The Master

by Kresley Cole

  Vasili suddenly appeared on the pool deck, gaze alert, hand on the gun in his holster.

  Maxim twisted to conceal me, and I sidled up to his back. Another laugh rumbled from his chest. "So unused to the sound of my amusement, he comes running."

  "He could hear us?" I whispered.

  "He must be making the rounds. I've booked the two stories below for him and his men. Vasili oversees all three floors."

  "Oh." A small army of mafiya henchmen must be nice. All I had to protect myself was continual movement, a dead bolt, and a prayer. "Do you need this much security? Or is this more of an entourage situation?"

  "I don't think I'm under an acute threat right now. But the show of might deters some foes, and extra men always come in handy." Sevastyan said something in Russian, and Vasili left. "Did seeing the gun bother you?"

  "I don't know." My sole experience with one had been horrifying.

  Bent on uncovering Edward's ace in the hole, I'd retrieved my father's commemorative pistol, a gift from the Cuban government. I'd loaded the accompanying bullets, planning to shoot the ceiling to get Edward's attention, like they did in movies. I'd also grabbed my mother's rosary and donned it for courage.

  At the end of the night, I'd been drenched in blood, fleeing a madman.

  I swallowed. Shake it off, Cat. I told Sevastyan, "It must be reassuring to be so protected. . . ." I trailed off. I'd dampened the material of Maxim's shirt and could make out marks on his back. Unable to stop myself, I tugged his shirt from one shoulder.

  Muttering something that sounded like, "Get this over with," he yanked it off.

  I gasped. Scars covered his back from his neck down to his hips--crisscrossing lines of them, as if he'd been whipped--repeatedly. What the hell had happened to him? Who could have done that? No wonder he had issues with touching!

  He rose and turned with his shoulders squared, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He grated, "Ask me what happened."

  I was the last person in the world to ask about something so personal. "That isn't my business." Sometimes I wanted to strangle people who stuck their nose in my own. "If you want me to know, you'll tell me, and I'll listen."

  He narrowed his gaze. "Only a handful of people have ever seen my back. If you find out the story behind the scars, you could sell it to a tabloid. Make a lot of money."

  I rolled my eyes. "Now you're just pissing me off, pendejo."

  He tilted his head. He'd probably expected me to clasp my hands to my chest and tell him I would never sell a story!

  "Look, Sevastyan, I don't mind problems--I handle problems--but I hate when they're unnecessary. So don't do this with me."

  "You're not going to make the observation?"

  "What observation?"

  "That I whip women because I was whipped."

  "That's not why you do it."

  He raised his brows. "Thrall me with supposition."

  I said nothing.

  He stabbed his fingers through his hair. "It drives me mad not knowing what's going on in that head of yours."

  I couldn't take his pain away, but I could acknowledge it. I could let him know he was still gorgeous to me. "Then I'll show you what I'm thinking." I climbed out of the pool and crossed to him. "Turn around, please."

  He hesitated. When he finally turned, I could tell he was holding his breath, wondering what I'd do.

  Standing on tiptoe, I pressed a tender kiss to the highest scar, then lightly grazed my cheek against it. On a shuddering exhalation, he murmured, "Dushen'ka."

  I kissed and nuzzled the next line and the one below it, all the way down to the small of his back. When I got to his muscled ass, I pantsed him. I nipped one flawless, sculpted cheek, then started back up.

  He turned, gazing down at me with his brows drawn. "Singular creature."

  I told him what I told myself whenever my guilt grew too painful: "It happened. It hurt. Better things await you."

  "Like what?"

  "Like pouring champagne down my chest to drink from my nipples? While I ride you? That's in your future if you want it."

  He swallowed. "A bright future for me, then. I'm long overdue for that." He retrieved another bottle from the bar. . . .

  While I rode him on a lounge chair, he drank and drank.

  More champagne . . .

  We made toasts to each other. He tickled me. When I tried to escape, he pinned my wrists above my head and played with my breasts till I writhed. "In case I haven't told you," he rasped, "I like your size as much as you do." Then he rode me.

  More champagne . . .

  Room service arrived with pan-seared diver scallops, Wagyu beef tenderloins, and Beluga caviar. As we fed each other, he blamed me for how famished he was.

  "Caviar is decadent!" I told him.

  "I can't believe you've never had it." Voice gone gruff, he said, "There are many things I could show you."

  More champagne . . .

  I lay on a float on my front as he pulled me around the pool, our faces close. We discussed books and business theory till the pads of my fingers pruned.

  More champagne . . .

  We reclined side by side on a double lounger, sharing a blanket, gazing up at the full moon and stars. I was seriously buzzed. But I liked the faint feeling of spinning; it made the sky twirl for me.

  "I've divulged more about myself than you have," he said, his voice rumbly with relaxation. "I can't tell you how unusual that is."

  "Ask me light questions, and I'll answer."

  "Very well. What was your first pet? A dog?"

  "A goldfish. I never got to have a dog."

  "If you want one, why don't you have one now?"

  I stretched an arm over my head. "Ah, to be Maxim Sevastyan for a day. What you want, you get."

  "I want more answers from you, but I don't get them."

  Bob and weave. "What was your first pet?"

  "A gelding."

  "I've never been horseback riding." There were plenty of farms on the coast, but my family's mansion was isolated. I'd been secluded till I'd gone to high school. After that, all I'd cared about was partying.

  He looked at me like I'd grown two heads. "That's unacceptable. None of your clients took you? A lover didn't?"

  I shrugged again.

  "I'll take you. You'll enjoy riding with me."

  I was sure I would. And yet it would never happen. I drained my flute, raising it for more, and he poured. I could drink this stuff till eternity. "Do you often take lovers out riding?"

  "Lovers? I've never had one." His voice turned chilly as he said, "My previous relationship was with a blond escort and lasted one hour. I wish her all the best." Dipping even chillier, he added, "I'd ask when your last relationship was, but I have no doubt you're currently in one."

  "What? I'm not."

  "A couple of times tonight I caught you staring off at nothing. I've found that usually means a woman is thinking about a man."

  I had been. About Edward. What if I'd been mistaken about seeing him in Miami? What if I gave up more nights like this, fleeing for nothing?

  Or, what if he was here to make good on his last vow to me?

  "I'm not in a relationship, Maxim." How could I ever trust another man? I'd always think he was using me. I jokingly thought, Unless he's a billionaire. Then I chastised myself. Jets. Cooled. NOW. "What about you? Do you want one?"

  "It would depend on whether I found the right woman." He turned on his side to face me. "What's your earliest memory?"

  I had vague impressions of my father. He'd been an attache to Cuba, with a ready laugh. Sometimes I could remember hazel eyes that crinkled at the sides and the smell of cigars. "My most fully formed one? Helping my mother and grandmother make paella. I got to toss a handful of spices in, and I was beaming. My mother warned me to watch my pride."

  If she hadn't been able to extinguish it, a year of Edward's inexplicable disdain couldn't have. My pride had merely lain dormant for a short while, bouncing back with a veng
eance, roaring to life.

  And yet I'd chosen to disappear--instead of fighting back, a decision I still struggled with. Was I being shrewd?

  Or cowardly?

  Maxim asked, "Are you close to your mother and father?"

  "My father died a while ago." He'd been in a car accident in the Cuban countryside, far from any hospitals. "I wish my mother and I could have been closer before she passed away."

  She didn't "pass away," Cat.

  I'd never forget the way my stomach had plummeted when I'd learned for certain that she'd been murdered. The rage I'd felt. . . .

  "You're so sure that Ana-Lucia will keep quiet?" Julia asked Edward. "She's an impulsive troublemaker."

  "What could she say to the police?" he asked. "That she suspected I had something to do with the old bat's death? I've been a model husband for over a year, and I've snowed everyone she's ever come into contact with. I play tennis with her lawyer. Who would believe her? And even if her mother was exhumed, the case is in Ana-Lucia's safety-deposit box, the one she obtained by herself, in her name."

  He'd asked me to secure it for a coin collection, giving me a locked case to store. Mierda, he had the key! What was actually in it? What was his ace?

  Edward continued, "No one but her has ever accessed it, and her fingerprints are the only ones on the case. She fought constantly with her mother and was the sole heir to a fortune. Means, motive, opportunity, and a murder weapon. One word to the police, and Ana-Lucia's done."

  They'd killed my mother; they'd framed me for it.

  When they'd stopped talking and started kissing, I'd decided to get answers, one way or another--

  "Katya?" Maxim was studying my face, as if trying to read my thoughts.

  I forced a smile. "Just thinking." It happened, it hurt. . . . I shook away my memories and said, "My mother was very strict."

  "So you rebelled? Is that how you got into escorting?"

  No, that was how I'd let a monster into our lives. I cleared my throat. "A story for another time. Are you close to your parents?"

  His gaze slid away. "Both died when I was a boy."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "What's your earliest memory?"

  "My mother singing. She rarely did, but she had a lovely voice." Changing the subject, he said, "Did you do well in school?"

  "Straight A's. I couldn't get enough math, used to do puzzles for fun. What about you? What was your favorite subject?"

  "Debate."

  "Already a politician?" I turned on my side, facing him. Now our conversation seemed even more intimate.

  "But no longer. Maybe I'll go into business with my older brother, if he'll have me."

  "Why wouldn't he?"

  "We were estranged. He left home when I was young, and I resented him. For years, he's suspected that I had malicious intentions against him. I can't say that I didn't at the time."

  "That's sad. But no longer?"

  "We're speaking, which is an improvement. I'm close to my younger brother," he said. "Do you have any siblings?"

  I hesitated. Sometimes I imagined tidbits of my information being fed into a search engine. It would spit out my name if given enough variables.

  Sevastyan already had several: Spanish-speaking female, approximately twenty-six, no college degree, deceased parents.

  Would I now add only child? "I'm sure my family is boring compared to yours. Let's talk about something more exciting." I raised my flute again. Downed so soon?

  He readily poured. "Like what?"

  "Sex?"

  "I'm going to make a blanket statement: I like ours. I'm fairly certain you do too. Tonight, you've repeatedly touched my back. You even scratched it earlier."

  "Perdon!" I'm sorry! "Did I hurt you? I forget myself with you." Factory shutdown. "What if I do it again, Maxim?"

  The left corner of his lips curved up. "I didn't say I wanted you to stop. I thought it would bother me, but it doesn't. I knew you'd forgotten yourself, and I relished every fucking second of it."

  I exhaled. "You scared me. I thought you were going to have to put mittens on me."

  "That's your worry?" He reached for me under the blanket, laying a casual palm over my hip, his thumb lazily stroking. "I expected the scars to bother you."

  "They don't. I'll grow accustomed to your back--but I will never get over your ass."

  He gave me that glorious full smile of his. I reached over and placed my hand on his face. "I love your smile."

  "Everyone says I'm charming, but I don't smile or laugh naturally. I think to myself, Would now be a normal time for someone like me to show amusement? Then I force myself to react, as people do when a camera turns to them. But with you, it's unconscious. I just respond."

  "Truly?" His smile in person did look different from the one I'd seen in pictures. Those never engaged his eyes. I leaned forward to kiss him, but when my lids slid shut, the world went off-kilter. I drew back. "Whoa. I think I need to cool off." I rose, swerving on unsteady feet, then dropped into the pool.

  He followed shortly after, caging me in, with my back against the infinity edge. Steam rose from the water, flickering the lights, making the ocean blue of his eyes glow. "The way your hips and ass move when you walk . . . it's like a revelation."

  I swallowed, my hands landing on his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his waist.

  He slowly rocked into me. "Why can't I stop touching you?"

  Wordlessly, we stared at each other as he took me. Something was occurring between us. More than sex. Something I'd never experienced. I wanted to come; I wanted to cry; I needed to smooth his brow and ease his own thunderstruck look. "Maxim?"

  He could only nod slowly, acknowledging . . . something. Never speeding up his pace, he told me, "Say my name in your accent."

  I rubbed the side of my face against his, murmuring, "Maxim."

  "Say you need me to fuck you like this."

  Between panting breaths, I whispered, "I need you . . . to fuck me . . . like this, Maxim."

  "Tell me I fuck you better than any man before."

  "Maxim, you fuck me . . . better than any man before." And then he proved it. Even as I buried my mouth against his neck to muffle my screams, I wondered if I could fall in love with someone in one night.

  CHAPTER 12

  The sun was coming up when I woke against a man's chest.

  I blinked, disoriented. What the hell--

  My eyes went wide. I was in the Russian's bed! And everything from the night before was a fog. I stifled a groan, swearing I would never drink again.

  I rose up on an elbow to look at him. He slept on his back, one brawny arm around me, the other over his head. I nearly whimpered. Un hombre magnifico.

  How would Maxim be with me this morning? Would he act like nothing unusual had happened? Be embarrassed that we'd been drinking and oversharing? That I'd seen his scars?

  What if he looked at me the way he had our first night, waking up to sneer, "You're still here?"

  I cautiously rose, finding a robe in the bathroom, then crept out of the bedroom suite. The housecleaner in me cringed at the mess in the sitting area. We'd hit this place like a hurricane.

  I scuffed to the kitchen and found orange juice. Guzzled. Then I took another full glass out by the pool.

  I drank it down too, then frowned at my empty glass. I'd thought I'd be a hundred times more hungover than this. Wasn't too much champagne supposed to mess a person up? I felt great. Maybe because we'd eaten?

  Or maybe I was still drunk?

  I shrugged, concerned with more pressing matters. Though my memories were foggy, my emotions were pinging clear. I was infatuated with Maksimilian Sevastyan.

  No, I hadn't wanted a relationship. But being with this sensual man in this romantic setting made me wonder what it'd be like to live with and love someone like the Russian.

  Seemed my heart wasn't bulletproof.

  Yet I'd also thought I'd loved Edward. Obviously, I was not to be trusted.

  I st
ared out over the ocean. A storm was rolling in, backlit by the rising sun. I hated storms.

  Was Edward even now in the city, watching this very sunrise? I exhaled a gust of breath, memories of that last night with him overrunning my thoughts.

  Gun in hand and rosary around my neck, I'd reached for our bedroom door, prepared to brazen my way into some answers--I had to know what was in the case. When I entered, my husband was screwing Julia, more impassioned than he'd ever been with me. . . .

  "So I'll be dead by the holidays, cabron?"

  He jerked out of her, scrambling from the bed to his feet, his dick bouncing. "Ana-Lucia! I can explain everything!" His accent shifted from British to Southern mid-sentence. He pulled on his pants, and I let him. "Please, calm down! And for goodness' sake, put the pistol away."

  Lightning flared, matching my mood. I finally understood the phrase "seeing red." I pointed my gun at the woman frozen on the bed. "Who the hell is she?"

  Edward raised his palms. "Talk to me." He didn't like my attention on Julia? "She's an old friend who was passing through town." His blond brows drew together as he gazed longingly at me. "This didn't mean anything. I just missed you so much, darling--I was momentarily weak. I was so stupid. But we can work this out. You are the one that I love."

  He was good.

  Julia stood, wrapping a sheet around herself. She was tall and slender, with long sandy brown hair and porcelain skin. "May I get my clothes?"

  Lightning flashed again. "No. You move closer to him. NOW, bitch." I waved the gun, and she hurried to his side. Even in this situation, they somehow looked dignified together, a sterling couple.

  I turned to Edward. "If you lie to me again, I will shoot you in your scrawny dick. How did you kill my mother?"

  "What are you talking about! Have you lost your mind?" His green eyes appeared stunned, as if I'd sprung this information on him--out of nowhere. "Your mother died of natural causes. You know that."

  How could he be so believable? For the tiniest instant, I thought to myself, Well, I did know that. I shook my head. "Natural causes? Weren't you going to make my death look natural?"

  Edward was aghast. "You're accusing me of murder? When I've never raised a hand to you? I've never even raised my voice. Everyone knows how much I adore you. All our friends talk about my devotion."

  In other words, if I cried, "Murder plot!" no one would believe me. "What's in the case in that safety-deposit box?"