by H L Day
He sounded as if he almost felt sorry for them. But then I guessed that after years of attending the parties, he'd had to find his peace with them somehow. I was still confused about Dmitry though. "If he's never been interested in you in that way, I don't get why he's so determined to..."
"Control me? Even though I would not join Bratva?"
I nodded.
Valentin cocked his head to the side. "I have thought about the same thing numerous times. The best explanation that I can come up with is this..." He stubbed the cigarette out and I moved the packet farther away from him before he could reach for a fourth. He raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. "He has a car back in Russia. I do not know what brand it is. Cars are not my thing, but it is one of a kind. He doesn't drive it. He won't sell it. It just sits there, and it is his, and everyone knows that it is his and they cannot have it. I am like that car, a one-of-a-kind possession."
A smile hovered on his lips, and I wondered what he could possibly find amusing about the fact he'd basically admitted that Dmitry owned him. "But he's let you go now."
His gaze swung toward me. "Has he?"
My brow furrowed. "He told you that in front of everyone. He said you were of no use to him anymore."
Valentin sighed. "Dmitry is a volatile man. He says one thing, and then an hour later, he says something different entirely. Which means me being here puts you in danger."
"I don't care!" It was true. I didn't. In my eyes, the risk was worth it. "And don't go saying something stupid like you'll leave. You're staying. And that's not up for debate." I reached across, grabbing his hand and refusing to let go, even when he looked at me like I was forcing an act of depravity on him. "And you'll bloody hold my hand as well."
"Is this another thing you're obsessed with?"
I pushed him over, making room so that I could join him on the bed. "I told you. I'm obsessed with you. That means your hands, your lips, your"—I struggled to recall the right word—"Khu il?"
He shot a disgusted look my way. "Khui."
I grinned, glad that I could lighten the mood somewhat after Valentin baring his soul. Talking about his parents couldn't have been easy. "Sorry. My Russian teacher is severely lacking."
He rounded on me. "Darling, I am not severely lacking in anything."
I tilted my chin. "Kiss me then. Prove it."
He affected a bored look. "Must I?"
I slid my hand down, smoothing it over his crotch, ready to back off at a moment's notice if it was too soon after such a harrowing conversation. He parted his thighs, giving me better access, and initiated the kiss.
Chapter Twelve
Valentin
"Come and look at this." I angled Max's laptop toward him and waited until he'd obediently ambled over before pressing play. The YouTube video started, and the version of me on screen began to dance. It was one of my best performances from just before the problem with my ankle had started. I'd danced my heart out, knowing that it was my audition for the starring role in London. Dmitry may have had a lot of financial pull, but I'd still had to back it up with a performance to match.
Max's hand shot out, and he pressed pause. "Let me check what I'm expected to do here. I'm meant to watch this and tell you how beautiful your dancing is and how talented you are. Do you require me to get my cock out and jack off while I'm watching as well?"
I laughed. I couldn't remember there being anyone since my parents who'd been able to make me laugh as much as Max did. "The first two definitely. A diva requires adoration. The latter won't be necessary." I affected a slight look of confusion. "Unless that's what you were used to doing in the sound booth. I always thought it was drool on the glass. Now I'm not so sure."
Max made a halfhearted swat at my head which I avoided easily. The mood had lightened considerably since I'd told him about my past and where Dmitry fit into it. Which was stupid really. He should have been throwing me out onto the street and putting as much distance between the two of us as he possibly could. But I guessed there was something about a mutual baring of souls that brought two people closer together, particularly when neither was used to doing it. I'd had no one to tell, and Max, well, he'd been hiding under the misapprehension of it being his fault. "Just say if you do not want to watch it."
Max rolled his eyes and pressed play again. While he watched the video, I watched him, noting the flush on his cheeks. "Does it turn you on when I dance?"
He didn't take his eyes away from the screen. "You know it does. Even from the first time I saw you onstage, I wanted you."
I hooked my good leg around his calf and used it to pull him closer. My seated position brought his crotch into perfect alignment with my mouth. I paused the video so that his gaze returned to me and then deliberately licked my lips. I hadn't blown him since the hotel room. I was looking forward to getting reacquainted with the taste of his cock. His hand dropped to my hair, and he groaned. "You know I have to go out. I have to meet Noel."
I traced the line of his cock through his trousers. "Or you could forget all about that, and come in my mouth instead."
The firm length under my hand gave a decided twitch. I stroked it harder. I wanted to blow him, but even more than that, I didn't want him to leave. Everything was good between us. Him leaving meant a chance that the status quo could be disrupted in some way. I moved my hand to his zipper, getting it halfway down before his hand grabbed my wrist. "Val, stop trying to manipulate me into not meeting Noel."
I stared at him aghast. Not because he'd accused me of trying to manipulate him, that part was true, but because he'd shortened my name. "What did you call me? Val! I am not a middle-aged woman with four children who works in a supermarket."
Max's lips twitched with amusement as he pulled his zipper back up, my hand falling from his crotch. "I do apologize for my overfamiliarity there, Mr. Bychkov. I have a horrible habit of mistaking someone's hand on my cock as breaking through the intimacy barriers." He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on my lips, taking away any opportunity to respond. "When I get back, you can blow me to your heart's content, and I will most definitely come in your mouth if that's what you want."
I gave it one last try as he grabbed his jacket. "Stay."
He turned back, a look of regret on his face. "I'm only going to be gone about half an hour. An hour at most, depending on what it is that Noel needs to talk about, and it's just down the road. Lock the door after I've gone, and if anyone knocks, don't answer it. It won't be anyone important anyway. If it makes you feel better, draw the curtains so it looks as if there's no one in. And don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
It was pointless arguing with him. He was right about the fact that we couldn't stay locked up together forever, but I would have been more than happy to put it off for one more day. I reminded myself that he'd left the previous day and had come back completely unscathed. "Bring me cigarettes."
Max pulled a face. "Sure. Because I love kissing an ashtray."
I folded my arms. "Don't kiss me then." He knew I was only joking. Once that dam had broken, it had broken spectacularly.
"Or"—Max lifted a finger, his eyes crinkling as he smiled—"I find something to offer you instead of the cigarettes. It worked for you with the beer."
It had. He hadn't touched a drop since, but I suspected that was more about the fact that I'd been constantly distracting him than anything else. That, and probably the relief of finally getting things off his chest. "Your ass maybe."
His eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Oh! You never said... you didn't... I didn't know."
I let him flounder around for a good thirty seconds. "You never asked."
I sauntered over to him—or as much as I could saunter when one of my feet was encased in a huge, spongy boot—never taking my eyes away from his face.
"Do you... Max?"
He swallowed. "Do I what?"
"Bottom?"
His tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip. "Not since..."
I nodded, n
ot needing him to say the name out loud. "About time we changed that then."
"Okay." He backed toward the front door, almost falling over a table in his inability to look where he was going. He let himself out, my laughter no doubt still ringing in his ears.
And then I was alone.
I spent a few minutes wandering aimlessly from room to room, picking things up and then putting them down again. I paused by the bedroom window, but there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen: no strange cars, nobody watching the house. Nothing.
I found myself back in front of the laptop, starting the video up from where it had left off. But without being able to watch the lustful expression on Max's face, it was
depressing, a reminder of what I couldn't do and wouldn't be able to do again for the foreseeable future. I clicked on the cross in the corner to close down YouTube and checked my watch. Max had only been gone for ten minutes. Going by what he'd said earlier, he would only just have reached the café where he was meeting his friend.
Even if it was a short conversation, there was no way he'd be back for at least another thirty minutes. My hand hovered over the mouse, the temptation to do something I'd wanted to do ever since Max had told me about his past growing stronger. I wanted to Google search his sleaze of an ex-boyfriend, had even managed to get his surname out of Max for that exact reason, but with Max always around, there hadn't been the chance to put the plan into action. I had a sneaking suspicion of what I might find, but there was only one way to find out.
I typed in his name, hoping I'd spelled it right and pressed search. I skimmed through lots of useless information: people with the same name who obviously weren't him, and then my eyes were drawn toward a news story from a few years ago. "Tutor jailed for six years for molesting fifteen-year-old boy."
Knowing I'd been right didn't make it any easier to stomach and gave me one hell of a quandary. If I told Max, would it make it easier? Make him feel less of an idiot for being taken in by him? Or would it only make it worse? Would he wallow in guilt, knowing that if he'd spoken up, he might have been able to stop the pattern from reoccurring? I chewed on the dilemma, trying to grapple with the unusual situation of actually caring.
It was incredible to think that what should have been a quick fuck against the wall in my dressing room had blossomed into so much more, in the space of a few weeks. For the first time ever, I could picture a future where I wasn't alone. Where I'd have someone to share the good times with as well as the bad. Where I'd have someone on my side, fighting in my corner.
It couldn't happen though, right? Unless...
I closed my eyes and pictured Dmitry's face, the way he'd looked at me as I lay on that stage, the disgust in his face at the pathetic sight I'd become. He'd certainly given every impression that he never wanted to see me again. What if he'd actually meant what he'd said? What if he no longer had the remotest interest in me? That would mean I was free.
A surge of optimism hit. It had been four days since I'd collapsed onstage, and there'd been nothing. I knew Dmitry. I knew that had he wanted to, he could have snapped his fingers and gotten hold of Max's address in the space of a few seconds. So there were only three possible explanations. He didn't think that I was with Max. That seemed unlikely, especially given the fact that Max hadn't returned to the theater. It didn't take a genius to work out that that wasn't a coincidence. The second was that he didn't care, and I wished with all my heart for that to be the case. Or... the third was that he was simply biding his time and expecting me to crawl back to him.
My heart sank. The latter sounded like the Dmitry I knew. But he wasn't a patient man. How long would he actually wait for that scenario to happen without taking action? And what form would that action take?
Chapter Thirteen
Max
It took a few seconds to spot Noel as I surveyed the café. It wasn't that the place was huge. Far from it. It was just that he'd tucked himself away in the farthest corner of it. I grabbed a coffee before joining him at the table, his head shooting up and his hand knocking over the salt shaker, the lid flying off. He swore as he didn't manage to right it in time and a cascade of salt poured out onto the table. I grinned at his failed attempts to clean it up with a napkin. "A bit jumpy, mate, aren't you?"
He gave up on the pile of salt, settling for throwing a napkin over the mess to hide it. "Why would I be jumpy? I'm not jumpy."
I held my hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. "Whoa! Don't jump down my throat. It was only an observation. Nothing more. I'll retract it if it bothers you that much."
Noel ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I'm just... it doesn't matter. It's been a stressful few days. What with you disappearing and leaving us without a sound engineer just before the show and other stuff at the theater?"
"I didn't disappear. I rang Yakov and told him my reasons for leaving. I decided that circumstances meant that it was better I didn't go back."
"I got you that job."
I sighed. "I know and I'm grateful. I really am. It was just that, you know, things happened that I never expected to."
Noel's look turned accusatory. "You mean like screwing the star dancer? I told you to stay away from him. I told you that going anywhere near him would cause nothing but trouble."
I took a sip of my coffee while I fought to keep my temper under control. I needed to remember that Noel knew absolutely nothing about Valentin's circumstances. He only saw the rich, privileged dancer who had the world at his feet. Therefore, there was absolutely no point getting riled on his behalf.
"He must be pretty good in bed, that's all I can say... for you of all people to get sucked into this."
I gave him a steely stare. "You're overstepping, Noel. You've managed to insult both me and Valentin all in one breath. I thought we were friends."
"Sorry. I'm struggling to understand what's going on here. Where is he anyway? Is he with you?"
I sat back in my seat, not liking the direction the conversation was taking. I'd assumed that there was something amiss in Noel's personal life. But all he seemed to want to talk about were my actions and Valentin's whereabouts. "Why?"
He shrugged. "Just curious. Everyone at the theater saw him leave with you, and then no one seems to know where he is. There's been a lot of gossip." He smiled but seemed unable to look me in the eye, his gaze hovering somewhere over my right shoulder. "It doesn't seem like too much of a stretch to assume that he's with you or that you know where he is."
Alarm bells started to ring. I glanced around the café, checking for anyone in the vicinity who looked suspicious or seemed to be eavesdropping. But the only two people close to us was a mum with her young daughter, and she looked far too stressed to be carrying out any kind of covert surveillance. Besides, I doubted that even Bratva stooped to that level of subterfuge. But something didn't add up. When you put Noel's jumpiness together with the questions he was asking, it definitely added up to a conclusion I didn't like.
I looked Noel straight in the eye and lied. I didn't take pleasure in it, but it felt necessary. "I took Valentin to the hospital. Where he went after that, I have no idea. He's probably got friends in London. You know... other dancers." I affected a shrug. "Hopefully, he's okay."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Anyway... you said you needed to talk to me about something important. What is it? Money problems? Girlfriend trouble? Is Laurie giving you grief again?"
When Noel only stared at me blankly, I knew I wasn't being paranoid. I'd been stupid to come, and I'd been even more stupid to leave Valentin alone in the house. I drained my coffee before getting to my feet. "Nice seeing you, Noel. But I've got to get back. I've just remembered something I need to do."
I was halfway to the door when he called my name. I turned back, surprised by the conflicted expression he wore. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I'll see you soon."
I hurried out onto the street, terrible thoughts going through my head, making me pau
se for a moment and take stock of my surroundings, in particular the parked cars outside the café. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. I turned and headed for home, wondering whether I should get Valentin his cigarettes or not. I smiled as I imagined the diva strop he'd probably pull if I arrived home empty-handed. Chances were, he'd send me straight back out again. But I wanted to get there and see with my own eyes that nothing had happened to him.
I was still smiling when a car with blacked-out windows pulled up alongside me and two men I'd never seen before climbed out. One of the men inclined his head toward the back of the car where the door still stood ajar. "Get in the car." No Russian accent this time, a Cockney one instead. But that didn't mean anything. He must have been able to tell from my face that I was giving serious consideration to running because he shifted his jacket to one side, just enough for me to be able to catch a glimpse of the gun he carried. "Don't make a scene."
Sheer panic caused my brain to go into meltdown. If I got in the car, then I was allowing myself to be trapped in there with them, completely at their mercy. But if I didn't, then what would they do? They wouldn't shoot me in broad daylight, out on the street where anyone could see. Surely. But then, was I really prepared to test that theory?
I was stuck between a rock and a hard place with no viable solution. Despite at least one of them not being Russian, they were obviously Dmitry's men. But where was he? And where were Igor and Mikhail? For all their bulk, at least they'd appeared to have a reasonable streak. Like when they'd stepped aside to let Valentin and me leave the theater. The vibe I was getting from these two was much more calculated and malicious.
I looked around, hoping for some sort of salvation. Maybe a police car parked close by or someone taking an interest in what was happening. There was nothing and nobody; I was on my own. One of the men leaned in close enough to speak directly into my ear. "I'm losing patience. Get in the car." He gripped my elbow, steering me inexorably toward it. I struggled, wishing I'd made the decision to run when I'd still had the chance, my feet dragging along the pavement. But he was stronger, his fingers bruising my arm as I was shoved headfirst into the back of the car, the leather seat squeaking as I sprawled across it. I just had time for the random thought to cross my mind that they wouldn't want to get blood on the expensive upholstery before the door was slammed shut behind me.
