The Exiled Prince Trilogy

by Jeana E. Mann

  I halted in the center of the hall and lifted an eyebrow. “You know I don’t believe in hurting women.”

  “Are you sure Ms. Cunningham is a woman? Because she seems to have very big balls.” His lips twitched with a half-smile.

  “Don’t test me, Ivan. I’m not in the mood today.” Some of my irritation dissipated at the sight of Rourke returning from the copy room. She always looked great, but today she glowed from the inside out. Her blonde hair swung around her shoulders, grazing the neckline of her dress. Whatever I’d been about to say completely left my mind as I took her in.

  “Hey, there you are. You’re late.” Rourke’s sweet voice called out to us. She rushed toward me, lifting on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. The scent of her lemony perfume swirled around us, intoxicating and heady. “I just sent you a text like two minutes ago.”

  “Sorry. Ivan and I had a short business meeting in the elevator.”

  “Are you finished? Because I need to talk to you.”

  “And I’m leaving right now. Good to see you, Mrs. Menshikov.” Ivan’s gaze met mine as he bowed to Rourke. Over her shoulder, he said, “I’ll take care of your request.”

  Rourke followed me into my office, turning to lock the door behind us. A familiar stirring occurred behind my zipper at the sight of the snug red fabric of her skirt clinging to the curves of her round ass. She leaned her back against the door and smiled.

  “You have fifteen minutes before your conference call.” With her gaze locked on mine, she crossed the room, each step measured and seductive. When she reached me, she put one hand on each of my thighs and spread them wide. “I have a very serious problem, Mr. Menshikov. And I need your undivided attention.”

  “Is that so?” My shirt collar suddenly seemed too tight. I loosened the knot of my tie and leaned back in the chair. “What can I do for you?”

  “The question, sir, is what can I do for you?”

  Slowly, she kneeled on the floor, putting her face at the level of my crotch. Seeing her there, in a position of submission, made my heartbeats scatter. She walked her fingers from my knee to the fly of my trousers and palmed my visible erection. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. Our gazes locked and held. The zipper growled as she lowered the tab and withdrew my cock. It pulsed in her hand with each beat of my heart.

  “This is unexpected, Mrs. Menshikov,” I said, fighting against the urge to bend her over my desk. Usually, I assumed the lead in the bedroom. I liked being in control of her pleasure, but the switch in roles had me intrigued. She’d come a long way from the uncertain young woman I’d hired a last year. “Unexpected but not unwelcome.”

  “Well, you’d better get used to it. I’m going to make you so happy, you’ll think you died and went to heaven.” Through lacy, dark lashes, she gazed up at me. I cupped her jaw and stroked my thumb along the silky skin of her cheek. My life before Rourke seemed like a distant memory, one filled with darkness and cold. Every day since we’d met had been sunny and bright. She was a breath of fresh air to a man dying of suffocation.

  “I love you,” I said, unashamed of the break in my voice. “There will never be anyone else for me. Only you.”

  She turned her face into my palm and placed a kiss in the center. “I’m counting on it.” A glint of mischief replaced the softness in her eyes. “Tick, tock, Mr. Menshikov. Hands on top of your thighs.”

  “I can’t touch you?” I pretended to glower.

  “No.”

  “There you go with that word again. You know how much I hate it.” Despite my growl, a smile tugged at my lips.

  “Deal with it.” She rewarded my reprimand with a lick around the crown of my erection. I reached for her hair. At her reproachful glare, I threw my head against the backrest of the chair and groaned.

  I watched her devour me from root to tip, taking me all the way. She swallowed several times in succession, the muscles of her throat constricting around my shaft. The warm heat of her mouth sent tingles of electricity down my legs. “Let me touch you. I need to have my hands on you.”

  She shook her head in denial. Frustration and desire culminated in a tidal wave of pleasure. She changed the angle of her head, sliding me even deeper. Her fingers wrapped around my length. Sunlight glinted off her wedding ring. Fierce pride flared inside me. Rourke Donahue was mine. All mine. Once she learned about the true nature of my business, she might try to leave me, but I’d never let her go.

  7

  Rourke

  The next morning, as we rode in the limo to work, I pulled up the gala guest list on my tablet. One hundred names of the famous and fabulous stared back at me. Roman sat on the opposite seat, legs stretched in front of him, and chatted to someone in hushed Russian. I had no idea what he was saying, but his easy mastery of the language caused my thighs to press together and my panties to dampen.

  “What?” he asked. His gaze locked onto mine, relentless and heated.

  I’d been so engrossed in studying his smooth, square jaw and the fullness of his lips that it took a few seconds before to realize he’d ended the call and was speaking to me. “Um, sorry?”

  “Did you want something before I make this next call?” His index finger tapped an impatient rhythm on the seat beside him.

  “Oh, yes.” Even though he was my husband, I blushed at the thought of his sexy mouth burning kisses down my belly in the shower earlier this morning. “You need to finalize the guest list for the masquerade. I emailed it to you yesterday.”

  “You do it,” he said and pressed a new name on his phone contact list.

  “But—”

  He raised a finger in the air, cutting me off. “Take care of it, Rourke.”

  “Okay.” I blew out a sigh and shook my head. Roman chuckled. I glanced up to meet warm blue eyes staring back at me. A smile bent my lips. “You’re the devil.”

  “I told you that the very first night we met. Now kiss me before I start this call.” The warm press of our mouths resurrected the silent butterflies in my tummy. His tongue swept leisurely over mine. A small growl rose in his throat, rumbling between us. From far away, I heard a tiny voice speaking his name, an echo from his Bluetooth earpiece. He pulled away, leaving me wanting and breathless. “I’m here, Frederick. Go.”

  I leaned back against the cool leather and waited for the car to stop spinning. He smiled, biting his lower lip to hold back another chuckle, then patted the upholstery at his right, inviting me to join him. I moved across the car. The warmth of his muscular leg burned into mine. While he conducted his call, he slid a hand beneath the hem of my skirt and stroked the soft skin of my inner thigh with warm fingertips. I closed my eyes to enjoy his touch. With our busy schedules, these stolen moments came few and far between, and I meant to treasure each one.

  At the Sapphire Building, he held my hand on the way to the elevator and all the way to the top floor, only releasing my fingers to brush back the hair from my temple when we reached his office. “I’ve got a lot on my plate today, princess, so I’m leaving you in charge.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?” He’d been working long hours for the past few months. The thought of going to bed alone dampened my sunny mood.

  “Absolutely.” He held open the office door for me and gave my rump a resounding slap as I passed.

  “Ack! Roman!” Embarrassment scalded my cheeks. I glanced around the office, scanning the empty cubicles for witnesses. Thankfully, most of the employees wouldn’t arrive for another hour. His laughter boomed across the quiet space. I squirmed out of his grip. “Seriously.”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” The sparkle in his eyes restored my good humor. He rarely laughed, and this teasing, playful side of his personality warmed my heart. His smile widened, rewarding me further.

  I lifted on tiptoe to give him a parting kiss. “You’re forgiven—this time.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Menshikov, but the Vice President of Sapphire Airlines is on line two for you.”
One of his administrative assistants materialized at my side. She dropped her gaze to the tips of her black shoes. I narrowed my eyes at Roman in silent warning for him to behave.

  “Great.” Instantly, he snapped into his mega mogul persona. “It’s about time. Call Woodrow. Conference him in with us.” Without another word, he strode into his office and closed the door behind him.

  On a cloud of euphoria, I floated to my desk and began the tedious task of vetting the guest list for the masquerade. Rock stars, actors, a sheik, two male opera singers from Milan, various European and Russian royalty, trust fund babies, and a politician plagued by sex scandals topped the double columns. I crossed off an oil tycoon who’d recently been convicted of tax evasion, and a media mogul who’d perished in a plane crash last week. Then, I crossed off the sleazy politician because he was—well—sleazy. At the bottom of the list, I added Everly’s name beneath mine and Roman’s.

  “There. All done.” With a few expert key clicks, I saved the document and sent the email to Lavender.

  After lunch, I ran a few errands, picked up Roman’s dry cleaning, and returned to the office. I skimmed through emails, looking for confirmation that Lavender had received the revised guest list. Nothing. I stared at the computer screen then picked up the phone to call her office. Maybe she’d taken the day off or called in sick. Either way, I wanted to make sure she’d received the finalized copy.

  “Ms. Cunningham didn’t come in today,” the receptionist said. “We’re quite concerned. I promise this isn’t like her. I’ll be happy to pass the message on to her partner, if you’d like.”

  The hairs lifted on the back of my neck, but I had no idea why. “No, that’s okay. This is a highly confidential matter. She insisted that I get the email to her right away. Would you ask her to call me to confirm that she received it?” I returned the phone to the desk and stared out the window, thinking of Roman’s heated conversation with Lavender last night. From behind me, a man cleared his throat. I swiveled in the chair to face Nicky.

  “Good afternoon, lovely.” His gray gaze swept over me, too personal for my comfort, full of smug secrets. Then again, that was Nicky’s personality. He loved to make people squirm. “You look different. What is it? Something I can’t put my finger on.”

  “I had my hair highlighted.” I returned my concentration to the computer screen.

  “Wait. What’s this?” He snatched my hand from the keyboard and lifted it to study the wedding band on my ring finger. The diamonds glittered in the afternoon light. “Cinderella, please say it’s not so.”

  Heat scalded my face at the nickname he’d given me last year at the Masquerade de Marquis. I pulled my hand into my lap. “Congratulations would be nice.”

  “More like condolences.” He shoved a hand through his wavy brown hair before resting a hip on the corner of my desk. With a heavy sigh, I closed out the screen on Roman’s appointment calendar and gave him my full attention. The fabric of his gray sweater hugged his broad shoulders and trim chest, the color exactly matching his irises. When our gazes met, he adjusted the ends of the long black scarf around his neck and pursed his lips. “I can’t pretend to be happy about this.” The low, sinister tone of his voice sent a shiver down my back and reignited my misgivings. I glanced away. He dipped his head to catch my gaze. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  Instead of surrendering to his bullshit, I lifted my chin and stared back at him. “Why would I listen to anything you have to say? You’ve misled me from day one.”

  “Not about this. Not about him.” He jerked his head toward Roman’s office. “Ask him how he made his fortune. Ask him what happens to people like Olga—I mean, Lavender Cunningham when they cross him.”

  A surge of adrenalin made my heart ping against my ribs. The words of Lavender’s receptionist echoed in my head. Ms. Cunningham didn’t come in today. Roman had argued with her last night. As quickly as the suspicion formed, I shoved it out of my thoughts. Nicky sniffed out fear and fed on it like a predatory lion. He manipulated and schemed with the lives of others for his personal amusement. I lifted my chin and met his gaze. I wouldn’t allow him to come between me and my husband. Not today and never over another woman.

  Before I could formulate a suitable scathing reply, Roman’s office door opened. He assessed the situation and narrowed his eyes at the sight of his younger brother sitting on my desk. I glanced away. Even though I’d done nothing wrong, heat rushed into my cheeks.

  “What’s going on?” Dressed in a sharp black suit and red tie, he oozed power. His gaze bounced from Nicky’s face to mine. I’d never feared him, but the tension in his jaw gave him a fierce, threatening air. For a split second, I questioned his power. Was he capable of all the things Nicky alluded to? No! I can’t think like this. Nicky was getting into my head again.

  “I should be asking you the same question.” The amount of anger in Nicky’s voice pushed me back in my seat. I was accustomed to their sibling rivalry, but this was something new, something less playful and a lot more sinister. “You married her? I never thought you’d go through with it. What are you thinking?”

  “That I’m the luckiest man on earth,” Roman replied, his tone even. He slid the backs of his fingers along my cheek in a gentle caress. Instinctively, I turned my face into his touch.

  “I don’t know why you’re surprised,” I said, smiling at Roman. “We’ve been engaged.”

  “I guess I hoped you’d grow tired of each other and this whole situation would resolve itself,” Nicky said.

  Roman bent and touched his lips to mine. “This is for keeps, Nicky.”

  “You’re dragging her into the middle of your shitstorm.” Nicky’s voice escalated in volume with each word. An intern paused outside the open office door to stare. I crossed the room and closed the door on her nose.

  “What shitstorm?” I asked, returning to my chair.

  “There’s no shitstorm,” Roman said. “He’s being overly dramatic.” The two men glared at each other. “Tell her, Nicky.”

  “I have plenty to tell her.” Nicky crossed his arms over his chest then tapped a finger to his lips. “Let me see. Where should I start? With Lavender maybe? Or the army marching into Kitzeh?”

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” Neither man flinched at my angry declaration. “What is Kitezh?”

  Roman’s expression darkened, escalating my worry. “Nicky. My office. Now.”

  “Someone talk to me,” I demanded, but no one replied. The men filed into Roman’s office. I tried to follow, but Roman blocked the entrance by bracing an arm across the opening. The tips of my sandals met the toes of his shiny Italian shoes. “No secrets. You promised.”

  “There’s nothing to be concerned about. Nicky’s creating trouble where there isn’t any.” When I didn’t move, he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze to meet his. The sincerity in his eyes melted my misgivings. “I would never risk your well-being. You know that.” He swept a thumb over my lower lip.

  “Yes,” I whispered, captivated by the flecks of black and gray in his blue eyes.

  “Then let me deal with him.” He bent to brush a chaste kiss over my mouth then lowered his voice to keep Nicky from eavesdropping. “You’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”

  “Like what?” I eyed him with mock suspicion.

  A smug smirk curved his lips. “We’re going to the Devil’s Playground NYC tonight.”

  I left Roman and Nicky to sort out their problems but didn’t worry too much about them. Roman had a lifetime of experience dealing with his younger brother. Nicky reveled in yanking Roman’s chain at every opportunity and always would. Instead, I tried to keep my excitement over the evening’s event under control. We were going to the Devil’s Playground NYC. Finally. My curiosity had burned to know more about the secret location of the New York City branch, who frequented the club, and Roman’s passion for the place. I was so preoccupied in specula
tion that I nearly knocked over the housekeeper in the foyer of our penthouse.

  “Oh, goodness,” she said, placing a hand over her heart. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Menshikov.”

  “It’s fine.” I choked on a squeak of surprise. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but you gave me a start.” She bent to retrieve something that had fluttered from her hands when we collided. It was a white envelope, addressed to me, stamped with Roman’s name in gold leaf on the back.

  “Mr. Menshikov wanted me to give this to you.” She pressed the envelope into my hand. “And he’s left something upstairs for you. He said to be sure and follow his instructions to the letter.”

  “Did he say why?” Past experience had taught me the futility of questioning Roman’s thought processes, but I did it anyway.

  “No, ma’am,” she said.

  “Martha, you can call me Rourke.” We couldn’t be more than a few years apart in age, and the formal address kept me on edge.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Menshikov wouldn’t approve,” she said.

  “Mr. Menshikov doesn’t have to know everything.” Rebellion sharpened my words. Just because he’d been a prince didn’t mean he could rule my life. I drew in a breath and tried to smile. “You can call me Rourke when he’s not around. How’s that?”

  “Alright.” Her return smile brightened her heart-shaped face.

  “Did he leave any other instructions?”

  “Yes, ma’am—Rourke. He said to remind you to be ready promptly at eight and that he hates to be kept waiting.”

  “Right.” I rolled my eyes, sending Martha into a fit of suppressed laughter. “Well, I’d better get to it then.”

  I ran up the stairs to our bedroom, feeling like a teenager on prom night. Behind the closed bedroom door, I ripped open the flap of the envelope with trembling fingers. Roman’s neat handwriting spread across the page beneath his gold-embossed letterhead.