Power Play: A Romance Collection

by Lauren Landish

  It can’t be easy for Nikolai, though his family dynamic isn’t exactly healthy either. But murdering your father will leave a stain on your soul for eternity. I wonder how dark his soul already is to undertake this as a business transaction.

  My phone rings, and I answer, hoping that it’s news and not a double-cross. “Hello.”

  Nikolai is stoic, his voice level. “It is done. We are, as you say, fair and square. Da?”

  I’m glad he can’t see me because my jaw drops in surprise. I know he’d agreed, but to see it through . . .

  “To be clear, you are telling me that your father, Papa Romanov, the one who ordered the murder of my father and Anna Russo, is dead. And this is confirmable information.”

  I’m not stupid. The Romanovs have wealth and privilege, fear and power on their side. To fake a death and keep Papa Romanov in hiding is well within their means.

  “I said it is done, so it is done,” Nikolai barks. “I will not send you pictures of my father’s corpse, but his death will be in the news.”

  Nikolai sighs. “It is a great loss for our country.”

  He may sound sad about it, but the satisfaction is audible underneath his outer mourning. I may have used him to do my dirty work, but he used me as an excuse to do exactly what he’s wanted to for years.

  I only hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me. There could come a time when blaming a foreign competitor would prove advantageous to a pressed Nikolai. I’ll be prepared, in any event.

  In the meantime, I play on his ego, the one constant with him. “I can understand that, but I’m sure they will soon see that the better Romanov is in control now. Your father had his time, but it is yours now. Much like it is my time to run my father’s company and do it better. I do hope we can agree on not letting the sins of the fathers taint the future of the sons?”

  “I am comfortable doing what I need to do for the family, though working together in the future would be doubtful,” he says with a small chuckle. “I don’t think all the pink diamonds in the world will ever make Mama forgive. Papa, me, or you.”

  “Understood. I just do not want any of your friends or family breaking into my house again.”

  “Deal. No one besides us knows, and no one will. As long as you do not threaten my business or me again.”

  The threat transmits through the line as if he were right in front of me, and I make a hum of agreement.

  “I need to ask you one thing,” he says curiously, which immediately alerts me to the seriousness of his inquiry.

  “What?”

  “My father, he tells a story as he dies. One about your father, about an old diamond lost long ago in the Brazilian rainforest.”

  Fuck! I’d wondered if the gem and map had been the underlying reason for Papa Romanov to come after my dad, but the confirmation is surprisingly a relief.

  Because I have it. I’m in control of the gem, and it’s been dealt with appropriately. If it’d been something else, the risk would still be outstanding.

  “Sounds like a good story. My father used to tell loads of them, but I always figured he was full of shit. The man thought he was a real-life Indiana Jones.”

  Nikolai sounds unconvinced. “Tell me, did you find it?”

  I contemplate telling him the truth, but there’s no use, so I muddy it in a way that amuses me. “It may have existed once upon a time. My father certainly believed it did, and it seems your father did as well. But if it did, it’s lost to time, of that I’m certain. The land has changed too much, tributaries flooded and remolded, and the Amazon claims what the Amazon wants to claim. His death was in vain and honored appropriately.”

  Nikolai hums, and I hang up with a smile before he can ask any follow-up questions.

  I stretch and get up, not admitting that I’m going to sit by the front door to watch for Emma’s return like a dog waiting for its owner. She does own my heart, after all, so it seems logical.

  Grant stops me as I come down the hall, though. “Sir, Miss Daniels is waiting in the master chambers.”

  “She’s here already? Why didn’t you come get me?” I ask, already anxious to get to her, to make sure she’s real and has come back to me.

  Grant smiles, and I swear over the past week he’s looked happier than I’ve ever seen him. I’m not too sure, but I think he might feel a sense of completion, seeing me with Emma. Like he’s done his job right.

  “She asked me not to disturb you, said she knew you had work and that she wished for time to prepare.”

  My eyebrow raises. “Prepare?”

  His eyes sparkle, but as always, Grant reveals nothing. He used to do that to guests, but I think there’s a new head of the household now, and she has him wrapped around her little finger.

  “Will there be anything else this evening, sir?”

  I’m already halfway down the hall, but I call back, “No, thank you.”

  Even though Grant said she’s here, I’m afraid to believe. But when I stop in the doorway to my bedroom, I see her. Spread out in my bed—no, our bed—in black lingerie.

  Lace cups her tits, serving them up for me to feast upon, and small straps cover her hips, begging me to snap them to gain access to her pussy.

  She moves, and I see glittering light all around her. My eyes don’t know what to make of it at first and then it hits me. She’s lying in a bed of gems, pieces of the larger, ancient stone I had worn down into smaller cuts.

  It’s not exactly crushing my dad’s past the way I would’ve wanted, but Caleb and I had agreed it was enough to satisfy my need for destruction. He truly didn’t care, had written off Dad years ago and wanted no part of the tainted stone he felt was the epitome of everything he hated about Dad.

  Still, he kept one chunk when I offered it to him.

  Emma had tried desperately to talk me out of doing anything to the stone, proclaiming the historical value of it was the most important thing, but she’d understood that I needed to do something. In the end, I’d compromised, though I know a hydraulic press would’ve obliterated it quite satisfyingly.

  But now I have a large number of the uniquely beautiful stones, and Emma made me promise to keep them together and I agreed that was reasonable.

  But it seems like tonight, before they’re housed in the piece I designed especially for her, we’re going to have a bit of fun among them.

  If I were a better man, I’d tell her to go. I don’t deserve her, am still too broken and scarred inside, and she deserves more than I can give her. Not the luxuries my money can afford, because I can give her more than she’d ever want there. But emotionally, I’m still untested, unsure how to love, even if what I feel for Emma is all-consuming. She is all I need. I don’t want her to ever doubt, ever question, and I’ll do anything to be worthy of her.

  Still, in my head, the good guy tries to save her from me, chanting go, go, go. But the selfish bastard is stronger, the echo louder . . . mine, mine, mine. And I know which voice I’m going to give in to.

  She looks into my eyes and pleads. “Please, Nathan. I need you.”

  She says it like she knows the battle raging in my head, my heart. Her eyes beseech me to believe her, to trust her love, to know that I’m enough. And in her eyes, I see what I could be, what I’m already becoming, and what I already am.

  Hers.

  And she is mine, the voice whispers again.

  It’s my undoing, and I realize that I grew up in the wrong business. Gems are about perfection, about regimented structures that look strong but shatter when you strike them just right.

  But people aren’t gems. We’re more like metals. Malleable, flexible, and if you blend them just right, you have something stronger and better than either one was before.

  All you need is heat, and sometimes a hammer to forge it with.

  “Spread your legs, kitty.”

  My Emma smirks, letting me know that she’s ready to play, ready for me, for whatever I’m able to give her.

  Today, tomorrow, a
nd forever.

  Epilogue

  Emma - Two Years Later . . .

  I lie back on the lush blanket on the deck of the boat, feeling the sun sink deliciously into my already tan skin. A small sound makes me open my eyes behind my dark sunglasses, and I look over, smiling.

  Nathan is standing a few feet away, looking out to sea. He looks hot in his own small suit, his tan skin stark against the bright blue Mediterranean waters.

  I’m tempted to crawl to him, climb to my knees, and take him into my mouth right here on deck.

  There’s no one around for miles except for the skeleton crew below, but they’ve been well-compensated to stay away and be blind to anything that happens between Nathan and me.

  But he sees the sparkle in my eyes when I slip my glasses up on top of my head. “Wife, you’d better get downstairs before I throw you over my shoulder.”

  I tease, toying with the knot between the cups of my string bikini, grinning. “What if that’s what I want?”

  Before I can even finish the words, he’s flipped me upside down and is carefully sprinting toward our cabin. It’s a large space considering it’s on a yacht, housing a king-sized bed, a seating area, and an intimate dining table we’ve yet to use since we chose to dine under the stars last night.

  He tosses me on the bed and rips off his own sunglasses to toss them aside, as forgotten as mine that fell off somewhere on our trek downstairs. “You know you just have to say the word. I’ll give you anything you want.”

  I smile and hold my arms out to him. “You, just you. That’s all I want.”

  It’s the truth.

  We’ve worked our way through the past few years together, learning and loving. Of course, he gave me an obnoxiously large diamond engagement ring almost immediately, saying he wanted to lock me down before I could change my mind.

  That was never going to happen though. I love him and find his courage at battling through his past just to love me as sexy as his complete and utter dedication to our future.

  Plus, he’s waited, albeit impatiently, for me to finish my Masters. I simply couldn’t plan a wedding and give school the attention it deserved. But as soon as that degree was in my hand, we traded it for a big binder of wedding plans.

  And the wedding was perfect, with Claire and Carly at my side and Caleb and Grant at Nathan’s.

  Claire and Caleb had walked down the aisle together, and I swore I saw sparks between them, the same as I always do. But Nathan swears just as vehemently that the last thing his rule-breaking brother needs is a woman who is the definition of a rule-follower.

  Still, for two years, they’ve butted heads from time to time in what I can only call muted heat, and I still think their occasional dinner table banter has more than argumentative fire to it. But I’m not playing matchmaker there.

  They’ll find their way if it’s meant to be.

  Of course, we’d had to make some last-minute alterations to Carly’s gown since her belly had popped significantly over the last month. But her glow and Kyle’s excitement about their soon-to-arrive daughter more than made up for the last-minute rush tailoring appointment. I’d never tell him so, but he’d been absolutely adorable, sitting in the front row, his eyes never straying from my best friend, who has healed him amazingly well and in return has the support of a man who wants her to only be herself.

  And Grant had almost teared up when Nathan had asked him to stand in as his father. Grant’s not quite as stodgy as he used to be, but I think he’ll always be a bit proper. Someone in our house should be.

  My parents love Nathan, of course. He fits into their vision of who they’d choose for me better than they’d ever dreamed, though I don’t think they realize there’s so much more to him than his bank account.

  I do think they see how much he loves me, but to them, it’s just gravy.

  But it was the wedding I’d always dreamed of. Simple and tasteful, small and intimate. And most of all, filled with love.

  And now, we’re off on our honeymoon to Greece. Starting, of course, with exploring the outer islands from Crete to Mykonos on a private yacht before we spend just as much time poking around the mainland.

  Nathan has promised me time to explore the ruins and visit the museums, but we’ll need plenty of time just the two of us. Like now.

  “Show me.”

  The order reaches deep inside my mind, moving my hands before I even will them to. My fingers deftly untie the knot at my chest, my suit falling away to the bed. Nathan works the bows at my hips, baring me to him.

  “Fucking gorgeous. I could eat you up.”

  I bite my lip, then dare him knowing he’ll follow through happily, “Do it.”

  He pauses, not giving me the control even though he wants the same thing I do. Instead, he teases me, light touches along my sun-heated skin that bring goosebumps and shivers of desire.

  He spreads my puffy lips wide and blows on my pussy, his scruffy cheek pressed against my thigh. He just looks at me, up close and personal, nothing to hide between us ever again.

  And with a smile I can feel against my leg, he finally traces a fingertip around my clit. “Right here? Is this where you want my tongue?”

  He won’t do it, not until my challenge becomes a plea. But there’s no need to deny myself the pleasure I know he can give me. “Yes. . . right there, lick me. Please.”

  The beg is his victory, his tongue is my reward as he follows the same circular path he made with his finger. Around and around, teasing me and pushing me more into madness.

  But right before I come, he stops and instead blows a heated breath over me once again.

  “Not yet, kitty. This pussy doesn’t come until I say so. Can you obey or are you going to be naughty?”

  Every filthy fantasy I’ve ever had is contained in those two sides of the same coin and he knows it, knows every single thing about me. Inside and out.

  I whimper, knowing another gush of honey just accompanied his words. It may have started off as a dangerous game, but we’ve carved out a softer version of that submissiveness for our own. One that represents our true selves and thrills us both.

  Sometimes, I answer ‘naughty’ just to get the punishments he metes out, loving the way he marks me, fucks me raw and rough, and loses control.

  Other times, like now, I obey. “I’ll be good. I’ll wait until you say,” I purr with a soft smile.

  He moves up my body, pressing a hot kiss to my mouth before he rumbles against my ear.

  “Good girl.”

  He lies on top of me, bodies pressed together as we edge toward becoming one. “I need to be inside your sweet little pussy right the fuck now.”

  And with no preamble, he shoves into my already slick slit, completing the connection we both need so desperately. I cry out, feeling him deep in my core the same way he’s deep in my heart, and when he runs his fingers into my hair, forcing my thrashing head still, I see the same in his eyes.

  I love him. He loves me. I am his. He is mine.

  We may have begun with secrets and lies, danger and threats, but we’ve left all that behind long ago. Now, here, with his ring on my finger and his hand in mine, our love is built on truth, adventure, and the knowledge that we are enough. Together.

  Epilogue

  Kyle - Six Months Later . . .

  Holding my baby girl in my arms, I can’t help but sway to music that only plays in my head. The tiny creature in my arms mewls and snuggles in tighter to my bare chest.

  I haven’t worn a shirt around the house in weeks. The doctor said skin contact was important for her to imprint or something like that. I don’t know the science behind it, don’t care, to be honest, but I’m happy to hold her.

  My little Susannah.

  My heart clenches at the name. It’d been Carly’s idea. The heart in that woman is unbelievable. She’d searched baby name books for months until she found one that she liked that would also honor Anna. We’ve agreed to keep the full name, no nicknames.

>   So I sing under my breath, “Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me. ’Cuz I love you more than you’ll ever know, and that’s the truth, you see.”

  It’s a terrible daddification of the original song, but I like the tune with my little girl’s name.

  With her fully asleep, I carefully place Susannah in her bassinet. I watch her, memorizing the pure joy and peace on her face, letting it seep into me, fill the void inside me that had been gaping and dark for so very long.

  The one that her mother began stitching up years ago.

  Thinking of my delicious wife, another thought runs through my mind. One not quite so sweet or innocent.

  With my baby asleep, I have a precious few minutes to spend with my wife.

  “Carly?” I ask, walking into our living room. Not seeing her, I peek into the kitchen and then smile. She’s already in the bedroom.

  I make careful steps her direction, already tasting her sweet scent on the air, mixing with the vanilla candles she likes to burn. From the doorway, I see her.

  Curled up in a nest of blankets, her hair longer than when we first met and spread around her like a dark halo, she reclines, her eyes closed. Her face mimics the same peace and joy Susannah’s did, and I have a slight sense that maybe I gave that to both of them.

  It seems ridiculous that a monster like me could do that, but somehow, it’s true.

  I know she could use the sleep. She’s been giving her all every second of every day. But we need this. I need this. And though I’m a better man than I once was, I’m not totally selfless.

  I move the blanket, exposing her foot and calf. I lower myself to my knees beside the bed, and gently, I press my lips to her ankle. Slowly, I make my way higher, touching, tasting, worshiping her skin.

  When I reach her inner thigh, she stirs lightly, unable to hold back her act any longer. Smiling faintly, she asks, “Is she asleep?”

  When she looks down at me, her smile is soft like I’ve come to life from her dream. I still don’t understand why she looks at me that way, but I’ll do any damn thing to make sure she always does.