. Oh, one last thing, Cat. You're going to have a gut-check moment, and when you do, ask yourself: would I have sex with this guy for free? If the answer is yes, then why not view the money as a bonus?"
"Okay, muy bien. I can do this," I said, psyching myself up.
"Go get 'em!"
Disconnecting the call, I turned to check my appearance in a lobby mirror. December was usually mild, but this year had been downright balmy, so I'd worn a wrap dress of forest-green silk. The style was understated, with a conservative neckline, in case he wanted to take me out, but the sides were held together by only a single bow at my hip. Stilettos gave a hint of naughty.
I twisted around to view the back. The thin silk was too tight across my ass, leaving little to the imagination. Nothing to be done for it now. I faced forward and eked out a smile.
I'd worn only lip gloss, mascara, and a touch of glittery bronze eye shadow. Ivanna said it brought out the vivid copper color of my irises, making my eyes look exotic, especially against my dark hair. I'd left the length of it down in long loose curls.
Makeup: in place. Hair: best that can be expected. Conclusion: If I were a horny Russian lech, I'd do me.
I checked my cell phone clock. I had less than two minutes to make an on-time arrival. Stowing my phone in my purse, I pressed the doorbell, then gazed around, battling my nerves. I glanced at that newspaper on the coffee table again. Would a guy this rich have a bodyguard or something--
The door opened, revealing my first-ever client. In escort slang, he was DDG.
Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
He looked to be in his midthirti
es, with a full head of thick black hair and a built body. He was well over six feet tall. His blue eyes were hooded, his penetrating gaze roaming over me.
He wore a lightweight cashmere sweater, winter white, that molded over his rigid pecs. The color made the piercing blue of his eyes pop. Dark, tailored slacks highlighted muscular legs and lean hips.
If I was ever going to lose my "escort cherry," I couldn't imagine a more ideal client.
Yet the Russian glanced behind me, as if he expected someone else to be there.
"It's just me," I said, surprised my voice sounded so casual when my heart was pounding.
Without a word, he turned, heading into a living area. I followed.
Accent lighting illuminated the tasteful modern decor. Floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows offered what had to be the best view in the city. All the balcony doors were open, the sound of the waves reaching us even this high up. This place was huge, the size reminding me of my former mansion. Oh, to be rolling again . . .
He faced me. "I confirmed a woman named Ivanna. Your agency suggested her when I sent in my preferences." His voice was deep and rumbly, his accent tingeing the words.
I was a sucker for men with accents. Edward's slow Atlanta drawl used to light me up. Until I'd found out he was from England. "Ivanna was supposed to come tonight, but she had to call in sick."
"I requested a tall, slender blonde, at least in her late twenties. Ideally from Europe. Perhaps her substitute could have matched any of my requests."
Instead he'd gotten me--twenty-two, five feet two inches tall, curvy, brunette. Oh, and one generation away from Cuba. Giving him a fake smile, I teasingly said, "Isn't variety the spice of life, querido?" Sweetheart.
He wasn't budging. "You're not what I ordered."
I, above all people, knew that you shouldn't have to pay for something you never asked for. I had a flash memory of Edward edging toward his gun, moments after declaring his love for me.
"Are you even of legal age?" the Russian grated.
"And then some."
He looked unmoved.
I'd read and reread Getting to Yes, and I thought I could finagle one night out of this guy. But then, was I really ready to take this step? "I can't change your mind?"
When his expression grew even colder, I was glad he was about to kick me out. I would make a better outlaw than I would an escort. Outlaw? Give it time, Cat.
In a stern tone, he said, "I never reverse myself on decisions."
I shrugged. "Okay, your loss." How confident I sounded! Like a working-girl pro. Relieved, I turned toward the door, sauntering away--
I thought I heard him hiss in a breath.
Mierda. Knowing my luck, I'd split the seam in my dress.