by Chloe Cox
Lola watched him shrug his suit coat off in one athletic movement, his muscles roiling under his finely tailored shirt. He paced—he always paced when he thought, his body always needing to find some outlet—walking a circuit of the large circular living room, surveying his territory.
He stopped in the center of the room and looked at her, still leaning against the wall in the foyer like an idiot. He made her weak.
“I will prepare the spare room,” he said.
The spare room. Lola had heard about this from the women Roman had periodic arrangements with: he was the best Dom in the city, but it was play only. Women could stay over, but he never shared a bed. He would hold them, provide aftercare, but never, ever did he sleep—actually sleep—with a woman.
Of course she was to sleep in the spare room. Had she really allowed herself to become so unrealistic? From one kiss and a cab ride?
“Roman,” she said, and he stopped in midstride to give her his full attention. He looked like a Catalonian god, standing tall and polished in the late afternoon light. “About…”
“Yes?”
She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say “the kiss.”
“About being…convincing. How are we going to convince the club?”
Roman cocked his head, a slight smile on his face. The bastard! He wasn’t affected at all. It was like that kiss hadn’t done anything to him. It was incredibly unfair. Worse, it was humiliating.
“You have been a submissive before,” he said. “I am sure you will know what to do.”
Lola felt her cheeks reddening. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that it’s kind of a huge deal, and if we pretend it’s not a huge deal, everyone will wonder what’s up. We have to actually tell people. Make an announcement or something. A big show of it.”
He smiled. “Come out of the closet?”
“Yes.”
Roman laughed, sprawling his muscular body on the couch. “You truly think they will believe it, just like that?”
How could anyone believe he would be with her? Lola bristled at the insult, secretly grateful to have something to focus on other than the magnetic pull of Roman’s body. That sealed it. She would do whatever she had to do to get Roman to take her seriously. To make sure that he was affected. That she wasn’t the only one who had to endure this torture of pretending to have the man she’d always wanted and yet not really having him. She had a few tricks up her sleeve. She could make him suffer, too.
“I’ll make them believe it,” she said.
Roman Casta had no idea what he had gotten himself into.
chapter 5
Roman enjoyed gambling. Perhaps that explained what he was about to do.
Perhaps that explained what he had already done.
Roman made his way through the private hall that connected his apartment with Club Volare with laser focus, his well-developed muscles twitching angrily under his tailored suit, his whole body screaming at him that he was moving in exactly the wrong direction—away from Lola. His whole being was pulled taught in anticipation, waiting. There was much to do. Much to take care of.
As soon as he’d kissed her, he’d known: he had to have her. He must, or he would lose his mind.
His conscience said otherwise, and the tension between his conscience and his cock had stretched him to the breaking point. The compromise was this: he would have her, if he were convinced it would not harm her. If it would help her.
He repeated the mantra to himself and growled involuntarily. A man didn’t need to repeat things that he was sure of. But he damn well needed to be sure of this.
He’d only meant to test himself when he’d kissed Lola in the hallway at the city clerk’s office, a test of the sorts of things they’d have to do many times in public, a test he had been confident of passing. And he had passed, but barely. It had taken every ounce of self control he had not to take her there and then, and he’d only bought himself time by promising himself he’d have her later. What insanity was that?
She was Lola. His Lola. His charge. Chance’s cousin, his family.
But there was no point in going over the arguments again in his mind; no point in rehashing all of the reasons why this was a terrible thing. It changed nothing. It meant nothing, not in the face of what happened when he touched her. It had been instant fire, his higher self burned away, leaving behind something animal. He hadn’t felt lust like that since Samantha.
Whatever this was between them needed to be dealt with, before it did real damage, before it threatened their plan to save Volare.
And tonight was the first part of that plan. Tonight, they would have to convince the Volare membership that their relationship was real. It would at least be no challenge to convince them that he wanted her. How he was to determine whether Lola could manage a physical relationship with him… He stopped suddenly; even now the reality of that, of what he contemplated, shocked him. He would never, ever forgive himself if he took her and in the morning she regretted it. Or worse, if she was hurt by it. Damaged.
She had already been hurt by her last Dom. Her only Dom, as far as Roman knew.
The thought of Lola, brokenhearted and humiliated when she’d discovered Benjamin with his ex-wife, brought Roman up short. Lola had actually cried in his office. Lola had cried. The memory of it made Roman feel dangerous. He had wanted to punish Benjamin many, many times, but Lola only wanted to forget. For all her worldliness, she was also, in her way, an innocent: she truly believed the best of people. It wasn’t in her to understand why someone would lie like that.
And Roman wouldn’t lie to her, not about something like that. That was one encouraging fact: if there was any woman alive who already knew of Roman’s rules involving physical relationships, it was Lola Theroux. She was, in fact, the only woman who knew the reason for them. She knew about Samantha. He could be confident that Lola, at least, would not expect more than what he could give.
Then why did it still feel like a gamble?
Mother of God, was he really considering this?
“Thank you, Roman, for offering another Casino Night,” Sheikh Bashir said, rising from the chair where he’d been waiting in Roman’s office. He extended his hand. The two men hadn’t seen each other since Roman had interviewed the Sheikh as he spanked the woman who would later become his fiancée—and was one of Lola’s best friends—during a Volare BDSM brunch. That had been months ago. “Stella loved the one we had for our engagement party, and she is delighted that it should become a regular feature.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t attend that engagement party, but I have promised Stella, on pain of death, that I will be at the wedding,” Roman said smiling.
Bashir smiled back. It seemed a particularly knowing smile. “Ah, yes. My fiancée is currently helping your fiancée ‘get ready?’”
Roman frowned. “You know?”
“I’m afraid there are few secrets between women, and few people are able to hide things from me. Stella no longer even tries,” Bashir said, returning to his seat. “You have my discretion, of course.”
“Of course.” That made at least four people, aside from himself, Lola, and Ford, who knew. At least Roman was confident in Jake and Catie, and in Stella and Bashir—but circles of trust grew weaker as they grew bigger.
“In that case, Bashir, we plan to announce our ‘relationship’ at tonight’s event. Since you are one of the nominal hosts, perhaps you can help us with any credibility problems?”
“You’re joking,” Bashir said, then looked hard at Roman. Bashir laughed. “You’re not? I don’t think that you’ll have any problems with that, Roman.”
Roman thought about Lola’s body crushed against his, and his cock began to throb. “Even so.”
“Of course. So why did you ask me here?”
Ah. The question at hand. He’d meant to discuss this with Lola, but recent events had gotten in the way. And now, because of Lola, those plans might have to change.
Roman leaned forward. “I want to
talk about another Volare location.”
The two men settled into the comfortable realm of business, but Roman was on automatic. He kept thinking about Lola’s words: “I’ll make them believe it.”
What could she have meant by that?
~ * ~ * ~
“Something happened, I can tell,” Stella said over the mountain of clothing she held in her arms. “Out with it.”
“Nothing happened,” Lola lied. “Thank you so much for bringing my clothes. I’m over here.”
Lola mentally crossed her fingers as she led Stella through Roman’s sun-soaked apartment to her designated spare room, hoping against hope that her friend would buy it.
“Yeah, what’s with the ‘I can’t leave the apartment’ thing?” Stella said behind her.
Lola cringed, walking ahead and opening the door to the walk in closet, and then went back for the suitcases they’d left by the door.
“It’s not so much that I can’t, it’s more that Roman doesn’t want me getting mobbed,” she said over her shoulder. “He didn’t want me accosted by reporters again, at least until we’ve figured the whole thing out. And, frankly, I’m freaked out after that scrum this morning, so I agreed. Temporarily.”
Stella waited until her friend came back lugging the suitcases just so Lola could see the raised eyebrow. “Roman doesn’t want you getting mobbed?”
Lola smiled involuntarily. Why was she smiling? It was ridiculous. She should not be smiling about this. “You should have seen him while we were getting the marriage license. It was like that scene from The Bodyguard, only…all Roman-like. It was actually kind of sweet.”
“Really?” Stella was grinning.
“Protective. And sweet. He’s getting me a security detail if it keeps up.”
“Are you going to tell me what actually happened?”
“No.”
Stella harrumphed. “Pick out your own dress, then,” she said.
“Fine, he kissed me. Not a real kiss,” Lola added quickly, not wanting to look at her friend. “It’s just, we have to be convincing, right? Ford keeps telling us that. So we’ll have to do stuff like that in public. And I get that. It’s just…”
Stella was never fooled. Her eyes were sparkling. “How was it?”
“It wasn’t real.”
“Oh, bullcrap. It was Roman. The man you’ve fantasized about for what, ten years? Almost?”
Lola sighed, picking up a dry-cleaned sleeved dress and walking it into the generous closet. “Oh, fine. Of course it was incredible. Of course it was…I don’t even have words, Stella. I was floored.”
“And?”
“And he wasn’t. He didn’t even seem affected. Like, not even fazed. Just, you know, super-controlled Roman.”
Lola joined Stella where she sat on the bed—what would be Lola’s bed now, for however long; Lola’s huge, lonely bed—and let her friend put a comforting arm around her.
“You ok?” Stella asked.
Lola looked at Stella’s hand on her shoulder: there it was, weighing down her friend’s finger, the giant engagement ring. Stella must have developed entirely new arm muscles to carry that thing around. She was getting married for real. She had an engagement ring that actually meant something. Lola sighed.
“Well, no, it freaking sucks, wanting him and having these feelings—feelings I’m not even sure of, honestly—and knowing they won’t be returned. Look, it’s confusing. He confused the hell out of me in Ford’s office. I knew it would suck. Like, what did I think would happen when I agreed to this, right? But,” Lola added, drawing herself up, “One, Volare is my family and my responsibility. And two, I am no pushover. I’m not going to just suffer in silence.”
“What are you going to do?”
Lola shrugged and picked up her favorite dress, a gossamer thin, body hugging green dream. “I’m going to show him what he’s missing. And if he doesn’t want me…well, I’ll at least make sure he knows that other guys do.”
Stella looked dubious. “You sure about this?”
“Well, it’s not like it could get worse, right?” Lola said. “What do I have to lose?”
~ * ~ * ~
Roman lazily flipped a poker chip through his fingers and watched the door, his face expressionless as he watched the members of Volare come and go.
Only one mattered, and she wasn’t here.
He would wait.
Stella Spencer’s Casino Night had become so popular it seemed it would become a new Volare tradition. The central hall, a large room where most of their big events were held, was crowded with Volare regulars mingling between the many green-topped tables. Stella and Bashir themselves were dancing slowly, out of time, oblivious to the world around them, to some rock/big band fusion group that Stella had found in Brooklyn. Roman glanced at them and smiled. He doubted those two saw anything but each other.
And Roman himself was only interested in one person. The longer he had to wait, the more he felt like a caged animal. He had been thinking about her, about that kiss— and about how the world would be different after he made her his—all afternoon, all night. He was growing impatient.
No. Remember the conditions.
Roman was nothing without his integrity. He knew she wanted him. He sensed it with every fiber of his being; Lola had never been very good at hiding her feelings from him. But his concerns of the past ten years didn’t simply evaporate because of a kiss; he had to be certain that their past did not turn a sexual relationship into something that could harm Lola. Only, he had to be certain of that before his lust overwhelmed him completely.
It was something of a race.
“Roman, are you even paying attention?”
Annoyed, Roman looked across the table to find Ford grinning at him. Jackson Reed, a man Roman had come to know better since the last Volare Casino Night had reunited Jackson with his own wife-to-be, covered his cards with his hand and tried to look at nothing at all. He had, apparently, raised, and the bet had been met by Salvador Benes, a new member who came recommended by friends. The betting action was to Roman, and he hadn’t even realized they’d dealt out a new hand.
“A lot on your mind, Roman?”
Ford appeared to be enjoying this far too much. That good-boy grin was annoying. Roman didn’t answer, but checked his hole cards. Jacks. He called.
“Nothing I cannot handle, Ford,” Roman said.
He hoped he was right. He was gambling everything on being right.
Alyssa, a pretty blonde sub who’d just been cast in a Broadway revival, dealt out the flop. Normally Roman would have taken in the reactions of the other players, but this was the moment Lola Theroux chose to make her entrance.
God, what an entrance.
The soft bronze light of the natural candles and heavy chandeliers that hung about the room at the Sheikh’s insistence, giving off the old time speakeasy vibe that Stella so loved, gave off a warm light that raced through Lola’s red hair like a living thing, giving her a soft, tempting halo and an otherworldly glow.
Roman wanted to take that halo and turn it into something more interesting. His gaze slid down her body, which was barely covered in a fine green fabric, a dress that made her seem more naked than clothed. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
And he wasn’t the only one.
Someone was speaking to him, but he didn’t hear, didn’t care to interpret the words. All he saw was Daniel Billings, a wealthy trader who was always on the lookout for a new mistress, and who had always, always looked at Lola with a desire that Roman thought was beneath her. Daniel Billings was moving through the crowd, his eyes locked on Lola.
His Lola.
Roman was already up and walking away from the table, his body propelling him through the crowd, his fists opening and closing, his jaw clenching. There was a group around Lola, people crowding around her, everyone wanting to talk to her—their Mistress, the heart and soul of Volare, the one everyone had missed so much since Roman had driven her away by lying
to her. And there was Daniel Billings, swooping in with a gluttonous look, waiting to take advantage of Lola’s return.
No.
Roman cut in, his arm snaking around Lola’s waist. He met her eyes first—her wide, surprised green eyes, eyes that had already seen more of him than anyone since his wife. He might have kissed her there. Would have, if he could have been sure that it wouldn’t confuse her more. If he could have been certain of what she could handle.
Instead he turned viciously on Billings.
“Mine,” he said.
Everything stopped. All the little pattering conversations died. All eyes fell to them. Roman’s arm tightened around Lola’s waist, and Billings put his hands up, stammering out nonsense words.
Roman ignored him. He ignored all of them.
“Come,” he said to Lola, and led her across the room to an alcove, a tiny space meant for private moments at public events. By the time he spun her into that private little nook he felt hot, feverish, on edge.
“Roman, was that necessary?” Lola seemed amused more than anything else. He’d let her get away with it—for now.
He said, “It was less than I should have done. You are supposed to be my submissive, remember? My wife.”
“About that…” Lola paused, looking away as though she were trying to choose her words carefully. “I’m a switch, Roman. And no one has seen me as a sub since—”
“Don’t even say his name,” Roman interrupted. “Look at me. Do not sully your lips with his name.”
The silence between them seemed small, intimate. Not even the music could intrude, and Roman inhaled deeply, breathed all of her in. Her scent, her sly smile, the dull light glinting off her skin, the heat of her burning him through that dress. Then she smiled with wide affection, showing the slight dimple in her left cheek. She said, “Roman, that’s a little extreme.”