Make You Mine

by Jackie Ashenden

  Because he certainly couldn’t have her now. That would be tantamount to dropping his guard and giving her the control, admitting she was a weakness. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to do that. He could control himself. People thought he had no restraint at all, but that wasn’t true. Just because he didn’t exercise it didn’t mean he didn’t have it.

  Whatever, Katya was going to have to stay firmly in the employee zone for the next week.

  Doesn’t mean you can’t play with her, though.…

  Alex splayed his hand on her hip, testing her. She didn’t tense, her body relaxed next to his. No, this wasn’t going to happen. He was not going to be the one this was difficult for, no way in fucking hell.

  He leaned in, his mouth near her ear. “Why don’t you go upstairs, darling? Freshen up. Have a nap. We’ve got a couple of hours before dinner.”

  She turned her head, pulling subtly away. “What about you?”

  The front doors of the club slammed as the last of their luggage was brought in. Marc had already gotten the Fourth Circle staff working with luggage carts to maneuver the suitcases into the elevators.

  “I’m going to do a small tour of the club,” Alex said. “Make sure everything is set up for tonight.”

  Katya gave him a narrow look. “There are no events planned for this evening.”

  He smiled. This was going to piss her off, but turnabout was fair play, wasn’t it? “There is now.”

  Her brows twitched together. “But according to the schedule—”

  “Fuck the schedule. There’s always a party when I arrive at the Fourth Circle.”

  Her mouth thinned in irritation. “You should have—”

  Alex let his hand move from her hip down across the curve of her butt and squeezed. Her eyes went wide, that delicious mouth clamping shut. And along with the usual satisfaction, more disturbingly, came the prick of guilt.

  “Prick” being the operative word.…

  Yeah, the butt squeeze was a dick move, but he loathed being on the back foot. Hated feeling out of control. Most especially when he was the one who was supposed to have the advantage. Most especially when he fucking needed the advantage.

  Monaco was Conrad’s territory, and if Alex wanted this mission to go the way he wanted it to he was going to need all the advantage he could get. And if that meant reminding one bodyguard of her place, then that’s what he’d do.

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he murmured, still smiling at her, not bothering to keep the harsh note of anger from his voice. “This is my club, sweetheart, and I don’t have to answer to you. So how about you get upstairs and leave me to do what I normally do.”

  A glint shone bright in her gaze for a second before her expression wiped clean. “Of course. I will assume you are safe here then.” Then she turned fully to him and put her hands on his shoulders, rising up on her toes to brush her mouth against his cheek. “I’ll see you upstairs,” she said in a louder tone. “Don’t keep me waiting.” Stepping back and away from him, she turned and walked over toward the elevator, her hips swaying, her walk more confident than it had been in the plane and yet just as sexy.

  Fuck. Every time he thought he’d one-upped her, she matched him with something unexpected.

  He tried to forget about her, sequestering himself in the office with Marc for an hour or so to go over the club’s figures.

  It was performing well, the latest overhaul and redesign having done wonders for patron numbers. Alex had had the whole club redecorated about six months earlier, giving the place a Victorian brothel/opium den feel that involved lots of dim lights and wall sconces, rich, dark wallpaper, and gauzy hangings. The seating, couches and armchairs, re-covered in deep red velvet while the low tables, in a dark wood, were slightly more Eastern in influence.

  The new look had been a hit according to Marc and certainly the numbers reflected that.

  Normally studying successful figures and working out how he could make them even more successful was something Alex enjoyed, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate on them right now, that deep unease he couldn’t seem to shake settling down into his bones.

  Perhaps it was the jet lag–he didn’t recover from it as well as he used to.

  It’s not the jet lag and you know it.

  The Fourth Circle’s office had nice views over Monte Carlo Bay from its position overlooking Port Hercule, and it was a beautiful winter day, the glittering blue of the Med in contrast to the white sails of the moored superyachts. A nice change from New York’s icy gray streets.

  But he didn’t see the view, because of course it wasn’t the jet lag that was making him feel that way. He’d been in Monaco before and hadn’t felt this uneasy.

  Admittedly, he’d never gone out of his way to confront Conrad before, at least not the way he was intent on doing now. And naturally enough, delving into all that old shit again, turning up all those old memories, was always going to be difficult. But he could cope, right? It didn’t matter anymore, after all.

  He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Katya about the Fourth Circle party. An impromptu party was just the thing to announce his arrival, a show of strength and confidence. Plus it had the added advantage of screwing with Conrad, who wouldn’t be expecting him. It would keep the guy guessing as to why Alex was in Monte Carlo and what his intentions were.

  Unless Conrad didn’t give a shit. But Alex was betting he did. And he certainly would once he found out that Alex was a player in his precious game.

  “Marc,” Alex said, turning from the window. “I’m feeling in a party mood. Get the word out I’m throwing a welcome back to Monte Carlo party, but make it an open secret so we have lots of hopefuls turning up at the doors. I want free glasses of champagne to welcome everyone and free cocktails to those most outrageously dressed. Staff need to be fully costumed up and I want Katie-Lee to do her show tonight. You know, the one with the ribbons.”

  Restlessly he moved from the window over to the opposite side of the office. The whole wall was privacy glass, giving him a prime view of the interior of the main bar.

  “Sure.” Marc made a few notes on the tablet computer he held in his hand. “Anything else?”

  Alex gazed moodily out through the glass. Several bar staff were already out there, getting things ready for the evening. He imagined the place full of people talking and laughing, drinking and having fun. Katie doing her burlesque act. Music filling any spare spaces in the silence. He’d sit in the VIP area–a series of couches on a stage set above the rest of the bar–greeting people he knew, making sure everyone was aware he was back in town. Katya would sit with him and he’d make a big thing of her as his new lover.

  And then, once the show was over and done with, he’d go off and find himself something to dull the unease, make him feel in control again. A woman, maybe. He’d have to keep it on the down-low since Katya was supposed to be his lover, but sex usually did the trick and didn’t leave him with as bad a hangover as booze. He wasn’t as young as he used to be after all.

  “No,” he said, staring into the empty bar. “I think that’s it for now.”

  As Marc went out of the room to get the organization started, Alex’s phone buzzed. Getting it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen. Another damn text from Zac.

  Any new information?

  Christ, he’d only just gotten here; what did the guy expect?

  No, Alex texted back. I’ve only just arrived so I decided to throw a party.

  Which would wind Zac up no end. Then again, the guy was so anal, he practically deserved it.

  Almost instantly Alex’s phone rang with a call. But not from Zac.

  Alex pressed the button, answering it. “This is about the party isn’t it?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Eva sounded incensed. “Your stepfather is in the hospital, in a coma. Gabriel and Honor are in hiding in case some bastard comes gunning for Honor. And you’re throwing a fucking party?”

  Anger rose in
side him, but he fought it down because Eva had no idea what he was dealing with here, the demons he had to wrestle. The fact that in two days’ time he was going to have to face the man who’d hurt him. Who’d held his head down over a shitty bathroom vanity and jerked his jeans and underwear down. Who’d forced himself inside Alex while he’d cried at the pain. At the humiliation. Wept fucking tears that had been still on his cheeks when the prick had finished, evidence of his weakness.

  And afterwards kept quiet so the father he’d adored would never know what a victim his son had turned out to be. So no one ever knew.

  Including Eva King.

  “Relax,” he said, his voice soothing while inside he felt anything but. “There’s a private cocktail party in a couple of days for Apocalypse players to meet each other and to scope out the venue. I could go check it out tonight, but visiting any earlier would look strange and possibly indicate a lack of confidence. This is all about power plays, Eva, and those I’m very good at indeed.”

  There was a grumpy silence down the other end of the line. Then she said, “This is important, Alex. It’s important to me.”

  He almost said it, almost asked why. But he didn’t. Because maybe it would confirm what he suspected, that he and Eva shared a common experience. And he didn’t want to know that if so, especially when it wasn’t the kind of experience you wanted to share with anyone at all, let alone a friend.

  So all he said was, “Trust me, Eva.”

  There was more silence. A difficult one this time, and he found himself tensing, preparing for confidences he didn’t want to hear.

  But like he hadn’t asked the question, she didn’t offer anything more other than, “Wonderful. I guess I have no choice.” Then she ended the call without another word.

  * * *

  Katya woke with a start and lay there blinking up at a very red-looking ceiling, taking a couple of seconds to orient herself. Which was a couple of seconds more than normal.

  Damn jetlag.

  Slowly, she sat up, then swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor, allowing herself another look around the room to make sure everything was as she’d left it.

  The décor was so overblown she hadn’t at first known what to make of it. The walls were papered with some kind of Chinese-style pattern in red and gold, the floorboards polished wood and scattered with brightly colored silk Persian rugs. And taking up center stage in the middle of the room was a massive, intricately carved four-poster bed hung with red silk curtains. The quilt on the bed was almost the same color, patterned with gold, the sheets beneath black silk.

  It was clearly a room designed for seduction. And that wasn’t even taking into account the bathroom, with its huge circular sunken copper bath, big enough for at least five people, and shower obviously designed for a football team.

  This was supposed to be Alex’s personal apartment and the contrast between this and his penthouse in New York couldn’t be more pronounced. In New York there were massive windows, light, and clean lines. Here was sensual opulence, self-indulgence, and excess.

  She didn’t like it, preferring simplicity and practicality. But then that was Alex St. James’s creed: everything in moderation except moderation.

  The General, brought up in Soviet Russia, would have been appalled.

  Sliding off the bed, Katya glanced down at her watch. Looked like her short nap to catch up on missed sleep had lasted for much longer than she’d intended–she’d slept a whole three hours.

  The sound of the shower came from the bathroom and for a second every sense she possessed went still, listening. Poised to deal with any unexpected intruders.

  And then her brain caught up.

  Alex must have come back to the apartment. Which meant he’d returned while she’d been asleep.

  Unease shifted inside her. She didn’t normally sleep so heavily and had trained herself to wake up at the slightest sound. Yet he’d come in and gone through into the bathroom without waking her.

  She took a breath, forcing aside the feeling. She had more practical things to think about anyway, such as getting a proper briefing from her more irritating by the moment boss.

  He’d steadfastly refused to talk to her the rest of the flight from New York, involving himself with paperwork that he ostentatiously spread all over the table. She didn’t know why that was, only that it must have had something to do with her little power play and that he wasn’t happy about it. Strange when her proving she could play the part he’d asked her to was supposed to be the whole point.

  And then there’d been that instance downstairs as they’d arrived, when he’d been quite clearly angry with her for questioning his schedule.

  She couldn’t work that out either. The squeeze to her buttock had been unexpected and unwarranted. But she’d seen the glint in his eyes as he’d delivered it. He was putting her in her place, no question.

  Because you got to him.

  Katya looked toward the bathroom. The sound of the shower had ceased.

  Had she? And, if so, in what way?

  She frowned, disturbed by how satisfying she found that thought. And by how much she wanted to do it again. Which was complete madness. This wasn’t about her. This was about the mission.

  The door to the bathroom opened abruptly and Alex strode out, his black hair still wet, curls of it sticking to his neck. All he wore was a towel.

  Katya felt something inside her sit up and take notice, wanting to watch him. Odd. She’d seen him shirtless many times before. Yet … she couldn’t seem to stop herself from noting the hard-cut muscle of his torso and the way the water drops on his skin only seemed to highlight the intriguing dips and hollows of his chest and abs.

  Her fingers itched, as she remembered the softness of his mouth and roughness of stubble.…

  No. He was an impressive physical specimen, it was true, but that was all.

  He didn’t say a word to her, stopping in front of the closet where the Fourth Circle staff had put away all her and Alex’s clothing earlier in a flurry of activity. The doors of the closet were the same red and gold Chinese silk as the walls, and when he pulled them open she saw the insides of the doors were mirrored.

  Had he even seen her? Did he know she was awake?

  She opened her mouth to speak only to have the words die in her throat as he dropped his towel.

  “Good morning,” he said casually, not turning around. “Or should I say good evening. Did you have a good nap? By the way, you have the cutest little snores when you’re asleep.”

  Katya frowned. She’d seen plenty of naked men before, both during her training and afterwards. The sight had never affected her in any way and didn’t do so now. So what was with the towel drop? He was always calculating in his actions, which meant he was trying to do something. Prove a point. But what was it? Was he trying to embarrass her perhaps?

  Folding her arms, Katya let her gaze drift down his bare back, watching the graceful play of his deltoids as he reached for a drawer inside the closet, taking out a pair of black boxers. Letting herself look lower still, over his narrow hips and muscular buttocks, long, lean thighs—

  Are you sure it doesn’t affect you?

  “Something I can help you with?”

  Her head came up with a jerk, his intense blue gaze meeting hers in the mirror.

  And, oh God, she could feel heat rising to her skin. A blush. How.… strange. And, even stranger, the fact that he’d caught her watching him made her want to look away. She didn’t, though. To do so would betray the fact that his nakedness had affected her, and it hadn’t.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. Yes, as she thought. This was another of his games.

  “No, sir,” she said coolly. “I’m merely observing the fact that your exercise regime must be fairly intense.”

  “Yes, it is.” He made no effort to put on his underwear, merely standing there, studying her in the mirror. “You’re a little flushed, darling. What’s the matter?”

  “Not
hing’s the matter.” She lifted her chin. “I was hoping for that briefing.”

  “Ah yes, that.” Without any hurry at all, he stepped into his boxers and pulled them up, then reached for a hanger that held a tuxedo jacket and a pair of black pants. “It’ll have to wait until after this party tonight.”

  Frustration edged out the heat in her cheeks and the itch in her fingers. “I’m going to have to insist. How can I be expected to perform my duties adequately without the proper information?”

  “Oh, you’re going to have to insist, are you?” He pulled on the pants, tugging up the zipper and buttoning them, then reaching to pull a plain white shirt off another hanger. Turning, he faced her, shrugging on the shirt but not doing it up, his chest bare. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten you’re employed by me? Perhaps you need a reminder?”

  She could hear the edge in his voice. So he was angry. Still. “Have I done something to offend you?” she asked bluntly.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You seem … angry. And you’re standing around…”—she gestured at him—“… naked–at least more naked than usual. Also, downstairs earlier you pinched me.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m merely standing around naked because we need to be comfortable in each other’s presence. And I pinched you earlier because we were in the foyer of my club and you were arguing with me about schedules. I had to do something to remind you of your place. In fact, you’re damn lucky I didn’t call that a mistake and demand my forfeit.” His voice was smooth, the edge gone.

  “I was careful. No one heard me ask.”

  “Nevertheless. My lovers don’t concern themselves with my schedule, so don’t mention it in public again. Now.” He turned back to the closet. “My party will be well under way soon and we need to make an entrance. So why don’t you go change into something a little less comfortable.”

  So, not even an hour into this and she’d made yet another mistake. God, who knew that acting a part that appeared to be so simple, would turn out to be so difficult? For the success of this mission, she was going to have to do better.