The War King

by Jeana E. Mann

  His words stung. I reeled back like I’d been struck. “What’s that supposed to mean?” My temper flared. “Did he say something to you?”

  “No, just my opinion.” The elevator beeped, and the doors opened. He nodded, his gaze chilly. “You have a good day, Mrs. Menshikov.” With a crisp pivot, he strode into the waiting car, leaving me open-mouthed beneath the grand chandelier.

  The doors closed. His insult burned, hot and intrusive. I clenched my fists, wanting to run after him and demand an apology. I stabbed at the elevator button, but it was a long way to the bottom. By the time the car returned, my temper had cooled. Screw Spitz. I had bigger issues to worry about right now. Although I wanted to run to Roman, I couldn’t make myself go. He was a warlord, and the thought turned my stomach. How many innocent people had died from his actions? I’d never touched a gun and never would. If I went to him, I’d be condoning his actions, and I just couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  Let it go, Rourke. I exhaled and turned to leave but barreled into a slender young man with round glasses.

  “Sorry. So sorry,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

  “Who are you?” His short, curly hair and unsmiling face were unfamiliar. I glanced around for a staff member, panicked to see a stranger in my home. For once, I was alone. They’d probably evacuated to the back of the penthouse to avoid Christian.

  “I’m Percy, Mr. Menshikov’s new assistant. And you’re Mrs. Menshikov?” He extended a tentative hand.

  “Um, yes.” The tension eased from my shoulders. Worried brown eyes studied mine. At second glance, he seemed much younger—maybe early twenties. “Nice to meet you, Percy. I hope you’re getting settled in okay?”

  “I am. Thank you.” He rolled his lips together and glanced from side to side. “I’ll be ready to start tomorrow. Mr. Menshikov said you’d be training me.”

  “Did he?” I held back a scathing tirade of profanity. Roman felt I wasn’t capable of being his personal assistant, but he wanted me to train my replacement. Fat chance. “Well, he was mistaken.” Then my conscience got the better of me. I knew how intimidating Roman could be and how unsettling the first day of any job felt. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, but I’ll make sure you have someone show you the ropes.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. Please let Janet know if you need anything.” I swept the long dress away from my feet and trotted up the staircase. Even though Roman had left, he still ordered me around like an employee, and it had to stop. If he wanted a high society wife, he was going to get one. However, it would be on my terms. Not his.

  Chapter 4

  Rourke

  The next evening, I walked into The Grand Ballroom of The Plaza Hotel, feeling like a new kid on the first day of school. After a fortifying breath, I lifted my chin and did my best not to trip over the long hem of the yellow Dior. The last time I’d been here, I’d been Everly’s employee, not a guest. Dozens of watchful eyes tracked my progress as I crossed the glossy floor. Beneath the enormous crystal chandeliers, Manhattan’s finest dignitaries chatted, laughed, and plotted world domination. I scanned the sea of black tuxedos and colorful gowns for anyone I might know but came up empty until the familiar gazes of Everly’s parents turned in my direction.

  “Rourke, darling, how wonderful to see you.” Judy McElroy greeted me with air kisses on each cheek.

  “Yes, it’s been too long. How are you?” Don McElroy’s warm hands enveloped mine and squeezed.

  “I’m good. Thanks. It’s wonderful to see you, too.” Affection swelled inside me as I greeted two of my dearest friends. Although they would never replace Mom and Dad, they had endeavored to fill the gaps left by their passing and never failed to include me in their family gatherings. I owed them more than I could ever hope to repay.

  “Goodness, you’re pale. Do you need to sit down?” She caressed my cheek. Lines of worry crinkled around her eyes. The scent of her Chanel perfume took me back to the days of playing dress-up with Everly and raiding her mother’s cosmetic drawer.

  “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed by all the grandeur.” I smiled to cover up my uncertainties. Smiling could hide a multitude of sins, even for a sinner like me.

  “Everly will be delighted to see you. She thought you might not show. Where did she go?” Mr. McElroy draped a comforting arm around my shoulders as he searched the crowd for his daughter.

  “I’m sure she’s busy. I don’t want to bother her while she’s working.” I had no idea what kind of greeting to expect from her and didn’t have the strength for another argument. Her feelings for Nicky ran deeper than I’d realized. I vowed to keep my opinions about her love life to myself.

  A passing waiter offered champagne from a gleaming gold tray. I took one of the flutes and tossed back the entire glass. A little bubbly might calm my nerves. On the other hand, the last thing I wanted to do was become tipsy in front of Roman’s colleagues and Everly’s parents.

  “I see Maxwell Seaforth over there.” Mr. McElroy squeezed me before taking his wife’s hand. “Rourke, please excuse us. We need to speak with him before he slips out of here.”

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to leave you alone. Will you be okay?” I nodded, and Mrs. McElroy smiled. “Of course you will. You must come for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “I’d love that. Thank you.” Spending time with the McElroys sounded a lot better than wallowing in misery at home, stuffing my face with junk food, and binging Netflix.

  They disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone. I wanted to melt into one of the quiet corners and hide. Instead, I wandered through the crowd and tried to ignore the whispers and stares.

  “Isn’t that Roman’s new wife?”

  “Can you believe he married his personal assistant?”

  “I thought she’d be thinner.”

  “I heard they’re already separated.”

  Why, why, why had I come tonight? My insecurities flared to maximum strength. I’d never been comfortable in the spotlight. That had always been Everly’s forte. She knew how to work the room, to put people at ease, and looked like a queen while doing it. I smoothed the front of my gown, wondering if the Dior had been a mistake. The yellow silk gleamed like a beacon in the sea of black, beige, and silver. Maybe I should have chosen something less noticeable.

  “Rourke? You came.” Everly glided toward me, a vision of loveliness in pale blue organza, and I relaxed. The tight mermaid dress accentuated her tiny waist and D-cup boobs. Her flowing red hair gleamed beneath the chandeliers. No one would notice me with her around.

  “I promised, didn’t I?” I extended a hand but froze when a pair of dark eyes caught mine from across the room.

  Roman stood under one of the arches near the orchestra, surrounded by a handful of men. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of his broad shoulders beneath a black tuxedo jacket. His gaze locked onto mine. Without a second glance at his companions, he strode across the floor, ignoring hopeful greetings from other guests, making a direct path toward me. Goodness, had he always been so charismatic, so gorgeous?

  I placed a hand on my diaphragm, feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

  “—and we both know how that went.” Everly had been speaking to me, and I hadn’t heard a word.

  “Um, sorry?” I cleared my throat and tried to focus on her face instead of Roman’s intense stare. With each of his approaching steps, my blood pressure spiked higher and higher until black spots swam in front of my eyes. What was he doing here? He hated these types of affairs, finding them pretentious and unbearable.

  “I said, I’m still angry at your for judging my relationship with Nicky, and you’re not forgiven, but I’m glad you’re here.” She touched my elbow, drawing my attention back to her. “Now isn’t the time to discuss it, though. We can talk later. In the meantime, what do you think of my event?”

  “It looks lovely. You did an amazing job, as always.” Fo
r the first time, I met her gaze and flinched at the mixture of hurt and coolness in the depths of her eyes. A thin veneer of politeness masked her features; a look reserved for strangers and business associates. The lump in my throat grew larger. In the meantime, Roman was only a few paces away and drawing nearer with every heartbeat.

  “I’ve had nothing but problems,” she said, shaking her head. “You always made sure things ran smoothly. My new girl is good, but she doesn’t have your experience.”

  “I’m sure she’ll catch up.” Someone stepped in front of Roman, blocking his progress. My palms began to sweat.

  “The florist was late, and the caterer made the wrong hors d'oeuvres.” Her expression brightened. “Hey, I don’t suppose I could bribe you to check with the chef and make sure everything is back on track?” She lifted her eyebrows hopefully. “You’d be doing me a huge favor.”

  “Well…” I glanced at Roman. The predatory gleam of his dark eyes dissolved the strength in my knees. I needed to escape—fast. “Okay sure.”

  “Thanks. You’re a doll.” She squeezed my hand and turned to greet a new guest.

  My heart pounded. The last thing I needed tonight was an altercation with my husband in front of all these strangers. By the purpose in his stride, he had plenty to say. If he asked to come home with me, I’d cave to his wishes. Or even worse, I might beg him to return when we still had issues to resolve.

  I pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen and leaned against the wall to steady my nerves. The aromas of spices and garlic, something I usually found appealing, turned my stomach. The chef cast a questioning glare at me. I smiled. “Ms. McElroy sent me to check on your progress. Are we back on track?” Years of experience kicked in. I fell back into my role of personal assistant with ease, finding comfort in its familiarity. “Do you need anything?”

  “Yes, we’re good, but two of our waiters quit—like, five minutes ago. Those trays are ready to go out.” He nodded toward several trays of mouthwatering appetizers.

  “I’ll take them.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I hoisted one of the trays into the air, pushed through the swinging doors, and came face-to-face with my husband. My stomach churned at the sight of the split in his lip. A cut on his chin held two stitches. Green and purple tinged his left eye. It took all of my self-control to keep from bursting into tears over his mistreatment.

  “Whoa.” He caught the tray, narrowly avoiding a crash, and placed it on the table in the hallway. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Bacon-wrapped dates with almonds, caviar, and that looks like some kind of quiche.” My hands trembled. I clasped them behind my back. Damn him for affecting me this way.

  “I know what they are. I meant, why are you carrying a serving tray?” In the narrow hallway, he seemed taller and larger. Oh God, he was handsomer than ever. The injuries to his face gave him a dangerous demeanor. His delectable lips thinned into a straight line of displeasure. I summoned the willpower to keep from kissing him.

  “Everly needed help.” Don’t look into his eyes. One glance into his beautiful blue irises, and I’d be lost.

  “You don’t work for Everly anymore.”

  “Well, apparently, I don’t work for you either. I met your new assistant today.” The recollection spurred my temper.

  “Are you ever going to get over that?” He groaned but curbed his wrath when a waiter entered the corridor with us. He gestured toward the tray, his voice menacing. “You. Take that, and get out.”

  The poor guy snatched the food and fled in the opposite direction.

  “I’ll get over it when you stop making decisions without my input.” I lifted my chin and glared at him.

  “You’ve got to move past this, Rourke. Are we going to stay stuck in limbo forever?” He stared down his straight nose at me. When I didn’t answer, he took a step closer, minimizing the gap between us until the buttons of his tuxedo brushed the tips of my breasts. I could smell his cologne, spicy and sweet, and the sharpness of whisky on his breath.

  “What happened to you?” Overwhelmed by concern, I forgot to be angry. Using a tentative fingertip, I touched his lip.

  “I’m fine. Nothing for you to worry about.” The line of his jaw became harder and squarer. Black stubble peppered his cheeks. On most men, an unshaven face would seem disrespectful in The Plaza, but the rough whiskers gave him a devilish air and made my blood sing, the same stubble that had left a red rash on my inner thighs.

  “Aren’t you afraid people will ask questions?”

  “As far as everyone else is concerned, these bruises are from an unfortunate round of boxing with my trainer. Not that I give a fuck what anyone thinks.” He rested a hand against the wall above my shoulder and leaned closer. I swallowed and tried to calm my rapid pulse. “What’s the matter, Rourke? Aren’t you happy to see me?” His words, which were usually precise and crisp, blurred together.

  With both palms on his chest, I tried to push him away, but his strong arms formed a cage around me. I turned my head away. “You’re drunk.”

  “Of course I’m drunk. I got my ass kicked by two very large, very ugly henchmen, and to top things off, my wife left me.” His breath seared my cheek. “I think I deserve to get shit-faced, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t leave you. We’re taking a break.”

  “Semantics. No matter what you call it, we can both agree that we aren’t living under the same roof, and things aren’t looking good for us.”

  “After your stunt at the Devil’s Playground, how did you expect me to act?” I tried to wriggle away from him, but he stepped closer, trapping me against the wall with his broad chest. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “Good. If you’re nervous, it means you care.” The tip of his nose dragged along the side of my face until his mouth rested against my temple. “You still love me, right?”

  “Not when you’re like this,” I said, finding my resolve again.

  “You might not like me, but I suspect you’re turned on.” His mouth trailed a hot, wet line down to my collarbone. “I bet if I checked, your panties would be soaked.”

  In response to his claim, I pressed my legs together against the delicious ache between my thighs. My panties were indeed drenched, but I couldn’t help it. Having him this close turned me on and reminded me of the way he’d brought me to ecstasy in the playroom. I twisted my fingers in the lapels of his jacket. “You know I’m wet for you. Just because we’re having problems doesn’t mean I don’t want you. Sex has never been the issue.”

  “Then come upstairs with me.” His hand found the slit in my gown and walked up the inside of my thigh to the lace-trimmed edge of my panties. I gasped as his index finger slipped beneath the hem and brushed my clit.

  “I thought you were at the Four Seasons.”

  “I was, and now I’m not. I’m staying here.”

  I fought to keep my head clear while he made tiny circles on my sensitive nub. Echoes of pleasure radiated through my center. Why did he have to be so good at this? Damn him. “I need to go.”

  “God, you’re drenched. I want you, Rourke. If you don’t come upstairs with me, I’m going to take you here. Now. Is that what you want?”

  He didn’t give me time to answer before his mouth covered mine. His tongue ravaged me, searing my taste buds with the burn of whisky. I clung tighter to his jacket, not caring that someone might see us, or that I was still angry with him. He felt familiar and exciting and safe. I drank him in, using all my senses, trembling from the force of my desire.

  “Oh. Sorry.” From far away, Everly’s surprised greeting cut through my fog of sexual frustration. “I’ll just go…” Her voice faded as she trotted back toward the direction she’d come from.

  “No. Wait. It’s okay. I was just coming to find you.” I let my hands fall from Roman’s jacket and cast my gaze to Everly.

  “Right.” Roman stepped aside and shoved a hand through his hair. “Sure. Go ahead. Run away again.”

  I smooth
ed my palms over the rumpled front of my dress. “Unless you plan to tell me what’s going on with you, we have nothing more to say to each other. Call me when you’re sober.”

  He leaned against the wall, both hands in his pockets, brows lowered.

  I fled toward Everly and escape. Yes, I was running away from him again, but I didn’t know what else to do. Running was easier than facing our problems—problems I didn’t know how to fix.

  Everly drew me into the ladies’ room and began touching up my smudged makeup. “What was that all about? He looked super angry.”

  “Things are—are difficult.” This was the understatement of the year, but I didn’t want to go into the details of my shattered marriage in a public toilet. “He saw me carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres and went ballistic. He said I wasn’t your employee, and I needed to stop acting like it.”

  Everly’s gaze softened. “He’s right. You’re a paying guest. I took advantage of your niceness, and I shouldn’t have.”

  “It was just a tray of food. I’m happy to help out whenever you need it.” My frustration began to build again. Clearly, I kept crossing the invisible lines of class distinction. “What’s the big deal?”

  “You’re Mrs. Menshikov.” She stared at our reflections in the mirror.

  “I’m the same girl you’ve always known.” Fear raced through me. I didn’t recognize the elegant woman standing beside Everly: the graceful sweep of her chignon, the diamonds draped around her neck, or the tightness about her eyes. Where had I gone? Each passing day swept me further and further from the girl I’d been and closer to someone new, a stranger in an upside-down world.

  “No. You’re not. You’re so much more.” Sadness tugged her lips downward. “Things are changing for both of us, Rourke.”

  “Why can’t we stay the way we are?” I took the paper towel from her and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t belong anywhere. I don’t belong here.”

  “That’s baloney. You belong here as much or more than anyone else.” She leaned back to gain perspective on my appearance. With an affectionate touch, she smoothed a loose strand of hair back from my face. The warmth in her touch restored my faith in our relationship. “Much better.”