The War King

by Jeana E. Mann

  “I don’t know. He seems sincere.” Her fork hovered in midair between bites of her chicken piccata. “But then again, I obviously can’t read him very well.”

  “He’s a mystery, that’s for sure.” I stared at the plate of pasta in front of me. From my perspective vision, I caught sight of Prince Heinrich staring unabashedly at Everly. “The prince—he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? I don’t think I’ve ever seen dimples that deep on a man.”

  “Who? Nicky?” A blush pinked her cheeks. Judging by the electric blue of her eyes and the way they followed Nicky across the room, she still had feelings for him.

  “No. Heinrich. He certainly seems taken with you.”

  “He’s okay, I guess, if you like the whole Scandinavian-slash-Viking thing.” She sighed. “Daddy hates him. The way he talks, you’d think the prince was the anti-Christ.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek, thinking of the polite way Heinrich had approached me at the Devil’s Playground NYC. He’d seemed genuine then, but now I had to wonder. My view of the world and everyone in it had jaded considerably. “I can only imagine what he has to say about Roman.”

  She motioned to the waiter for more wine. The gold liquid splashed into the goblet. She lifted the glass and stared into its depths. “Daddy’s never expressed an opinion of Roman in front of me. Although, he had a dozen questions about him after you came for dinner.”

  “Like what?” I sat up straighter and leaned forward.

  “I don’t know—random things, like had I seen the inside of his study, does he entertain a lot of Russian friends, does he take a lot of trips, who runs his security now that Ivan’s gone.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him I have no idea.” She folded her napkin and laid it next to her half-eaten plate.

  “Don’t you think those questions are kind of weird?”

  “Not really. He’s so competitive, especially with anyone as young and successful as Roman. He probably wants to update his security or something.” She waved a manicured hand through the air. “I try to ignore him.”

  The prince noticed my stare and smiled. I nodded and glanced away, embarrassed to have been caught watching him. “The prince saw you in the dungeon with Nicky at the Playground.”

  “No.” The color in her cheeks escalated from pink to scarlet. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh my gosh.” With a groan, she buried her face in her hands. “Shoot me now.”

  “Maybe he didn’t recognize you.” I tried to bolster my words with reassurance.

  She laughed, tossing her head back and revealing her straight white teeth. “With this hair?” She pointed to the shimmering locks. “Fat chance.”

  “Well, at least he signed an NDA.”

  “You know, the thing about those nondisclosure agreements is that everyone knows everyone else.” She bit her lower lip. “They probably sit around talking about us the way we talk about them.”

  “Please don’t say that.” My blood pressure rose a few points at the notion. “Most of the members are too high-profile to discuss the Playground with outsiders. And at least we don’t have to worry about leaks to the media.”

  “True.”

  We glanced in unison at the three men. From the scowls on their faces, the topic of conversation was less than pleasant. Mr. McElroy thumped a hand on the table, drawing Heinrich’s attention away from Everly. Nicky’s usual smirk had faded to a more serious light.

  “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” I asked.

  “From the little bits and pieces I’ve overhead, Daddy and the prince are bidding against each other for the same company or piece of property or something.” Her explanation didn’t account for Nicky’s presence.

  My phone vibrated with an incoming text from Roman. I glanced at the screen and lifted a finger. “Hold that thought.”

  Roman: I want you in my office on your knees in thirty minutes.

  I felt the blood rush into my cheeks as I tapped out a quick reply.

  Me: It’s a date.

  “That’s Roman. I need to go.” I signaled for the check. Although our lunch had been eventful, she hadn’t volunteered any useful information. Disappointment weighed down my mood. She’d had an entire hour to come clean about her dad but hadn’t offered up any insights into his affair with Lavender. I swallowed the hurt, pushed my chair back from the table, and gathered my purse. “Lunch is on me today.”

  She trotted after me. “Rourke, wait.” By the time I reached the door, she’d caught up to me. “What’s wrong? Have I done something?”

  Her question offered the perfect opportunity to confront her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. If she was truly my friend, if she truly cared, she would’ve confessed without prompting. I shook my head and gave her a sad smile. “You tell me. Is there something you’re keeping from me, Everly?”

  “No. Of course not.” Her demeanor chilled. The aura of warmth that usually surrounded us dissipated into the guarded distance of unfamiliar friends. She back away. “Have a great day. I’ll see you later.”

  Chapter 20

  Rourke

  On the ride to Roman’s office, my emotions swayed from hurt to anger and landed on sorrow. To lessen the pain of Everly’s betrayal, I focused my thoughts on the connection between McElroy, Nicky, and Prince Heinrich. Finding three of Roman’s most dangerous allies at lunch made the hairs lift on the back of my neck, and I was eager to hear his take on the situation.

  Behind his enormous desk, he looked devilish in a black suit, black shirt, and silver tie. He was on the phone, speaking into the Bluetooth earpiece, in rapid-fire Russian. His hair brushed the top of his collar, longer than usual, and he hadn’t shaved. The space between my legs pulsed at the sight of him.

  “Come in.” He motioned for me to approach.

  I ignored the seats across from his desk and went straight to his side, swiveled his chair to face me, and settled on his lap. With an index finger, he tapped his cheek. I pressed a kiss to the spot.

  The corners of his mouth turned up, but he didn’t miss a beat of his conversation.

  “I missed you,” I whispered and stroked his hair.

  He shook his head, placing a finger to his lips, warning me to stay silent. The stress and strain of the past few months had stolen a few pounds of weight from him, giving his features a fierce sharpness. The stubble of his beard scratched along my palms. Touching him awakened my desire. When I dotted kisses along his square jaw, he exhaled through his nose, as if summoning his self-control.

  Troublemaker, he mouthed.

  I winked then slipped from his lap to the floor, kneeling between his widespread knees. The blue of his eyes darkened to black as I slid my hands up his thighs, unfastened his belt, and lowered the zipper of his trousers. When I freed his cock from the opening of his silk boxers, its hard length pulsed against my hand. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip. I liked the way he watched me, knowing he was speaking with someone on the other side of the world. The liquid consonants and harsh Russian speech made my blood sing.

  One of his large hands reached down to caress my face. I circled my tongue around the crown of his dick. He tasted of salt and musk. His face contorted when I took him fully in my mouth. The tip of his cock nudged the back of my throat. I swallowed to delay the gag instinct, digging my fingers into the soft fabric of his trousers. The cadence of his speech stuttered. A sense of power surged through me. I liked knowing he couldn’t concentrate because of me. Finally, he brought the teleconference to an abrupt end by disconnecting the call and groaned.

  “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. The softness of his expression filled me with warmth. “Your mouth feels so good. Don’t stop.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. “I won’t take long.”

  Knowing a thousand employees lurked outside his closed office doors made me feel deliciously dirty and naughty. I sucked harder just to hear him
groan.

  The rough fibers of the rug dug into my knees, but the discomfort didn’t bother me. I wanted to give him pleasure, the way he did for me. He worked too hard for someone so young. His troubles had added lines around his eyes and mouth. Once our lives got back to normal, I was going to make sure he took better care of himself. Visions of long vacations on exotic beaches filled my head. Just me, Roman, and our kids.

  The intercom buzzed, and Lorissa’s voice floated into the quiet. “Mr. Menshikov, Mr. Spitz is here to see you.”

  “Damn it.” Roman pressed the speaker button. Through gritted teeth, he replied, “Tell him to come back later.”

  “He insists, sir. I told him you were in a meeting with Mrs. Menshikov, but he said to interrupt.”

  After a long sigh, he placed a gentle grip on each of my arms and guided me off the floor.

  “Two more minutes.”

  “Sorry, princess. Duty calls.”

  “That’s got to be uncomfortable.” I nodded toward his angry erection, bobbing above the black linen of his trousers.

  He tucked himself into his underwear. “I imagine whatever he has to tell us will make it go away.”

  “I need a minute.” I stepped into the adjoining bathroom to tidy my hair and reapply lipstick. By the time I returned, the softness had been robbed from Roman’s demeanor. His shoulders were straight and tense. A muscle pulsed in his cheek. I headed toward one of the chairs near his desk, but he lifted a hand to stop me.

  “No. Over here. I want you where I can touch you.” He patted the tops of his thighs, below the obvious tent in his pants.

  “You’re incorrigible, Mr. Menshikov.”

  “You have no idea.” His mogul façade broke long enough for him to place a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Tell Mr. Spitz to come in,” Roman snapped into the intercom.

  The wide double doors opened. Spitz strode into the room, wearing a charcoal suit and black tie. His salt-and-pepper hair had been trimmed and the scruff removed from his cheeks.

  Roman glowered at him. “You’ve cockblocked me twice in twenty-four hours, Spitz. This had better be good.”

  “Sorry, boss.” He nodded to me in greeting.

  I tried to corral feelings of irritation. It wasn’t hard to guess why he didn’t like me. He thought I was a traitor and money whore. Knowing he had Roman’s best interests at heart lessened some of my animosity. I’d have to win his trust, something earned by time and experience. Few men had the balls to defy Roman. I admired Spitz for standing his ground and taking my husband’s safety to heart.

  Roman encircled an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “Go on, Spitz. I’ve got a million things on my plate today.”

  “You need to turn on the TV.” He nodded toward the wall of flat-screen televisions hidden behind the paneling.

  Roman handed the remote control to me. With a press of the buttons, the sliding doors of the console opened. I punched in the news channel and focused on the screen, my mouth open.

  A female news anchor spoke into the camera. “––the name of Roman Menshikov, transportation billionaire and exiled price of Kitzeh, has been linked to the death of Lavender Cunningham by unnamed sources. The party planner to the rich and famous was found dead in her Manhattan apartment early last week.”

  Paparazzi photographs of Roman and Lavender flashed across the television. A much-younger Roman stood on the deck of a yacht, shirtless and wearing low-slung board shorts. The wind ruffled his dark hair. His arm looped around the waist of a bikini-clad Lavender.

  I exhaled and breathed through the burn of jealousy at the way they smiled at each other. Roman’s jaw tensed, the muscles below his cheekbone flickering. He glanced at me from the corners of his eyes.

  The reporter continued. “Speculation surrounds the circumstances of her death. Although authorities refused to comment on the case, a source close to the victim says she had recently argued with Menshikov over his marriage to personal assistant, Rourke Donahue.” An unflattering picture of me spun into the center of the screen. I’d been caught in the rain and splashed by a passing car as I stood on the sidewalk outside our apartment building. My hair hung in limp tangles on my shoulders, and the wet material of my blouse clung to the lumps and bumps of my figure.

  Roman took the remote from my hand and clicked off the TV. “Don’t be upset. Those pictures were taken ten years ago. They had to dig deep to find them.”

  “It’s not that.” A knot of growing panic twisted in my stomach. “You said you argued about the Playground. Did you argue about me too?” When Roman didn’t answer right away, I tried to wriggle away from him. “Answer me.”

  “Calm down. No. I’d never discuss you or our marriage with an outsider. I didn’t owe her any explanations.”

  “Who do you think is their source?” Spitz asked.

  Roman pursed his lips and frowned. “I have no idea. I’m sure it was a plant by whomever is out for my blood right now.” He kept a firm grip on my waist. His words calmed me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. “If you’re worried about what people think, don’t be. I have an entire publicity department to make these kinds of things go away. They’ll take care of it.” He buzzed Lorissa on the intercom. “Get Hilda in Public Relations for me, would you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Menshikov,” Lorissa replied.

  “I just came from lunch with Everly,” I said. “Mr. McElroy was there. He had a meeting with Nicky and Prince Heinrich.” Something in Roman’s calm facade made me suspect he already knew about the meeting. “Do you think one of them is involved in this?”

  Spitz groaned and raked both hands through his hair. “You had lunch after we explicitly told you to stay away from her?”

  “Yes, I did.” I lifted my chin, meeting his glare. “I didn’t go behind Roman’s back. He knew.”

  “This whole deal is a fucking nightmare,” Spitz growled. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here? You’re jeopardizing your husband’s safety.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m the enemy. No one cares more about his wellbeing than me,” The volume of my voice climbed as I lost control of my temper.

  Roman lifted a hand. Beneath his stern expression, I sensed a hint of amusement at my outburst. “Spitz, I don’t appreciate your tone. Rourke is able to make her own decisions. If she feels Everly can be trusted, then you need to respect her choices.”

  “I apologize for being blunt, but I’m trying to do a job here, and the two of you are making it extremely difficult.” Frustration roughened his deep voice.

  “Deal with it,” Roman said, turning his attention back to me. His tone gentled. “Did you learn anything interesting, Rourke?”

  I gave them a brief recap of our conversations. “I don’t know what they were talking about at their table, but none of them seemed very happy.”

  “You did good, baby,” Roman said, tenderly brushing my hair over my shoulder. “Spitz is right to be worried. Until this dies down, I think you should be very careful around the McElroys. No more dinners at their house. You can’t trust Everly or her father.”

  “Agreed.” I threaded my fingers through his, enjoying their strength and masculinity. His touch lessened some of the heartache over Everly’s defection. “I wanted to give her a chance to come to me first, and she didn’t.”

  Spitz scratched his fingers over his jaw. “If McElroy is meeting with Heinrich, it means there are negotiations on the table. Maybe you need to meet with Heinrich and see what he’s planning. You can’t afford for those two to join forces. He’s the reason you’re in this mess.”

  “I’m more concerned about Nicky’s presence at that table than anyone else.” Roman drummed his fingers on my thigh. “I asked him to monitor McElroy, not hang out with him.”

  The intercom beeped. “Mr. Menshikov, Hilda from PR on line seven.”

  He pressed the speaker button. “Hilda, Channel 197 just ran an unflattering piece on me and my wife. Get hold of them and ask them to make a retraction. Be
sure to remind them that I own a large percentage of their stock.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  He smiled. “Sometimes it’s good to be me.”

  Spitz cleared his throat. “I hate to rush you, but time is of the essence here, and I’ve got something else to cover with you.”

  Roman twirled a finger through the air. “Get on with it then.”

  Spitz extended his palm. “Mrs. Menshikov, can I have your phone?”

  In my hurry to greet Roman, I’d dropped my purse beneath his desk. I dug inside and handed the iPhone to Spitz. He dropped it to the floor and smashed it with his heel.

  I gasped in horror. “What are you doing?”

  “Your movements are being monitored through your phone. We found the tracking software during a routine check a few minutes ago.” He squatted and swept the bits of plastic and metal into his hand. “Which is one hell of a mystery, because I gave you this phone myself, and it was clean. Have you opened any strange emails or clicked on weird links?”

  “Of course not. I’m very careful.” I frowned, remembering Ivan’s explicit training on the matter.

  “Has your phone been out of your sight for any period of time?”

  I bit my lower lip, thinking back over the past few weeks, and shook my head. “No. Never. Except—” The memory made my heart plummet. “I dropped my phone in the car a few days ago. Lance found it and returned it to me.” The three of us exchanged glances.

  “Have you had any issues with him?” Roman asked. “Anything at all?”

  “No. Nothing. He’s very loyal.”

  “I’ll speak with him,” Spitz said, his voice grave and quiet.

  “He should be in the hall.” I didn’t want to believe Lance could betray us. The walls of the room seemed to be closing in, suffocating me.

  “Mr. Menshikov?” Lorissa buzzed into the room, her voice floating from the speakerphone. “Sir, Agent Frankel is here to see you.”

  Chapter 21

  Rourke