The Master

by Kresley Cole

Yesterday with him had been sublime. We'd wrestled in the pool, and he'd chased me around, and I'd let him catch me for sex.

  Later when I'd prepped marinade for grilling and cooked dessert, he'd stayed in the kitchen to help. He'd asked me to speak more Spanish around him. Easy enough to oblige. But did he have to pick it up so quickly? He'd been reading food packages in Spanish.

  Last night he'd taken me down from the tower to go running on the beach. I'd been uneasy at first--until I'd remembered what my running partner was.

  Nearly six and a half feet of hard-bodied Russian ruthlessness.

  The only thing that could make me hornier from running? Covering miles with him. Luckily, I'd been rewarded with another hit of aggressive, sweaty-man sex. On the beach. Behind a palm tree.

  Life could be sweet.

  But I remained confused about what was going on between us. How much longer would we be together? My being a weekend date was one thing. Returning to Russia with him was outside the realm of possibility.

  So why had he spent so much money on me?

  This morning's message on the mirror had only confused me more. He'd responded to my all the way to Nebraska quip with a cryptic reply: Why stop there?

  Maxim lowered his paper. "So you've obviously never lived where it snows. Already I know you grew up on the coast."

  I forced a smile. "How's that?"

  "Children in Iowa don't often tell their mother they'll sail away." The search engine had two more variables. "Perhaps you are from Miami. Or the coast of Texas. Maybe Southern California?"

  When I shrugged, my new bra rubbed my nipples, and I shivered at the contact. They were still sensitive days after he'd clamped them. Since then, the peaks were constantly hard, visible even now against my red cashmere V-neck.

  The devil noticed my reaction and grinned. I told him in Spanish that my revenge would be sweet and unexpected.

  He set away the journal. "You should know, I called Vasili off from his investigation of you. He was very disappointed."

  Maxim had? "That explains the man's behavior earlier." When he'd driven us to the executive airport in Sevastyan's Bentley Mulsanne, the bodyguard/driver/right-hand man had glowered at me. As we'd boarded the jet, he'd cast me another surly look before he'd adjourned to the cockpit. Ever protective of "boss."

  I'd asked Maxim, "What will it take to get a smile out of that man?"

  "Your real name and ID. That's all he wants out of life. And possibly almond candies."

  Now Maxim said, "Before then, Vasili had men turn Tampa upside down. You never lived there, did you?"

  "I never told you I did. Why did you call him off?"

  "Because you'll confide in me. Soon."

  "You sound assured." Over the last two days, he'd been making me wonder: what if I recruited Maxim's help against Edward? This morning in the bathroom, I'd gazed into the mirror to practice what I'd say. I'd attempted to murmur the words, "I'm married to a murderer who wants me dead," and only air passed my lips. My lungs had seized up, as if a weight pressed down on them.

  Maxim said, "I am assured. You're learning to trust me."

  What if I . . . did? The level of faith that would require . . . I didn't know if my withered up trust was capable of reaching that level. How could I be expected to run on a limb that was shriveled and broken?

  His gaze met mine. "I want what's best for you. You can trust me."

  I glanced away. That was exactly what Edward had told me when I'd said, "I don't understand why I have to sign all these papers."

  For so long, I'd followed my rules, trusting no one. I'd remained alone--and alive. I'd been silent--and hidden. How could I fly in the face of that?

  Over the years, I'd learned to equate secrecy with survival. In my mind, to willfully break a rule was to call Edward down upon me.

  I knew it was crazy. That didn't make it any less real to me. Had my psyche been damaged by my predicament? I don't see how it couldn't have been. No one should have to go through life imagining what a knife wound would feel like. . . .

  "Katya?"

  "Que cosa? Huh?" Clearing my throat, I changed the subject. "Vasili is very loyal. How did you meet him?"

  The look Maxim gave me told me he'd allowed me off the hook. "Vasili was about to be executed for a mob hit I knew he didn't commit."

  "Por Dios. How did you know?"

  "I was blackmailing the man who ordered the hit. I struggled with the decision to save Vasili or not. It was my first major blackmail scheme, and I was poised to collect many favors from a powerful man. In the end, I anonymously mailed the evidence to Vasili's advocate. Then Vasili turned around--and somehow tracked down me, pointing out my vulnerabilities. Hat in hand, he asked to work for me. How could I say no?"

  "That doesn't seem very heartless."

  "Perhaps scheming, then? I saved his life once, and he's protected mine ever since. Forfeiting my gain was the best investment I ever made." With a heated glance, he said, "At least until you came along."

  "Ha. Que comico. Speaking of investments--what are you thinking for a wedding gift?"

  "A stallion for their stable. One that wasn't for sale."

  Of course.

  He opened his ever-present briefcase, pulling out my phone. "You get this back." He handed it to me.

  "Did you break my code and read everything?"

  "Code-locked phones are surprisingly secure. I could have cracked it, but I would risk damaging all your data. And again, you'll confide in me soon anyway."

  I shielded the screen, entered my code, then reviewed my texts with him. I'd had no idea how much this man was going to mean to me. I added him as a contact: M Sevastyan, then I checked my voice mail. Mrs. Abernathy had left a reminder that I'd confirmed cleaning on the thirty-first.

  I was listening to a message like that while flying on a private jet. Joke's on you, Abernathy.

  I asked Maxim, "Did I earn this for good behavior?"

  "In case we get separated over the weekend, and you need to call."

  "When will we be separated? I thought we were all staying at the same place." A lodge built around some historic manse, a location chosen by Natalie's mother.

  Maxim said, "You might go into the nearby town with Natalie and her best friend, Jessica. They're your age. I suspect you're about to make new friends."

  "Non-escort friends?"

  "You said it; I didn't."

  "Are they stiff? Or snobby? What if they don't like me?"

  "Natalie is very warm. I met Jessica on my last trip to Nebraska and found her to be . . . colorful. They're going to love you."

  "Dmitri won't be there?"

  "Nyet."

  "I got the impression that he is pissed about this wedding." The man had been blowing up Maxim's phone as usual. Over the last two days, whenever Maxim had talked to him, he'd dragged me into his lap and stroked my hair, which seemed to soothe him. That close, I could hear Dmitri yelling in Russian, sounding enraged. Maxim would talk to him in a monotone, trying to calm his disturbed brother.

  "He wants nothing good for Aleksandr," Maxim said. "Marrying the lovely daughter of a legendary billionaire is quite a favorable turn for our older brother. But I've set my mind to mending the breach between Aleksandr and Dmitri. Someone recently told me I should lead by example."

  "I don't know who said that, but she sounds like the smartest person in the world."

  "I'm beginning to suspect so."

  I tucked my boots under me on the couch. "How did Aleksandr meet Natalie?"

  "Her father, Pavel Kovalev, adopted him when he was young, becoming my brother's beloved mentor."

  "Aleksandr was adopted because he was separated from you and Dmitri?"

  Maxim nodded, but still wouldn't expand. "Kovalev never knew he had a biological child until Natalie searched for her birth parents. When the man discovered she was his, he dispatched Aleksandr to Nebraska to watch over her."

  "Why would she need to be watched over?"

  "Koval
ev was embroiled in a war against another mafiya boss, Travkin. The man learned of Natalie just when Kovalev did. Travkin put out a contract on Kovalev--and his birth daughter."

  What was I walking into? Had I jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

  "Two weeks after Natalie arrived in Russia, a distant cousin decided to cash in, bringing a machine gun into Kovalev's home. Desperate to protect Natalie and Aleksandr, Kovalev tried to talk down the man. The gun went off, spraying bullets. Aleksandr could have saved either Kovalev or Natalie."

  "He had to choose?" I understood how quickly a pistol could go off. I couldn't imagine a machine gun.

  Maxim nodded. "Aleksandr tackled Natalie to the ground. Kovalev died in front of her."

  "She saw him die? And she only got to know him for half a month?" That poor girl! Though I only had impressions of my father, for two decades I'd known that I was loved by him. "What happened to the contract? Is she still in danger?"

  "Not at all. My brother walked into Travkin's favorite haunt, right in the middle of all the man's muscle, and shot the fuck in the face."

  "You realize you couldn't sound prouder."

  "I know."

  Maxim would have zero problems with what I'd accidentally done to Julia.

  "Any man who would target an innocent girl like Natalie deserved what he got and worse."

  Maxim, meet Edward. "Is there worse than being shot in the face?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I knew the answer. What was worse than being stabbed? Being butchered.

  Maxim stilled, his tone growing icy. "You have no idea."

  I almost shivered at his expression.

  "After that, Kovalev's billion-dollar syndicate was in chaos, and Aleksandr didn't know who he could trust among Kovalev's men. He took Natalie into hiding, calling on me to help secure her father's lands and operations in Russia," Maxim said. "If not for the man's death, I would not be at this wedding."

  "Why?"

  "In a time of trouble, I was a ready resource. Aleksandr saw that I could be an ally, and that I hold no true malice toward him."

  "I don't understand why you would. Just because he left home?"

  "It's not a pretty story. One best told at another time." He pinned me with his gaze. "Are you having second thoughts about this weekend?"

  "I recall having first thoughts, but was a victim of your 'persuasion.' "

  His lids went heavy, the bulge in his pants growing. "Don't remind me. I can't touch that memory without getting hard as a rock." He exhaled. "Too late. Have you ever been fucked in a plane?"

  "No," I said breathlessly. "But I think I'm about to be. . . ."

  CHAPTER 27

  "How goddamned quaint," Maxim grated as we wandered through our suite.

  The space was large and luxurious, with a sizable bathroom and dressing area, but there were some kitschy touches. The mobster looked so out of place in a room with plank wood floors and Quaker quilts. Doilies covered the tops of oak tables.

  "Quilts." He smirked. "Charming."

  I hopped on the bed, giving him a pouty lip. "Oh, does my baby boy suffer without his Four Seasons?" There'd been a display in the lobby made out of cornstalks and a wide red ribbon. Nothing brought to mind the holidays like cornstalks.

  I stretched out and made snow angels on the bed. "Just think, we're going to have to snuggle here for warmth. We'll have to build up friction." I widened my eyes. "To preserve my very life, you'll have to fuck me all night long."

  "If I must. But only to save your very life."

  A faint motion in the window drew my gaze past him. "Ah! It's snowing!" I leapt up and scrambled to a window seat. I'd seen it everywhere on the ground during our limo ride from the airport to the lodge, but hadn't seen it falling. And I still hadn't been out in it. "Maxim, it is actively snowing." Every now and then, a flake would dance by! "Pero quien sabe por cuanto tiempo?" But who knows for how long? "We have to go before the snowfall stops."

  "I'm not sure that would count as snowfall. Once we get changed, I'll take you out--"

  I started ripping off my clothes. "When will our bags get up here?"

  "Our things are already here."

  I tripped in the direction of the dressing room, then yanked open a closet. "All our stuff is unpacked."

  "I bring a valet for events. And now we have a maid for you as well. They're currently pressing anything that needs it."

  No wonder he always looked impeccable.

  "Wear layers," Maxim called. "The waterproof snow gear and warm socks."

  "Got it."

  In minutes, I'd rifled through my stuff and changed into a red turtleneck, snow-white ski jacket, black ski pants, mittens, and boots. The pants were surprisingly thin and fit like tights. As with all pants on me, they were snug across the back. Fact of life. I had my red scarf, of course, and a cap to match it.

  Once I'd dressed, I decided to tease him with my new outfit--just a little. I skipped back to the room. "Hey, Maxim, will you look at something?"

  "Hmm?" He was unbuttoning his shirt.

  I turned and leaned over the bed, innocently asking, "Do these make my butt look big?"

  "You little witch." He lunged for me, but I scampered over the bed. "I don't think you want to leave this room."

  "No, no! I'll be good."

  He hesitated, then pulled off his shirt, his expression telling me I'd been let off with a warning.

  I manned the window. "The sun looks like it's about to come out. Won't the snowflakes go away? Come on, Maxim!"

  "You try changing with a raging cockstand," he said, his voice husky. "Those pants of yours aren't even fair."

  I turned to him. "I need to touch snow!"

  He'd removed his slacks, revealing gray boxer briefs and a very swollen erection. "And clearly"--he waved at his dick--"I need to fuck you. Yet again."

  "What we did on the plane barely tided you over?" I'd joined the mile-high club with a scream. Sauntering over to him, I reached down to rub the wet spot on his briefs. "Can you fuck me in the snow?"

  "I like the way your mind works, Katya." He swiftly dressed in jeans, a fleece pullover, and a black ski coat.

  I grabbed his hand, pulling at him to hurry down the stairs. I'd seen a sign for a "winter wonderland trail" pointing toward the back of the main lodge. "Si me haces perdermela, no te lo perdonare!" If you make me miss this, I'll never forgive you.

  He groused, but I could tell he was having fun.

  At the exit, I turned back to scold, "Vamos! Apurate, Ruso--"

  I ran into a chest. Gazing up, I found a blond giant peering down at me. He had a couple of friends with him. They all looked like Nebraska farm boys. Or possibly Paul Bunyan and his brothers.

  "Disculpe. Sorry!" I'd been chattering away, not looking where I was going.

  The first one murmured, "Ma'am," with undisguised interest.

  Maxim's hand tightened on mine. As we passed the trio, I glanced back to see him giving them a lethal look, which the men didn't notice because they were still gazing at me.

  Outside in the courtyard, the Russian seethed. "Those fucking farmers were staring at you? Is it not obvious you're with me?"

  "It was my fault for running into them."

  He scanned me.

  "What?"

  "This is going to keep happening."

  "No, no! No more locking me up, Ruso. Remember, this Cat's out of the bag. Weren't we going to do a cab sign . . . ?" I trailed off when a flake wafted right in front of my face.

  At the edge of the courtyard was a snowy yard, beyond that a vast leafless forest. White drifts piled up against trunks and blanketed limbs. The sun was coming out, but I forgave it; icicles in sunlight were spellbinding, like diamonds on the ocean. "Oh!" I hurried into the yard, and my boots crunched!

  Maxim followed me, retrieving black gloves from his pocket.

  "It's . . . it's so amazing." It was a winter wonderland.

  He frowned, as if we were looking at two different sc
enes. "If you say so." His phone rang.

  "Dmitri?" I asked.

  "Da. Look around for a bit. I'll try to keep this short." He turned from me to take the call.

  His shoulders tensed up, all relaxation gone. As he would say: unacceptable. Scooping up a big handful of snow, I made my very first snowball and beaned him in the back of the head.

  He stiffened even more, as if his body disbelieved. A couple of barked words ended his call. He shook out his hair as he turned to me. "Run."

  With a laugh, I did, sprinting toward the trees. My heart raced when his footsteps crunched behind me.

  I'd just made the tree line when he seized my waist, swinging me up, and we went tumbling into a snowdrift.

  "Is that any way to treat your man?" He maneuvered on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head. As I caught my breath, he gazed down at me. "You are so bloody beautiful."

  I grinned. "I've seen less handsome men." Amid all this white, the blue of his eyes was even more piercing, his smile even more glorious.

  "Have you, then?" He used his free hand to tickle me, making me squeal with laughter.

  "I should never have mentioned tickling to you!" I squirmed, trapped.

  "As if I wouldn't have found out eventually."

  Eventually? How long, how long, how long?

  Soon his touches turned less playful. His lips slanted over mine. He slipped his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss into a thorough taking. . . .

  Yet then he broke away.

  "Why'd you stop?"

  He levered himself to his feet, helping me up. "We have an appointment." He brushed snow off my back, then adjusted his jacket to conceal his erection.

  Hand in hand, we started on a path that meandered along the forest's edge. "Where are we going?" We were heading away from the lodge, cresting a small rise.

  "Patience, solnyshko."

  "What does sol-neesh-kah mean?"

  "An endearment. You need to start learning Russian."

  I parted my lips. Why would I? Unless? Cool yo jets! Still, I was about to ask him to expand on his comment when I spotted a stable down the hill. The building was enormous, with red painted walls. Corrals flanked it. "Oh! Can we stop at the stable?"

  "I suppose."

  As we neared, I said, "Am I going to get to pet a horse?" My eyes went wide. "I--can--hear--them, Maxim. I want to pet all the horses!"

  He chuckled as he ushered me inside. "You heard them, did you?" The air smelled like oats and leather. "We're going riding."

  "En serio?" I clapped my mittens.