by Bea Paige
“You’re late,” I say, looking at my watch.
“It’s only three minutes past eight. I had to take a cab…”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her remove her coat and hang it on the hook on the back of the door. She’s wearing a tweed, knee length skirt and a cream shirt with flat black pumps and black tights. Her hair is drawn back in a simple bun at the base of her neck, a reminder of her past. A reminder of mine. I wonder briefly whether that was a conscious “fuck you” to me or simply an unconscious preference.
“Three minutes of my time. I expect punctuality, Rose,” I say, not really giving a shit about her lateness, but making a point anyway.
“It won’t happen again,” she retorts, smiling sweetly.
It’s a fake smile that angers me as much as it makes me respect her. She isn’t weak, I like that about her. This time I watch her without hiding it. From the blush on her cheeks, I know she’s aware of my attention, but chooses to ignore it instead.
“Where are Anton and Erik?”
“In their rooms, busy.” I don’t want to talk about them. Rose is with me now. That mess will have to be dealt with when I’m calm enough to do so.
She nods her head sharply, respecting my reluctance to talk about them further, then sits down and attempts to log in. After a minute she looks up at me.
“Have you changed the password?” she asks, frowning.
“I might’ve,” I respond, trying not to laugh at the look she gives me.
“May I have it, or are you expecting me to guess?” she snaps.
“Well, that could be fun,” I reply, leaning back in my seat, watching her.
“The password, Ivan.”
“Three guesses.” I grin, liking this game already.
Her cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, the angry shade I love so much, and for a brief moment I wonder if her pussy darkens the same way when she’s turned on. My cock swells at the thought.
“You really want to do this?”
“Humour me.”
Rose rolls her eyes, unimpressed, but takes her first guess anyway.
“Luka Petrin,” she says, folding her arms across her chest, mirroring me. A smile plays around her mouth.
“No!” I retort, a little too angrily.
She smiles at that. Clearly enjoying pushing my buttons. “Hmm, so not as self-centred as I first thought. Let me see,” she muses, her fingers tapping against her desk as she mulls it over.
“Browlace?”
She raises an eyebrow as I laugh at that.
“Come on Rose, you can do better than that. Think.”
“I don’t know, I give up,” she says shrugging her shoulders and making a great impression of looking bored. Which really, really, pisses me off.
I’m a man who can command attention. I’m used to all eyes on me. When I say jump, people ask how fucking high, and yet Rose is pulling at a thread on her skirt as though it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. Perhaps she’s thinking about my brothers and how they make her feel?
She fucking knelt before them. A dark little voice says, poking the demon.
Well, fuck that, I want her attention on me and if it means riling her enough to get it, then so be it. Besides, I like angry Rose.
“I didn’t think you were a woman who gave up easily. Perhaps I’ve got that wrong about you?” I ask, poking the demon.
“I’m not, but childish games are just that, childish. I’ve got work to do, Ivan. Please, would you just tell me the password?”
My fingers are itching to spank her. In just three strides I could have her pinned against the desk, that mumsy skirt pulled up over her ripe arse and her skin coloured a darker shade of pink that would rival her angry face. I stand up involuntarily and stalk towards her. A flicker of surprise ripples across her features and I find it interesting that she didn’t expect me to make a pass at her so soon.
Honestly, until this moment, I didn’t know I would either. I thought I’d at least last the day.
But now that I see the way her lips part on a rapid breath, how her fingers clench on her lap and her thighs press together as I move towards her, I can’t seem to stop myself.
I fucking want her.
I need her, and I’m done waiting.
“Ivan, I’ll guess again,” she says quickly.
I laugh at that. As if that’s going to stop me now.
“Red silk?” she blurts out.
“No.”
Another step closer.
“Saville Row?”
I shake my head. “No, Rose, that isn’t it,” I murmur.
Another step closer.
“Brisé?” she whispers, her eyes darkening.
My step falters… how does she know about that?
“Say it again,” I demand, as I move around to her side of the desk and sit down in front of her.
“Brisé” she whispers.
A growl escapes my throat before I can stop it. That word sounds so beautiful on her lips. Those fucking kissable lips.
Despite everything I’ve told myself, I want to kiss them again.
Damn her to fucking Hell.
Leaning forward, I invade her space. “No, not brisé,” I say, tracing a finger over that cupid’s bow mouth of hers.
She flinches, pushes her feet against the floor forcing her chair back, trying to put some space between us as she rolls away from me. The wheels squeak as they pass over the hardwood floor in her haste to get away.
“Where do you think you’re going, Rose?” I ask gruffly, grasping the armrests and pulling her roughly back towards me.
“Ivan…” she warns, her hands flying out to stop her from crashing directly into me. They press against my chest, and she pulls them away quickly as though burnt.
“Now, now, Rose, no need to run away,” I say, my voice lowering to a growl.
My thighs widen to accommodate her sitting between them. She pointedly looks at my face, even though my crotch is in her line of sight. If she were to look in that direction, she would see just how turned on I am.
And boy am I turned on.
Fuck Anton and Erik. She’s alone in my office with me now and I can do what the fuck I want.
“I’m here to work, Ivan,” she repeats.
“Working right now is the last thing on my mind, Rose.”
“This,” she says, waving her hand between us, “It won’t work. Can’t you see that?”
“But you’re here, aren’t you? You came today, despite everything. Why is that?”
“I need the money,” she lies.
I know it’s a lie. She’s here because she can’t stay away, because she wants me as much as I want her. I see it in the depths of her meadow-green eyes. I see it in the blush of her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I see it in the anger clamping her jaw tight and the whites of her knuckles as she holds onto the armrests.
“Stop lying to yourself.”
“No, Ivan! You stop!” Rose says, standing suddenly. She shoves me backwards, knocking me off balance. It’s enough for her to get out from behind the desk and move away from me.
“You really don’t know me, if you think I will succumb so easily. The girl I used to be might’ve, but I’m not that girl anymore.”
“But you knelt before them,” I spit, unable to help myself. Unable to hide the jealousy.
“That was different.”
“Why? Why am I any different?”
She backs towards the door refusing to answer, and for one horrifying moment I think she’s going to cry. I can take a lot of things, but tears aren’t one of them. They are like my fucking kryptonite. If Ms Hadley hadn’t walked in on us when she had that night when we kissed, I would have devoured Rose there and then, licking up every last teardrop and maybe, just maybe causing some of my own.
“Rosie died a long time ago, and despite the kiss we shared, despite the wicked, sinful way you make me feel, I’ll never, ever, let her out again with you. In this
office I’m your assistant, nothing more, so I suggest you get used to the idea.”
By the time she’s finished her tirade she’s panting and I’m fucking hard as hell. I’ve never felt more fucking turned on in my whole godforsaken life.
“Who are you?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. My whole body is shaking with lust and I’m so close to throwing myself at her mercy, be damned to the rules, be damned to the consequences.
She stares at me for one long moment before answering.
“I’m the girl who once upon a time submitted to a beast. I’m the girl who danced to forget, who danced to survive, and I’m the woman who is stronger than the demons of her past and the ones that live in her heart. Do not underestimate me, Ivan. Don’t you fucking dare! I’m nothing like the women you’ve fucked before, so don’t treat me like one.”
And with that she walks out of the room leaving me trembling in her wake.
So much for patience.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rose
Somehow in my rage, I end up finding myself by the large pond in the grounds of Browlace Manor. It’s freezing, and I have to hug myself to keep the chill out. Across the pond a beautiful white swan lands, the tips of its expansive wings breaking the surface as it glides across the water. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice another swan, the male cob, glide towards her. Their heads bend towards each other as though in greeting.
“Did you know that swans mate for life?”
I tense, the smooth sound of Ivan’s voice sending chills over my skin. He steps up beside me, his hands deep in his pockets, eyes fixed on the two swans as they circle one another. Small waves ripple outwards making bigger ones, disturbing the shore, changing it forever.
“Yes, I did.”
His nearness makes my body flush with heat despite the cold. I consider stepping away from him, but realise it wouldn’t make a difference, he’d pursue me anyway.
“Svetlana and I danced together in Swan Lake. She played Odette, I was Siegfried… Do you know the story?”
“I danced for over a decade, Ivan. I’m well aware of the story.”
“Of course you are.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see him breathe out slowly, clouds of white air billowing from his mouth. It’s colder than the forecast predicted, a light frost lingers on the clipped grass and bushes. The weather has turned; it’s going to be a cold autumn and an even colder winter if today is anything to go by.
“Both Odette and Siegfried died tragically, their love wasn’t enough,” I say eventually.
Ivan sighs. “You're right, it wasn’t… ours wasn’t,” he murmurs.
Silence descends as I contemplate his admission. His Odette is dead, and yet he survives. I turn to look at him, taking in his profile as he watches the swans continue to circle each other. I hadn’t noticed it until now, the pained look around his eyes. He hides it well under the arrogance and the sin.
“Do you miss her?” I ask.
He turns to face me, a host of emotions crossing his features. His eyes flick to the house, then back to me once more.
“Every single day.”
I shake my head, not understanding this man. Anton was right, how can I possibly understand someone so complicated, so layered, so lost in himself. He loved Svetlana, I see that in the pain he tries to hide, and yet he admits to cheating on her repeatedly. That isn’t love, or at least it isn’t the kind of love I can understand.
“What do you want from me, Ivan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Tell me what you want from me.”
I hold his gaze and wait. I don’t know why, but the answer to this question is important.
“I want to fuck you…”
“What do you really want, Ivan? This is your last opportunity to tell me the truth.”
He scrapes a hand through his hair, but the dark strands fall back in his eyes the moment his hand passes through it. He contemplates lying to me. I see the indecision cross his face.
“I don’t fucking know,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is that I feel. I don’t know what I want. I’m so fucking confused, Rose, and it’s tearing me up inside.”
I nod my head. The truth at last, or at least as close to the truth as he’s able to give me right now.
“Now will you answer me one question, Rose? Can you give me that at least?” Ivan asks.
I nod my head, my arms tightening around my body in defence. I ready myself for the inevitable question. They all ask it eventually. My past may hang over me like a dark cloud, but it may as well be a beacon. Every man that I’ve ever been with since Roman always asks the same damn thing. They know I’m broken, and they want to know the name of the man who caused such heartache. They want to know the name of the man who set the demon free.
“Yes.”
“The demon you hold inside. Are you willing to show it to me?”
I stumble backwards. That wasn’t the question I was expecting him to ask.
“Rose!” he reaches for me, cupping my elbow.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
My heart pounds loudly as my vision blurs, not with tears but with the memories of my past…
Roman lies in a pool of blood, a strange gurgling noise leaking from his mouth as he tries to take in a breath.
It’s no use, he’s dying.
“Roman, hold on, please,” I beg, trying and failing to stem the flow of blood from the gunshot wound in his chest. It bubbles up beneath my fingers, leaking through the gaps as I desperately press my hands against him.
“You can’t die. Please, stay with me.”
“Rosie, leave the dirty bastard to die. You need to come with me now!”
I look up into my father’s rage filled eyes and I hate him with a passion that no person should ever hold in her heart, let alone a child.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving him to die.”
My father rushes forward, yanking me backwards by my arm. I twist in his hold, screaming and thrashing. “Romaaaaannnnn!”
But my father’s hold is strong as he wraps his arm around my waist and lifts me up.
“He deserved everything he got. That man is sick. You’re just a child, Rosie. Barely sixteen. You don’t understand what he’s taken.”
“LET ME GO!” I kick backwards with all my might, my foot finding the soft spot between my father’s legs. He drops me immediately, crying out in pain as he clutches his crotch. I run back to Roman’s side, dropping to my knees in a pool of his blood. I frantically press against the wound once more, but it’s no use.
He’s dead.
Roman’s dead.
Inside, a piece of me withers and dies whilst another more dangerous part roars to life.
“Rosie, come now. I can hear sirens, we need to leave,” my father says as he walks awkwardly towards me.
I stand, turning in the slippery pool of Roman’s blood.
“You killed him. You killed Roman,” I say, darkness and rage blurring my vision.
In the corner of the room I see the gun my father used to shoot Roman, cast aside the moment he pulled the trigger. We both spot it at the same time, but I get to it quicker.
Lifting it, I turn on my father. “You fucking killed the man I love.”
My father holds his gloved hands up, I notice that unlike me he isn’t covered in blood, and I have the sudden need to change that.
“He was a predator, Rosie. You’re too young to understand that. He wasn’t a good man.”
“He loved me!”
“No. That man didn’t love you. He used you.”
“That’s a LIE! I wanted it. I wanted him. He made me feel alive. He saw me, and he didn’t run from it. You’ve taken him from me!” I scream, my lungs burning with agony.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. Rosie, please. I saved you.”
“No! You’ve broken me.”
My hands shake as my finger rests on the trigge
r.
“Put the gun down. Please, love,” my father begs.
“Don’t call me love. You don’t know what love is. Roman showed me what love is. He showed me what it means to feel loved, to feel desired, craved, adored.”
“You’re too young, you don’t know what you’re saying. Stop this, Rosie.”
“No. You killed him, and now, now I’m going to kill you.”
I don’t hear what my father says next. I don’t hear anything other than the loud bang as I squeeze the trigger.
My father falls to the ground as the gun clatters to the floor. Behind him the window pane has shattered from the impact of the bullet. I’d missed him entirely, so why is he lying on the floor?
“Daddy?”
Stepping forward, I look down at him as he clutches his chest, his eyes widening as he gasps for breath. But all I can do is stand and watch as his heart gives out.
Roman may have stoked the demon within me, but that night my father had set it free and I’ve been running from it ever since…
I pull my elbow from Ivan’s grasp, a wave of sickness rising up my throat. It’s been a long time since I’ve relived that memory and the utter belief my sixteen year old self had in Roman. Now, years later, I understand what Roman had done.
My father had been right, Roman had taken something precious from me. That night I’d lost more than my virginity, I’d lost my innocence, the man I’d loved, and my father. But I’d gained something too. Something that still lingers, waiting for the right man to unleash it on. The right men.
Ivan, Anton, Erik.
In each of them, lies my freedom, my way to tame the demon who’s been hellbent on destroying me all these years.
Erik was abused and tortured by a woman. He lost his power and his ability to maintain control because of her, but I can give it back to him. I can submit completely to him, because I know he needs control more than anything. That without it, he will eventually destroy himself.
Anton is different. I believe, like me, he needs both. In his artistic life, he needs a muse to inspire him, to submit to him, and a woman to take control, to see for him. He’s willing to move between the two states of mind in order to be happy. In him I see a man who can both dominate and submit. In him I see my mirror image. I agreed to our arrangement because in the brief conversation we had in my kitchen, I’d understood that, even if I’m only just acknowledging it now.