The people not dancing ringed the dance floor, and she eased through the crowd to the far side of the room. She wanted to put some distance between herself and the doorway.
I’m demure. I’m delicate. She thought the words with each step, keeping her posture proud and straight, enjoying when men and women alike swept their eyes over her body.
As she walked, she noticed the opposite wall was all mirror, giving the feeling there were more people than there were. But the one time she stepped onto the dance floor to avoid the crush, she caught sight of her reflection and was in awe again.
In the mix of dark colors, she was one of the few in white. She wondered if anyone else had a similar role to hers.
“Anya!” whispered a voice urgently. “I mean Saigo!” It was Ariel, wearing a brown fur mask of a rabbit. “You look fantastic. I look like a dumpy rodent,” she complained, holding out her arms. But Anya would have disagreed. She basically wore a rabbit fur bikini that pushed her breasts together dramatically. She had on pale gray fishnet stockings and charcoal heels. Overall, she looked adorable.
Anya gave her a frown and a head shake, continuing to walk. She wasn’t supposed to talk, and she assumed that meant to anybody, so she hoped her mute communication made Ariel feel better.
“Isn’t this spectacular? I’m dying to see what Beckham’s costume is. Have you seen him?”
Anya gave another shake of her head, sipping her ginger ale and continuing to walk.
“Okay, keep an eye out. I got reprimanded for posting a selfie of my mask, and I want to know if he did too. Anyway, I’ve got to find the stag and follow him the whole night.”
Anya raised her glass in acknowledgement and watched Ariel disappear into the crowd.
She continued walking to the far side of the room and stopped by a huge potted palm to look back at the room. Finally, she saw the red fox enter the room. She waited for him to find her with his eyes and start toward her, taking the path she’d taken. He never took his eyes off her.
Per instructions, whenever he moved, she moved. She inclined her face to him but kept her eyes down. Once in a while, she’d let a glance flicker up to him and then quickly away.
As Lorelei had coached, once or twice, she’d press a hand to her cheek or splay her fingers across her neck, as if to hide a nervous smile or blush. It had felt stupid practicing it at the condo, but in this room full of people, pressing against each other and acting their own roles, it was easy to get caught up in the act.
Her delicious silk and leather dress wrapped her body snugly, and every once in a while, a breeze brushed the tops of her breasts, and it was the sexiest feeling ever.
As she approached the entrance, she saw he was now at the back of the room. She turned and flared her train out with one hand, leaning back to cast him one more look, and then moved slowly out of sight through the door.
Once she was in the foyer, she scurried to the other room. She quick-stepped her way through the crowd to the back to start the whole circling act over.
While she waited for him to appear, she scouted the room for tall, wide-shouldered Dimi. There were several men in black tuxedos, hands crossed at their crotch and looking across all the heads as they stood sentinel at key points around the room. They all had earpieces in, marking them as security. None were the figure she remembered though.
Maybe that was a good thing. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to maintain her act if he was watching.
“Aren’t you a pretty,” whispered an accented voice into her ear, making her spin and press a hand against her neck.
She looked up at a brown and gold feathered mask. An eagle? Or a hawk? His eyes looked black, and his smile was wicked. He wasn’t as tall as Dimi, but he was definitely taller than the red fox.
“Don’t you speak, my lovely?” he purred, leaning closer and looking at her breasts.
She shook her head and took a step back, glancing to the other end of the room for a glimpse of the red fox. No luck.
“Hm, interesting. Do you scream?” he asked, stepping closer and lowering his hand to dip his pinky finger into the edge of her neckline and rub against her breast.
This time, she frowned and stepped back more sharply. She turned and saw the red fox watching them. His posture seemed uncertain, so she tried to look relieved, giving the hawk behind her a cold look.
Thankfully, the fox went back to stalking her, making his way around the room. She continued to pace him in a circle. She’d almost made it to the door when a gasp sounded from behind her.
Conversation stopped, although the lilting music played on. She turned to look.
“What the hell?” shouted a female voice.
Anya spun to look. The doe! Her satin slip dress was soaked and she stared down at herself, her nipples hardening underneath the wet stain.
The stag also stared at her breasts, stepping closer. He was bare-chested except for a leather vest and pants. His mask was beautifully carved from wood, with slender antlers rising up from the corners.
The doe’s mask was identical, but instead of antlers, it had ears.
The stag reached out to touch her breast, hesitant at first and then squeezing harder. The doe stepped into it, her head rolling back to look at him.
The people around her moved closer to the couple, and she was swept along with them before she remembered she was supposed to press as close as she could.
A perfect ring of costumed guests surrounded the stag and doe in a tight circle, barely giving them room to move. Directly across from her was the red fox, his glittering eyes on her. To her left was Ariel the rabbit, reaching out to trail her nails over the stag’s shoulders. To the right, a brownish animal was doing the same to the doe, as if to change her mind.
The stag ignored Ariel, lifting his other hand and fondling both of the doe’s breasts, the motion sliding one thin strap off her shoulder. She was fumbling at his waist, loosening his belt and then the button and fly.
The crowd was restless; she could feel bodies pressing against her from behind, which pressed her closer to the couple. At one point, the doe’s arm brushed her chest, and she gasped.
She glanced up to make sure the red fox was on the other side of the couple, and he stared at her with burning eyes. Her eyes returned to the couple.
The doe had her hand in the man’s pants, rhythmically moving. She guided one of the stag’s hands up under her slip dress and between her legs and immediately started panting.
Several people in the crowd shifted, some kissing, some touching and stroking people near them. But others stood still, watching. And a few at the farther edges drifted away, looking for more champagne or the hors d’oeuvres tray, or maybe a quiet alcove.
The couple was panting faster, their movements urgent. The stag gasped and half cried, shuddering and releasing the doe’s breast to grip her shoulder.
Anya could hear her whisper “Faster” to the stag and lean her pelvis into his hand. After a few seconds, she grasped his wrist and started her own rhythm. A few seconds later, she gasped and stumbled against him.
Some of the couples in the crowd scurried away together. Another couple was kissing against the wall, a goat and a butterfly. The goat’s pants were near his knees as he pumped into the raised iridescent skirt of the butterfly.
The stag and doe had disappeared, and she realized she needed to find the West Balcony.
She backed away, placing her glass on a nearby table, and tried to get her bearings. She walked quickly the way she’d been going, deciding this room had to be west. She slowed her steps, knowing that the fox would follow her out onto the balcony at whatever pace she set. It was part of the hunt.
The air outside was cool, the balcony wide with either end shadowed. Cement pillars with a thick railing surrounded it. There were a few people there, but when they saw her, they left abruptly.
She moved to the far corner of the balcony, looking out at the grounds. She heard footsteps, and then the metal-on-metal of the curtain r
ings sliding. The light from the room faded, and the only light was the blue of the half-moon against a black sky.
She half glanced back, recognizing the red mask. The fox continued to walk until his body pressed against hers, his hands coming to rest beside hers on the railing.
He leaned harder against her, and she felt his breath on her bare back. Her heels made her taller than he was, and she cocked one knee so she wouldn’t feel too tall for him.
This is it. She knew exactly what would happen and tried to discern if she had any inkling of… well, anything. She’d been turned on by the scene in the room. But here, with this man behind her, she felt nothing. No desire, but no sense of danger or disgust. No emotion at all. Good.
His fingers trailed over the backs of her hands and then up her arms. They flattened on her shoulders, and the weight of him pressed even harder.
“You are a dream,” he whispered, his voice high-pitched and thin.
She turned her head enough to look at one of his hands, saying nothing.
“You are my dream,” he whispered, closer, and his hands moved up to surround her neck.
She had one inkling of fear but relaxed, knowing one shout would bring security to them.
He ground his body against her, pushing her hard against the cement railing. He rotated his hips into her, and she felt his erection press against her ass.
She waited for his hands to move, but when they did, they slipped down her bare shoulders to her waist. They squeezed, fingers digging around her hipbones, pulling her as tight as possible against his crotch.
He started to pant, grinding now in a rhythmic motion.
He was supposed to reach around and grab her tits, but what if he didn’t? What if he slid his hands under her dress instead?
Her mind ticked over the alternatives. She didn’t think consultants could break the rules, but was it okay for a client to change the engagement details on the fly, since they were paying? She was going to have to have sex sooner or later, so maybe she should go along with whatever he might do.
And then she saw him in the distance.
He was walking across the gravel from the stables. She’d recognize his shape, his size, anywhere.
She heard a distant scratch, and he lowered his hand. Talking in his walkie-talkie? Behind her, the red fox panted harder, his hands still pulling her hips and stomach back.
Dimi was closer now, and she knew the minute he saw her, because he stopped dead still. She couldn’t see his eyes, hooded by his brow, but she could read the tension in him.
The red fox grunted behind her, and his hands shot up to grope at her breasts, his fingers digging inside the straight neckline of her dress, trying to brush against her nipples.
She spun quickly, the movement wrenching his hands out and sending him sharply against the railing. She gathered her train, gave him one dramatic look, and then ran through the curtain into the room.
She kept running, through the room, the foyer, outside to the steps. Right into Dimi.
He grabbed her, probably more out of reflex, and pulled her against him, his hands tight on her arms. And then he dragged her to the wall out of sight of the balcony.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m just playing the part.”
He looked down at her, her breasts swelling at the neckline as she breathed.
“You should go. He’ll probably want to watch you run to the car and leave.”
“I know,” she said but stood there looking up at him.
He dragged a finger across her lips, and she bit it, making him stand back and drop his hands to his side.
“Go,” he growled. And she scurried around him to the white Mercedes.
As the driver held the door open, she paused, looking up at the red fox on the balcony. She lifted her train and wrapped it up and around her, cocked her head at him in a quiet farewell, and then slid into the car.
16
Dimi walked through the rooms of the manor as the cleaning crew continued their work. It was well past two in the morning.
“St-Pierre, St-Pierre, this is Silva, over.”
“St-Pierre here, over,” Dimi answered.
“The last registered guest has just left the estate, over.”
“Good. Have Johnson do a sweep of the manor in about a half hour, over.”
“Will do, over.”
“What staff vehicles are available? Any Porsches? Over.” He was in the mood for a fast, hard drive home.
“Let’s see,” Silva said, and he heard keyboard taps in the background. “The closest one is the black one at the palace, front access road, over.”
“What’s it doing there? Over.”
“Hell if I know. Uh,” he murmured, and Dimi heard more taps on the keyboard. “Looks like ‘Gomedov used it for gate sensor check. The note here says keys are in the gate lockbox, over.”
“Christ,” he muttered. Nurmagomedov was the newest security team member. Being careless with the Cavendish cars wasn’t unusual for newbies, but usually the first thing they got caught for was accessing and jerking off to the haptics video files.
He grimaced, since that thought had been going through his mind in a continuous stream these last few days.
He pressed the walkie switch. “I’ll send him a message. Are you on shift until dawn? Over.”
“Yup. Seven a.m. Jones messaged to say he was coming in since he was feeling better. Wanted to get caught up on everything, over.”
“Good. I’ll touch base with him later. Have a good night, Silva. Over and out.”
“Will do. Over and out, sir.”
He looked around the west room and then headed to the foyer. The cleaning staff numbered almost half of their guests that night, but there was a precise routine to cleaning up after a party. The guests didn’t go easy on the posh surroundings, and care had to be taken to keep everything in immaculate condition.
“Jeff,” he said to the cleaner collecting glasses from the room. “Can you tell Mark I’m around until seven and if there are any issues after that he can contact Jones? I’m going to do a perimeter sweep then go to the command center.”
“Yes, sir,” said the man without expression and continued his job of filling his tray.
Dimi headed through the foyer to the majestic front steps. His gaze was pulled to his right, to the balcony where Anya had stood out, a fairy creature in the blue moonlight.
He’d seen the dark arms around her waist and he’d tensed, forgetting for a second why she was here. Why they were all here. Then he’d eased, finishing his call and watching her wrench away from the man. Grisham.
The man had turned to watch her run away then reached into his pants and gripped the railing as he jerked off. Dimi continued his walk up the steps, knowing she’d be coming out that way, even before the white Mercedes had slowed to park where it was supposed to pick her up.
He’d put his foot on the top step just as she scurried out and into his chest. Pulling her against him, the idea of dragging her to the stable, where he’d just broken up a rambunctious but unscheduled threesome, overwhelmed him. Instead, he pulled her sideways before she could run into view of the balcony.
He wanted to kiss her, had thought about it, but she bit his finger and brought him back to reality.
They all had a purpose here, and it wasn’t stolen kisses or secret romances. It was transactional. He needed to remember that.
He walked down the stairs, across the walk, and onto the gravel, hearing its crunch under his steps.
He loved walking the lawns when nobody was around. Growing up in a poor eastern European city, the surroundings were shy of beauty. Or trees, or fancy balls or beautiful people. Cavendish was a surreal world.
It had seduced him to begin with, and he couldn’t believe his luck. Then he’d found out beautiful people could still be ugly in their thirst for more adventures that pushed boundaries. Separating the surreal from the real had taken time and had been the impetus in preparing
his division to run without him. Putting the right systems and people in place so he could leave with a good conscience.
He continued across the lawn to the boundary of trees and then returned to the gravel driveway. The dark walk in the cool air to the palace would clear his head.
His steps drowned out the sound, but his pocket buzzed with Yuki’s call.
“St-Pierre,” he answered.
“What’s the status?”
“Everyone’s off property and the cleaners have moved in. Other than an unplanned threesome in the stables, it all seemed to go to plan.”
“Saigo was brilliant. Did you see her?”
“I saw her.”
“Grisham is fucking enthralled with her. He’s already filed his engagement report and he’s literally swooning. Sometimes, the intellectual types are shite at acting at all, let alone acting against her nature. But watching her on the cameras, she deserves an award,” Yuki enthused.
“Good. Does this help you execute your plan for Makkeido?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, laughing. “As soon as I saw her arrive tonight, I put the word out to our Asian clients. Just our typical communication about new recruits, but I added a screengrab of her as she ran out. She’ll attract attention.”
“The attention you’re looking for?”
“Yes. In a couple weeks, we’ll release the new bios. When word gets out about her family history, I’ll see if the tiger leaps for the bait.”
“That she’s Russian?” he asked, not thinking that was all that unusual. Although if she really could speak Chukokto, that would be rare.
“That her grandmother was the last in the line of Kereks. One of a handful of now-extinct aboriginal people of Siberia.”
“Will that matter enough to Makkeido?”
“He’ll want her; I have no doubt about that. And if he thinks she’s pristine, well… that will seal the deal.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood up at the tone in her voice. In the years he’d known Yuki, he’d seen instances of coldness when it came to compassion or empathy for anything that didn’t lead to success. He wondered how far she’d go with Anya. If she’d risk her safety.
Disciplined Page 14