“You must think you’re pretty smart,” I said, my eyes glued to Rourke’s face.
“Ah, so you finally figured it out.” Amusement brightened the cadence of his speech. “I wondered how many days it would take before you dragged your nose away from your computer long enough to see that your mystery woman has been in front of you all this time.”
“I’m glad I was able to entertain you.”
Rourke shifted in the seat. The hem of her dress hiked up her thigh. I closed my eyes and swallowed, remembering how it had felt to be between those legs, how willing and wet her pussy had been for me.
“It’s been a delight,” Ivan said. “And to think you tried to fire her on the first day. Classic Roman. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“What lesson is that? Not to trust you anymore?”
Rourke tugged her skirt down toward her knees. Her skin glowed with good health and a hint of summer sun. Desire twitched my fingers. What I wouldn’t give to run a hand up the inside of her leg, up her thigh, to caress that smooth flesh.
“You must have gotten a good laugh,” I continued.
His heavy sigh gusted against the phone. “Grow up, Roman. It’s time.”
The phone call ended in a dial tone. He always had to have the last word, in every damn situation. I placed the phone back on the seat to finish charging and stared at Rourke. She’d replaced her sunglasses, cutting off access to her expressive eyes, and stared out the window. Now that I knew who she was, I couldn’t get enough of her. I drank in every inch of her body, her legs, her face. My princess was sitting in the limousine across from me, and there wasn’t a freaking thing I could do about it without courting a sexual harassment suit.
“What did you do while I was gone?” I asked.
“Um, well, I spent some time with Ivan learning self-defense, and Julie got me up to speed on your email accounts. We set up a tentative list of tasks, subject to your approval, and—”
I cut her off with an uplifted palm. “No. I mean, what did you do outside of work?”
She brushed her hair behind her ears and pursed her lips. “I had lunch with a few friends and went shopping for clothes.”
I burned with jealousy at the thought of her laughing and cutting up with people who knew her better than I did. What would it take to win her over, to become one of her trusted circle? After showing my ass to her, the probability seemed slight. Even if I managed to overcome the hurdle of my bad behavior, I’d have to fire her before I could fuck her, because I never screwed my employees.
I stared at her, contemplating a new and disturbing thought. Did she know I was the man at the masquerade? If she knew, she’d done one hell of a job covering it up. I studied her closed posture—arms barricaded over her chest, legs crossed and pointed away from me, the serious line of her mouth. The more I stared at her, the more I wanted her. She represented the ultimate challenge, a woman who didn’t want me. However, I always got what I wanted. Always. And Rourke Donahue had just become my next conquest.
Chapter 15
Rourke
For the next seven hours, I tried to anticipate Roman’s needs while avoiding conversation, and he made a noticeable effort not to insult me. During his time in London, something had shifted in his demeanor. Sometimes I caught him watching me, pensive and brooding, brows lowered. Other times, he stared openly, and I had the distinct feeling he could see straight through my clothing. Most of the time, he ignored me, which I took as a blessing. The less interaction between us, the less chance of him recognizing our previous acquaintance.
At the end of the day, we went straight from the office to an elegant country club for a dinner meeting. I welcomed the buffer of other people to ease the tension between us. His brooding blue eyes threatened to get the best of my composure. And I couldn’t afford to let him get to me.
When the waiter attempted to pull out a chair for me, Roman motioned him aside and slid the seat beneath my legs. The unexpected thoughtfulness of the gesture took me by surprise. Until today, he’d barely acknowledged my existence. I gave him a tight smile, avoiding eye contact, and tried to calm the butterflies in my belly.
Roman’s guests arrived on our heels. The scent of old money clung to their conservative clothes and cool stares. I forced a pleasant smile but felt it slip when the woman turned to face me. Her delicate features, black hair, and large bosom were shockingly familiar. This was the woman from The Devil’s Playground, the one with the elaborate plumed mask.
“Ms. Donahue, I’d like you to meet the Weavers—Henry and Deborah,” Roman said.
The man smiled and shook my hand. The overhead chandeliers glinted off his bald head. Deborah’s gaze flicked over Roman’s hand on the back of my chair. He cleared his throat and dropped his hand, curling his fingers into a fist.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, but they’d already turned their attention to Roman. Despite my years as a personal assistant, I’d never gotten used to the glass wall separating me from the upper class. Everly had always treated me like a friend and family member. But her business colleagues and acquaintances had not. Most of them ignored me. None of them made eye contact. Their censure irritated more than it wounded. I didn’t need their approval to bolster my self-confidence, but a little common courtesy would have been nice.
“Darling, you’re looking wonderful.” Deborah tried to air-kiss Roman’s cheeks, but he stepped away, leaving her lips pursed in midair. I stifled a laugh.
After everyone was seated, the waiter opened a bottle of wine for Roman’s approval. The conversation drifted from current events to sports and, finally, to vacation hot spots. I couldn’t concentrate with Roman’s knee brushing mine beneath the table every few minutes. My senses went into a state of hyperawareness. Every shift of his body, every rise and fall of his chest, sent arousal flooding through my veins. Why did he have to be so handsome? Despite an overseas flight and back-to-back conference calls, his gaze remained predatory and sharp. I marveled at his ability to focus when I could only think about ruinous castles, masked strangers, and sex, sex, sex.
“We spent the summer in Ibiza last year,” Deborah said, in a pronounced Bostonian accent. “The beaches were amazing. The people were beautiful. You should go there, Roman.” The patronizing smirk on her red lips raised my hackles. She patted my hand. “If you’re lucky, maybe he’ll take you with him, sweetheart.”
Throughout the meal, no one had addressed me directly. Her touch brought me back from the depths of Roman’s blue eyes. I swallowed, aware that I’d been ogling him, and scrambled to gather my thoughts.
“Have you been to Ibiza, Rourke?” Roman dabbed a napkin to his full lower lip. My gaze locked on his mouth. Memories of his kisses consumed me, the taste of his tongue, the softness of his mouth. “What do you think? Is it worth my trouble?”
“Ibiza is lovely but a little too crowded for my taste.” I took a sip of wine to clear the erotic images from my head before speaking again. “You might like Anse Source d’Argent in Seychelles better. It’s quiet and peaceful. I’d love to go back again sometime.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, her tone disbelieving. “I’ve never heard of it. I suppose we’ll have to check it out, won’t we, Henry?” Her gaze turned to her husband.
A sip of wine went down the wrong pipe, and I sputtered.
Roman thumped my back. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat and tried to look anywhere but at the couple across the table. Visions of the woman in the grand hall, her arms and feet in restraints, bent over the velvet bench, burned the backs of my eyes. The man pounding into her had not been her husband. Did he know? Did he care? Adultery under any circumstances made my stomach queasy.
“I haven’t had a vacation in a very long time,” Roman said. His hand returned to the back of my chair. The tips of his fingers brushed my shoulder. A frisson of electricity jolted up my neck. I shivered. He withdrew his hand to his lap. The muscles of his jaw flexed.
/> “Maybe Ms. Donahue will be kind enough to arrange a visit for all of us.” The woman’s sharp gaze noticed my reaction to his touch. Her mouth turned down. “Henry and I enjoy your company. We haven’t spent nearly enough time together this year.”
The proprietary bite of her tone was unmistakable. A new and disturbing notion soured the taste of dinner. I dropped my fork to the table and nodded to the waiter. He removed the plate with white-gloved hands. Had Roman been involved with this woman? Something in their easy demeanor confirmed my suspicions.
“Have you vacationed together before?” I asked, directing the question to my employer.
“Roman has been kind enough to invite us to his home in London for the past few years.” She stared at me. Did she recognize me? I ignored the unpleasant notion and kept my gaze trained on Roman.
“Like I said, I haven’t had a vacation in a very long time.” The line of tension between us tightened until I couldn’t breathe. “But I enjoy opening my estates to business associates and friends. Just because I don’t have time to enjoy them doesn’t mean they should go unoccupied.”
“You’re generous beyond words,” Henry said, joining the conversation once more. If he’d been bothered by his wife’s statements, he didn’t show it in expression or tone. Maybe he approved of her indiscretions. Maybe he liked to watch. Heat raced up my neck, raising my temperature to the point of discomfort.
“Have you been to the London manor yet? It’s quite exceptional.”
“Um, no. I’ve never been there.” The lie soured on my tongue.
“Really? Are you sure? I could have sworn I saw you there in the spring.” The weight of her stare burned through me. I stared back, unblinking, refusing to be intimidated.
“This is only my second week with Mr. Menshikov.” I twisted in my chair, desperate to escape this line of questioning. She knew.
“Enough idle conversation.” Roman gestured for the waiters to clear the first course from the table. “Let’s talk business.” Without looking in my direction, he dropped his napkin on the table. “Rourke, I don’t think I’ll need you tonight after all. Have Jose take you home. I’ll catch a cab later.”
The abrupt dismissal stung. I blinked but nodded. A smug smile flitted across the woman’s face. With stiff movements, I pushed my chair from the table and stood. “Thank you for dinner. Good evening.”
I walked to the door, feeling humiliated and raw. Maybe this job had been a huge mistake. The walls of my throat constricted. I swallowed back tears. Why was I so emotional? I wasn’t Roman’s date. I was his personal assistant. If I wanted to succeed in this position, I needed to remember my place. Knowing his identity changed everything.
Chapter 16
Roman
I had to send Rourke away. For the past hour, I’d been in a constant state of arousal. Our thighs kept bumping into each other beneath the table. Every brush of her knee against mine sent blood rushing into my cock. My balls ached and my temper simmered. The knowledge of how it felt to be inside her proved to be a major distraction. I needed to be on my game during this meeting, something I couldn’t do with her sitting beside me.
“She’s nice—plain—but sweet,” Deborah said, her dark gaze roving over me as Rourke exited the dining room.
“Yes, lovely girl,” said her husband.
Like always, his words echoed his wife’s sentiments. The poor man didn’t have one thought to claim as his own. Deborah was the brains behind their enterprise. Her wit and intelligence had attracted me when we first met. Back then, I’d had little respect for the sanctity of marriage. Milada’s mother had seen to that. Time and maturity had changed my feelings on the topic, however.
Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “How long will she last, I wonder? She doesn’t seem to have the backbone necessary to put up with someone like you.” Despite the teasing quality of her tone, the words stung. They sliced into my soft underbelly, catching me by surprise. She placed a hand on my forearm. “Should we place a bet?”
“I’m in for a thousand.” Her husband’s eyes brightened. “I give her a week.”
“This one is different, though.” Deborah studied my face. I stared back at her, wondering why I’d ever found her poisonous personality attractive. “I give her a month. And let’s make it two thousand, shall we?”
I shook off her hand and dropped it into her lap. “You’re skating on thin ice. Both of you.” Although Rourke and I had gotten off to a rocky start, the need to protect her from needless ridicule consumed me. The color drained from beneath Deborah’s fake tan. “If you’re trying to coax additional funding out of me for your project, this isn’t the way to go about it. To avoid any future misunderstandings, my employees are not for your amusement.”
“Since when do you give a crap about your employees?” Her observation made me straighten in my chair. She and her husband both shifted away from me. “The old Roman used to love a good wager.”
“My behavior back then was irresponsible and callous.” Beneath my bravado, I knew she was right. The number of personal assistants left in my wake proved it. “I’ve learned from my mistakes. You should do the same. Now, are you done wasting my time?”
She rolled her lips together and dropped her gaze to the table. Fear flickered in her eyes. “I apologize. We were only trying to have a little fun.”
“Not at my expense or Ms. Donahue’s.” I let my words sink in for a few seconds before shifting the topic to business. Maybe I’d been an ass to my former assistants, but I could do better. Finding my Cinderella had changed everything. I had to improve or risk losing her forever.
In the limo the next morning, on our way to the office, Rourke sat across from me, the picture of self-restraint and cool composure. I pretended to scroll through emails, but watched her through the veil of my eyelashes. She uncrossed and crossed her legs, sending a shockwave of need into my groin. To make matters worse, her amazing scent, clean and citrusy, filled the car. I shifted to ease the stiffness behind the fly of my trousers. With her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and her blouse buttoned to her chin, she looked like an uptight schoolteacher—a sexy, needs-a-good-fuck schoolteacher. In another life, I would have pulled the pins from her hair, popped the buttons of her blouse and tested her limits in every dirty way possible. Instead, I settled back in my seat and blew out a frustrated sigh.
“What?” A pink tide crept up her neck. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was inappropriate to stare, but I couldn’t stop wondering if she had a boyfriend, if she dated, if she’d ever been married. I wanted to ask but it was none of my business.
“Your outfit—I approve. Very professional.” The color intensified to a dusty rose and settled in her cheeks.
On her first day of work, my assessment of her wardrobe had been harsh but absolutely necessary. In my line of work, appearances meant everything. The minute I stepped into a boardroom, judgements were made and opinions formed. If I showed up for a multi-million-dollar acquisition dressed in worn shoes and shabby jeans, my partners would question my competence. This business existed in a game of smoke and mirrors, and I’d become an expert player.
The limo rounded a corner. Rourke extended a hand to keep her balance. The shift in movement caused her straight black skirt to hike above her knees. She tugged on the hem and crossed her legs again, drawing my focus to her smooth skin and the freckle above her knee.
“Thanks. One of my friends is a stylist. He put together a wardrobe for me.”
He? A prickle of jealousy lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. Who was this guy? How long had they been friends? Dozens of questions lingered on the tip of my tongue. Before I could devise an appropriate way to inquire, her phone rang. She picked up the call. My ears perked at the sound of her smooth, soothing voice. I liked listening to her talk.
“No. That won’t work. Mr. Menshikov requires a view of Lake Michigan.” Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, perfect and perky beneath the ruffles of her white silk blouse.
My fingers flexed involuntarily. Slanting eyebrows drew together over the bridge of her nose. “Is that a suite?” After a pause, her tone grew steely. “No problem. If you can’t accommodate us, I’m sure the Four Seasons will have something available.”
I put down the phone and stared openly. Her pink lips bowed and a dimple appeared beside her mouth. A bolt of lust hit me squarely below the belt. That mouth, those dimples. The muscles in my throat tightened.
“Yes? Great. The Presidential Suite will be perfect. Could you send over a menu? Mr. Menshikov will be dining in. Thank you.” She ended the call with a satisfied smirk. “I got you into the Waldorf. No small feat, considering you only gave me a day’s notice.”
Getting the Presidential Suite at the Waldorf at the last minute was next to impossible. Although she’d only been with me a short time, she’d already proved her competence by achieving tasks like this one. “I never expected anything less,” I said, not to belittle her accomplishment, but to test her. A spark of temper illuminated her eyes; something I’d begun to crave. Occasionally, I called her into my office and picked a fight just so I could see those blue eyes flash. In my world, most people bent over backwards to accommodate my wishes and molded their opinions to echo mine. Not Rourke. Seeing myself through her eyes made want to be a different man—a better man.
“They’re faxing over the menu. If you’ll pick out what you like, I’ll have your meals prepped.” She dropped her gaze to the phone on her lap. I felt the loss of those pretty blue irises immediately.
“You decide.” I turned my attention back to the phone.
“Are you sure? I might do something stupid like order yellow mustard for your sandwich instead of Grey Poupon.”
I glanced up, faking a glower, loving her sass and fearless rebuke. “Are you mocking me, Ms. Donahue?”
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