She made herself up a bed on the long black velvet couch in the lounge area, changing out of her green dress and into a tank top and shorts to sleep in.
But even after she’d turned the lights off and settled down to sleep, she couldn’t seem to relax.
Because regardless of how many times she told herself she wasn’t interested, that her job was more important, that he was a client, her body had woken up and it was hungry.
It wanted Alex.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Four Horsemen was in an old, historic building near Monte Carlo’s famous casino. There was a piazza out front full of expensive sports cars, glossy limousines, and parking valets ready to do their jobs.
The car Marc had organized for them drew up to the wide, sweeping steps of the building. On the lintel overhead, the stone figures of War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death rode into battle, swords held aloft.
Alex didn’t look up, but he felt like one of them all the same. Except he didn’t have a sword. Or a horse. His only armor his confidence. His success. And the strength he made sure he projected.
It was all a sham, every single iota of it. But that had never stopped him before and it didn’t stop him now.
He hadn’t seen Conrad South in nineteen years, yet Alex wasn’t sixteen anymore. The kid who’d been brought into the casino by his father to watch for card counters had been fourteen, in his first year at high school, his head full of the bright future that lay ahead of him. Whether to be a lawyer like his dad or to follow his true passion and study math.
And then his father had told him about his other life. About a mysterious place where people played games of chance, where fortunes were lost and won. Where people cheated and where Alex’s brilliant memory and affinity with numbers were needed to stop it.
He’d been so thrilled to be asked. To be trusted with his father’s big secret. To be drawn into this fascinating other world. It had been like being sworn into a special club, and Alex would have done anything to stay a part of it. To prove to his dad that the trust he’d given his son wasn’t misplaced.
And as it turned out, you did do anything.
Yeah, he had, his body payment for the debts his father had incurred while running his fabulous casino. Debts Conrad had paid out of his own money and subsequently demanded recompense for.
“Your father won’t know,” Conrad had whispered to Alex in that cold, echoing bathroom. “It’ll be our little secret. You’re doing a good thing, son. You’re helping him. Remember that.”
Oh, Alex had remembered it all right. That had been what he’d clung to in the aftermath.
Until his father had killed himself and Alex had had nothing to cling to anymore.
But no, he wasn’t thinking about that now. Those minutes in the men’s bathrooms of the Lucky Seven casino were only a dim memory. A memory that had no meaning. That didn’t touch him.
The car door slammed and he turned on the step, his breath fogging in the cold night air. Katya was coming toward him, a shimmering vision in the golden gown he’d insisted she wear tonight.
And he realized he was wrong. He did have a sword. And she was it. Tall, straight, and gleaming in the dark. Deadly and beautiful, her edges hidden by the scabbard–that gown.
He’d made her wear her hair loose and it hung in a golden fall over her shoulders and down her back, bright as a newly minted coin. She wore a wrap around her shoulders, but he knew they were bare beneath it, the gown clinging to her figure like a slick of molten gold. She wore no jewelry; she didn’t need to. With her pale skin, glossy hair, and green eyes, she didn’t need gems to sparkle.
He watched her as she came toward him and he felt his cock get hard at the sight.
Two days since that moment in his office, when he’d turned her in his arms and yanked her dress up, pushed her back on the desk. He should never have done it, but it was true that he didn’t bring a woman into his office to talk. And if he’d been spotted merely talking to Katya then the gossip would have been rife. Better not to draw attention to her by implying that she was special in some way.
At least that was his story and he was sticking to it.
Yet as she’d lain on her back on the desk, her eyes wide, the wet heat of her pussy pressed against his dick, he’d gotten so hard so quickly that he’d forgotten how to breathe.
He’d never felt a desire like it, not even when she’d stood before him naked upstairs in their bedroom. Pure as a gas flame and twice as hot, it had become even more intense when he’d seen it reflected back at him from the depths of her eyes.
She’d wanted him too.
But, struggling against every instinct he had, he’d held back. There were his ostensible reasons–the “she is my employee and I can’t cross the line” bullshit. But there were also deeper, more personal reasons.
What was between them felt too raw, too wild. Too intense. He wanted her too much, an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation. One that felt like a weakness he shouldn’t have. And though she might eventually have surrendered the control to him in the way he required from his partners, raw passion was not what he wanted. He preferred easy and manageable. Even forgettable. In fact, forgettable sex was the best kind there was because it demanded nothing of him and took nothing in return.
It would not be forgettable with Kaya. So he’d pushed himself away from her and for the past two days he’d busied himself with the day-to-day running of the Nine Circles chain, filling his head up with what he did best: numbers, sales figures, and percentages. And a few online poker games to get his head into the right space.
There had been e-mails from Zac, a few texts from Eva. A phone call from Gabriel and a single text from Honor. But Alex had ignored all of them.
They were all distractions and distractions were the last thing he could afford.
Alex held out his arm and Katya linked hers through his. The scent of oranges wound around him, cutting through the bite of snow in the air.
No, he wasn’t going to look to see if she was wearing underwear beneath that gown. Or ask her what she’d been doing with herself the past couple of days he’d been ensconced in his office.
She was only his employee and he didn’t need to know those things. What he needed was to stick to the line he’d always drawn and not cross it.
As they walked up the steps, he could feel her gaze on him, studying him.
In his office he’d given her a glimpse as to what they were walking into, the barest of bare bones. But he hadn’t been able to tell her the whole of it. And he wouldn’t. That kind of truth was one he doled out rarely and only when no one was likely to notice.
Fuck, he’d already given it to Eva not a week earlier. He couldn’t bring himself to do it again and certainly not to Katya. All she needed to understand was that Conrad was the enemy. That was it.
As she and Alex approached the entrance, he found he’d tugged her close, as if he could absorb some of her strength the way he was absorbing the scent of her skin and hair. He should have put some distance between them, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so.
A man in a black uniform stood by the door, opening it as Alex and Katya approached, ushering them into the casino foyer. It was floored with white marble, the soaring ceiling supporting a massive chandelier that cast glittering light everywhere. A wide, sweeping staircase with a scrolling banister led to the upper floors while ahead of them was a big set of gilded double doors.
Another man waited beside the doors, not Conrad, thank Christ. He was dressed in the black uniform of the casino and he was smiling as they came closer. A smile that faded as he took in Alex.
Good. Although Conrad must know he was in Monaco, he certainly wouldn’t be expecting to see Alex walking in through the front doors of his casino, still less as a player in his precious game, and that meant the element of surprise was still on Alex’s side.
“Mr. St. James,” the man said, inclining his head. “It’s an honor to see you here, but this is a private—”
The man looked down, his expression wiping clean at the sight of the silver dice sitting in Alex’s palm.
The Apocalypse game was legendary in poker circles. Seven players only and only the best players at that. It had always been a given that Conrad, as the host, chose the players, but Alex was starting to suspect that wasn’t true. That all was not quite as it seemed. After all, Guy Tremain wasn’t a poker player. And that made it puzzling that he’d had a pair of Apocalypse dice in his possession.
Unless it wasn’t Conrad who chose the players and sent out those dice.
Alex studied the man’s face, but clearly Conrad had employed him for a reason, because Alex couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he glanced down at Alex’s palm. “Of course,” the man said expressionlessly. “Please, go on through. Mr. South will be there shortly.”
He stepped forward and opened the double doors, ushering Katya and Alex through into another room.
“He didn’t expect you,” Katya said quietly in Alex’s ear. “And neither does Mr. South, correct?”
“No.” Alex scanned around the room as the doors shut behind them. “Conrad would never have invited me, which means he doesn’t know I’m coming.”
The room looked like a reception room in a French palace. Polished parquet flooring gleamed, Persian silk rugs adding warmth. Delicate gilt couches and armchairs were arranged at intervals, with low tables between them. A massive fireplace was set in one wall, a fire burning in the grate, filling the room with warmth and a welcoming glow. Thick gold brocade curtains covered the windows, adding to the drama and richness of the décor.
A large number of other people were sitting on the various chairs or talking in groups. The men were in tuxedos, the women in glittering gowns. Waitstaff with trays moved between the groups, dispensing drinks and canapés. Music played, classical and refined.
Jesus, what pretentious bullshit all of this was.
Several people turned toward them as they moved into the room, and he could feel their gaze weighing him, sizing him up. Pricing him. He knew some of them–big players in the poker world–but not the others. Perhaps they were hangers-on or part of the players’ entourages.
Conrad wasn’t among them.
A deep, cold unease gripped Alex and he had to take a slow breath to fight it back down again. Disengaging his arm from Katya’s, he slid it around her waist instead, urging her closer, making it clear to the rest of the players in the room who she belonged to and what she was doing here.
As his fingers rested on her hip, he felt the smooth fabric of her gown. No fucking underwear.
And just like that his focus changed, shifted. From the sense of threat and challenge in the room, of other players measuring him, judging him, the way most games started, to the warmth of the woman next to him. To the feel of the firm muscle of her thigh and the knowledge that she was completely bare underneath all that molten gold fabric.
Holy fuck. When the game actually started he was going to have to get her to wear something else; otherwise he’d never be able to concentrate properly.
A waiter approached them with a tray full of champagne flutes. Alex waited until Katya had taken one, then took another for himself.
“Is Mr. South here?” she murmured as she took a sip.
“No. He’ll wait until everyone’s arrived and then he’ll come and greet us all in person.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve heard people talk about it. The Apocalypse is moderately famous in poker circles. Only the elite are invited.”
Down one end of the room was a bar, the light glittering off the mirrored glass wall behind it where all the bottles were stacked on shelves. Nearby a small nook had been created, partially shielded from the rest of the room by antique painted screens.
Liking the idea of a bit of privacy, Alex headed in that direction and was satisfied to discover that one of the armchairs faced the rest of the room, giving whoever was sitting in it a good view while at the same time remaining screened from curious glances.
“Who are all these people?” Katya asked as she sat down in the armchair next to him, placing her wine on the table while keeping a tight hold on the little gold clutch that he knew held her weapon. “Are they players too?”
“Some will be. There are only seven players in the Apocalypse. The other people here are either part of the players’ entourages or they’re friends of Conrad’s. The Apocalypse reception is quite a big deal in Monte Carlo and getting an invite is problematic.”
Katya lifted her wineglass, but he could see she wasn’t actually drinking, her sharp, green gaze scanning around the room. “That man over there by the fire is a mercenary,” she murmured. “Or at least, he was. And I suspect he is also carrying a weapon.”
Alex glanced over in the direction she’d indicated. A tall, massively built man stood alone by the fireplace, a small tumbler full of amber liquid in one hand. With his dark hair shorn close to his skull, a nose that had clearly been broken a number of times, and a scar twisting his mouth, he looked out of place. Like a convict escaped from prison rather than a wealthy poker player. He should have been in camo gear with ammunition belts slung over his shoulders and toting a machine gun rather than dressed in a tuxedo, sipping from a delicately cut crystal tumbler.
Alex leaned back in his armchair. “How do you know? He looks like one, I’ll give you that.”
“The tattoos on his hand.”
Alex narrowed his gaze, spotting black ink covering the man’s fingers. “And the weapon?”
“The line of his jacket gives it away.” She leaned back in her chair too, but Alex knew it wasn’t because she was relaxed. “Why would there be a mercenary here and why is he armed?”
Christ, he didn’t know. But he didn’t like it; that was for sure. He hadn’t heard of armed mercenaries at any of Conrad’s receptions. “Anyone else with weapons?”
Katya swept another slow glance over the room. “The waiter who served us had one. As to the rest … I’m not sure.” A familiar crease appeared between her brows. “I don’t like this.”
Alex didn’t much like it either, but there was little they could do about it short of leaving. And he couldn’t do that, at least not yet. “I haven’t heard of anyone getting shot at in an Apocalypse game,” he said lightly. “I hardly think I’ll be the first.”
She looked at him. “I can’t make that assumption. Assuming anything can end up being fatal.”
He raised a brow at her. “So what do you suggest we do?”
“We can leave.”
“I can’t. Displaying anything less than total confidence will undermine my position. That guy is probably there to psych people out anyway. Poker games are one big mind fuck, Katya mine; never forget that.”
Her mouth tightened, but she said nothing, her gaze once more going to the big man beside the fire. “I should have worn something else. I won’t be able to move as fast in this gown if something happens.”
At that moment a group of people down the other end of the room shifted, a man’s deep laugh drawing Alex’s attention.
Because he knew that laugh. Had heard it before.
The cold inside him settled, heavy as lead, dense as the space inside a black hole.
A woman in a pink gown moved and behind her he could see a man in a white dinner jacket. A familiar man.
It had been years since he’d seen Conrad South, but Alex would have known him anywhere. He’d aged but not badly, the only white in his black hair at his temples. He’d gotten a little more jowly and there were bags under his hazel eyes, but he was still handsome.
It didn’t seem fair. The fucker must be in his sixties now and yet he looked at least a decade younger. Perhaps he had a painting in the attic that showed his true age, his true nature. Or maybe the innocence he’d taken from his victims kept him young. Becau
se there had to be other victims surely? One sixteen-year-old boy would hardly be enough for a man like Conrad.
“Sir?”
Katya’s voice nearby, the question soft. And he realized that he had his champagne flute in a death grip and every single muscle in his body was coiled tight with instinctive loathing. With wild, helpless fury.
It’s not over. Even now.
His jaw felt brittle, his bones like they were made out of glass. As if one move would shatter him.
“Alex?”
The sound of his name in her soft, accented voice pulled him out of it. Tearing his attention from the man at the other end of the room, Alex met Katya’s steady gaze.
“It’s him isn’t it?” she asked. Because of course it was obvious by now what had made Alex freeze like that. What had brought his weakness bubbling back to the surface. “What did he do to you?”
The effort of will it took to pick up his glass, to sip at the liquid in it, was almost too much for him, but he forced himself to do it. To relax his tight muscles. To push away the memories of hard, white porcelain against his cheek. Of pain. Of blood in his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue to keep from screaming.
“That’s none of your business,” he said, not caring how it sounded. “Like I told you earlier, all you need to know is that he’s an enemy.”
She didn’t look away, continuing to study Alex. “If I knew what he did, I could protect you—”
“But you are never going to know that, Katya. So why don’t you be a good girl and shut the fuck up?”
The words were hard and cold, but he couldn’t seem to moderate his tone. Helpless fury burned in his veins, slowly rising, slowly building.
It still hurts. It still matters. You haven’t escaped what he did to you. You will never escape …
No. Fuck, no. He had escaped it. He’d buried that fifteen minutes where the stupid, innocent boy he’d once been was destroyed, suffocated it under so many other experiences he couldn’t even remember what had happened, still less feel it.
It didn’t affect him anymore. It didn’t matter. It just didn’t fucking matter.
Make You Mine Page 12
