The War King

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The War King Page 10

by Jeana E. Mann


  The line of his lips curved into a smile. “Nothing matters more to me than you.”

  “I need honesty and trust and for you to show a little confidence in my ability to be at your side.”

  “You’re my queen, Rourke Menshikov. If you weren’t worthy, I wouldn’t have married you.” He leaned in to give me a kiss.

  “And you’re my king.” I closed my eyes, savoring the softness of his lips and the gentle intrusion of his tongue. My heartbeats scattered, buoyed on a rush of desire.

  From the dresser, his phone buzzed insistently. He pulled away, eyes dark with lust, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He crossed the room, naked, not bothering with his robe. “It might be Spitz. I should take it.”

  “It’s okay. Go ahead.” I hoisted the bedsheet higher, tucked it beneath my armpits, and sat up, wincing at the multitude of aches in my thoroughly sexed-up body.

  “It’s not okay.” He swiped the phone screen with the pad of his thumb, instantly shifting into mogul mode. “Spitz, you’d better have a good fucking reason for interrupting my evening.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, preparing to get dressed. He pointed a finger at me. “You. Don’t move. I’m not done with you yet.”

  Heat and pleasure warmed my face. I smiled, settled back against the headboard, and let the sheet sag suggestively to reveal my breasts. He shook his head. In return, I tweaked one of my nipples, pulling and tugging it into a tight point. His cock twitched and lengthened. He dropped a hand to stroke it. I lifted an eyebrow and patted the empty mattress at my side.

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked Spitz. The smile fell from his lips. He shoved a hand through his hair and began to pace. “Don’t tell me this unless you’re absolutely, one-hundred-percent certain. I want proof.”

  I admired his muscular body, the width of his shoulders, and the way his torso tapered down to a rock-hard ass. Dark, wiry hair dusted his thighs and calves. His dick stood at attention, bobbing up and down with each stride. I sucked in a breath, overwhelmed by the sight of him, knowing this dangerous man belonged to me.

  He ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. “Get dressed. Spitz needs a meeting.”

  “Now?” I scrambled to my feet, taking the sheet with me.

  “You said you want to be included.” His palm landed on my bottom with a playful smack.

  “A little notice would’ve been nice.” I shuffled through my suitcase for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Roman plucked the sheet from around my shoulders and tossed it to the floor. I rolled my eyes at him. “Not helping, Mr. Menshikov.”

  “You just don’t appreciate my talents.” His eyes darkened as they roamed over my naked figure. I stepped into a pair of panties then pushed my arms through the straps of a matching bra. He placed a hand on each of my shoulders, turned me to face the wall, and fastened the hooks in the back. His warm hands smoothed along my ribs and ended at my hips. “Dressing you is almost—but not quite—as much fun as stripping you down.”

  I flashed a smile over my shoulder at him. “Spitz is waiting. Remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “You know, he doesn’t have a very high opinion of me.”

  “Why do you say that?” His lips tickled along the curve of my shoulder.

  “He’s made a few comments here and there.” I bit my lower lip, wondering how to proceed.

  His kisses stopped at my collarbone. “What did he say?” I pulled a sweater over my head and headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth. Roman’s hand wrapped around my elbow to stop my escape. “Rourke, tell me.”

  “He doesn’t like me much.” Our eyes met. I glanced down to escape his penetrating gaze. “He doesn’t like me much.”

  “You’re bothered by it, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.” He rested a hip on the edge of the bathroom vanity to study my reflection in the mirror. A muscle ticked beneath his cheekbone. Guilt lessened some of the animosity I felt toward Spitz. Roman had more problems than he could handle right now. He didn’t need my insecurities added to his list.

  “Just forget I said anything. I don’t care if he likes me or not, as long as you do.” To soften his mood, I dropped a kiss on the end of his nose. “I probably overreacted.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” His eyebrows lowered. “No one disrespects my wife. Ever. He’s a damn genius at his job, but I’ll fire him, if you want.”

  “No. Don’t worry about it.” I lifted my chin and gave him a bright smile. “I’ll take care of it. If I’m going to be a war king’s wife, I’d better start acting like one.”

  He watched in silence as I brushed my teeth. I rinsed my mouth and turned to face him. With a few quick twists, I coiled my frazzled hair into a bun. His gaze roamed over me. One corner of his mouth twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “What?” I glanced down at the fly of my jeans to make sure it was zipped.

  “You never cease to amaze me.” Pride gleamed in his eyes. “Get over here.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me between his knees and slipped his hands into my back pockets. Every time he held me, I melted. No matter how long we were married, I’d never grow tired of his touch. I rested my head on his shoulder. We stood there for a minute, savoring the novelty of being together after such a long separation. With a groan, he eased me back a step. “I’m going to need more of this later, but right now, we need to take care of business.

  “Okay.” I had no idea what Spitz was about to say, but I didn’t care as long as Roman stood beside me. He clasped his hand around mine. We walked to the door together.

  At the threshold, he paused and gave me a quick, light kiss. “Buckle up, Mrs. Menshikov. You’re in for a bumpy ride.”

  Chapter 16

  Rourke

  Fifteen minutes later, I sat on the edge of a chair in Roman’s hotel study. The space between my legs throbbed to the point of distraction. Earlier, Roman had banged me against the shower wall with so much force and fervor that I’d thought the tile might crack. Now he sat behind his hotel desk, staring at his laptop, cool and reserved in a white polo shirt and dark jeans.

  “Hey, boss.” Spitz knocked on the open door and entered the room. His gaze hit mine and flicked away. “Good evening, Mrs. Menshikov. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Although his words were polite, his lack of eye contact and flat tone suggested otherwise.

  I lifted my chin and glanced at Roman. He drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at me. “If you need privacy, I can go to the kitchen. I’m starving.” Knowing Roman, his hotel room had been fully stocked with groceries and snacks.

  “You’re staying.” Roman’s voice held a note of warning.

  “He doesn’t want me here.”

  “It’s not his decision.” Challenge flashed in Roman’s gaze. “It’s yours and mine.” His show of faith bolstered my confidence. He was handing me the opportunity to stand up for my rights as his wife.

  I nodded. “I’ll stay.”

  Spitz opened his mouth to speak, but Roman cut him off. “Unless you’re about to agree with me, this subject is closed.”

  “Whatever you want is good with me.” Spitz lifted both palms into the air and claimed the chair to my right. His weary sigh contradicted his agreement. “Time is wasting and I’m eager to get to work.” Judging from the redness of his eyes and the scruff on his jaw, he hadn’t slept much over the past few days.

  “You look like shit,” Roman said, iterating my thoughts. He put his computer to sleep and swiveled the chair to face us.

  “Shit would be an improvement,” Spitz mused. “How about you? How’s that gunshot wound healing?”

  “Fine.” In response, he touched his side. “What have you got for us?”

  “Photos from a surveillance camera at the back entrance of Ms. Cunningham’s apartment.” As he spoke, he pulled a large envelope from his briefcase. He spread a series of grainy black-and-white photos on the desk. I leaned forward for a better view. He tapped the center photo. “There’s
your problem.”

  Roman groaned and shifted back in his chair, spreading his knees wide and swiping both palms over his face. “Are you fucking kidding me with this?”

  “What? Who is it?” I squinted and grabbed the nearest picture. My guts twisted.

  “When was this taken?” Roman asked.

  “The day she died,” Spitz said, watching my expression carefully.

  I pressed a hand to my mouth, hoping to hold back the rise of bile. There was no mistaking the face of the man standing next to a white limousine. Mr. McElroy had his hand Lavender Cunningham’s back, his touch unmistakably intimate, as they prepared to enter the car. As if this revelation wasn’t devastating enough, the third person in the photo was Everly.

  I refused to believe my eyes. The photograph psychologically burned my fingers. I dropped it onto the desk and wiped my hands on my thighs to clear away the sensation of uncleanliness. Roman continued rifling through the pictures. He landed on one of the couple kissing while Everly looked away. The Everly I knew would never condone this kind of behavior from her father. Not after the way her husband had cheated on her. Yet, there she was, standing beside the former Vice President and his mistress.

  “There’s more.” Spitz thumbed through the notes in his phone. “I have reason to believe former Vice President McElroy has been following you, Mrs. Menshikov, since you had dinner at his house. He’s had two men on your tail. And, according to Lavender’s doorman, he’s been visiting Ms. Cunningham in the middle of the night for over two years.”

  My mind raced to make the connections. “Maybe he’s a cheater, but I can’t believe he had anything to do with her death.” Mr. McElroy’s betrayal of his wife hurt me almost as much as if he were my own father. I lifted one of the photos for a closer look. Everly’s mouth was drawn down into a scowl. Not the expression of a happy camper. I stared into her eyes, desperate to decipher her expression, desperate for clues about her state of mind. This scenario directly contradicted our pact to remove secrets from our relationship. She’d never lied to me about something so big.

  “His name kept cropping up on the streets. Nothing major. Just small mentions here and there.” Spitz slumped back in his chair. The leather creaked at the shift in his weight. He closed his eyes and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “At first, I thought it was an unlucky coincidence. I made a few calls to my friends and found out he’s been playing both sides of the political field since before he took office.”

  “Wouldn’t the FBI have checked this camera in their investigation?” I asked, unable to accept the validity of the photograph.

  “Absolutely. In fact, they seized the original footage. Lucky for us, the security guy always makes a backup and has a fondness for Benjamin Franklin.” Spitz lifted an eyebrow, still avoiding my gaze. His direct refusal to make eye contact made my blood simmer. What the hell had made him so hostile?

  Roman grimaced and massaged his forehead with two fingers. “This is all very interesting, but I want concrete proof of his connection. What else have you got? ”

  “My source says that McElroy has been diverting funds to the rebels who overthrew your father, and he intends to do the same with Androvia.” He withdrew several sheets of paper from the envelope and slid them toward Roman. “Here’s a copy his personal emails. For a high-level politician, he doesn’t have very good firewalls.”

  “You hacked into the former Vice President’s email?” My mouth dropped open at his audacity.

  “Technically, no. I hired someone to do it.” He directed his answer to Roman. “Anyway, it’s all there. Dates, times, places, and the order to have suspicion thrown to you over Lavender’s death.”

  “This can’t be right,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.

  “It might be wise for you to keep contact with Ms. McElroy to a minimum until we’ve resolved her involvement in this issue,” Spitz said.

  “She’s my best friend.” My feelings of dislike toward him exploded. “No way.”

  Roman thumbed through the emails then blew out a loud sigh. His gaze lifted to meet mine. “I’m sorry, princess. He’s got a point. Avoiding all the McElroys is mandatory. Mr. McElroy in particular.”

  In my mind, the McElroys represented everything good about my past. Memories came flooding back. Vacations spent at their summer home. My five-year-old self being carried up to Everly’s bedroom in Mr. McElroy’s strong arms when we fell asleep in front of the TV. The way they’d supported me after my parents’ funeral. Tears stung my eyes. If I couldn’t trust them, how could I trust anyone?

  “Baby?” Roman’s voice cut through the chaos in my head. I blinked up at him. In one swift movement, he was beside me. He pushed the hair back from face and tilted my head to stare into my eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” My voice wavered. I’d never be okay again, but this wasn’t the time for a breakdown. “It’s like hearing that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny aren’t real—all on the same day. I’m just…just really disappointed.” I sat up straighter and lifted my chin, giving him a small smile. Brooding wouldn’t help anyone. I needed to compartmentalize, and fast. “I’ll deal with it. Go on.”

  “Someone with internal access is giving up vital information about you, boss. I’m going to run checks on all the house and security staff.”

  “Of course. Do whatever you need.” Roman shifted. His bare forearm skimmed across mine, sending a ripple of desire up my arm.

  I swallowed down guilt. How could I feel pleasure and be so devastated at the same time?

  An awkward silence stretched through the room. Spitz pinched his lips together, a furrow spreading across his brow. Roman studied him for a minute then smiled in a way that made my panties dampen. He threaded his fingers through mine.

  “Can I have a moment alone with you, sir?” Spitz asked. “It’s personal.”

  “No problem.” I gave both men a smile. When I caught Roman’s eyes, I saw puzzlement in their depths. “I’m still thinking about raiding the kitchen. Can I get anything for either of you?” Although my nerves were frazzled, my belly growled, broadcasting its emptiness to the room. I stood.

  Roman, still holding my hand, pulled me down until my lips leveled with his. “A kiss before you go, please.”

  I closed my eyes and savored the press of his mouth against mine, the taste of peppermint, and the scent of his shampoo.

  He tilted his head back and gazed down at me. “Whipped cream.”

  “What?” I lifted my eyebrows, confused.

  “I’m ready for dessert. Take it to our bedroom. Don’t start without me.” There was no mistaking the wickedness in his tone.

  Embarrassment heated my face. I closed the door behind me and paused outside the room. The tension between me and Spitz had been unbearable. Uneasiness lifted the fine hairs on the back of my neck. I had a feeling his “personal business” had something to do with me.

  Chapter 17

  Roman

  Before leaving, Rourke stopped at the study door and cast a questioning glance over her shoulder. God, she was beautiful. Her creamy skin glowed with good health. The loose ends of her blond hair fluttered around her shoulders. Later, I was going to wrap those silky strands around my dick. I lifted an eyebrow, daring her to question my request for whipped cream. Instead of giving me sass, she broke into a wide smile, the first one of the day. My pulse skittered. I’d trade every dollar in my possession to keep that smile on her face for the rest of her life. If it meant giving up my secret life, I’d do it. Our connected gazes strengthened the pull between us. My self-control wavered. I shoved back my chair, ready to follow her.

  Vaguely, from far away, Spitz’s voice droned. “Boss?” His tone held a note of annoyance.

  “What?” The leather chair creaked as I shifted. Whatever personal business he needed to address had better be quick and to the point.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and clasping his hands between his knees. His gaze found
the floor and stayed there. “I’m not sure how to say this.”

  “Just say it.” My patience, already stretched thin by sexual desire and lack of sleep, snapped.

  “How much do you trust your wife?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me with this?” I shoved away from the desk, ready to throttle him. “We’ve already had this discussion one too many times.”

  “Hear me out.” He lifted a hand and leaned back.

  “You’d better explain yourself. Right the fuck now.” No one disrespected Rourke. As much as I esteemed Spitz, our partnership ended at my wife’s feet.

  “Someone within your organization is leaking information. I’d be remiss if I didn’t look at every single person. The way I see it, she’s got means, motive, and opportunity.” He ticked off the points with his fingers. “Means—she has intimate access to your contacts, schedules, and private information. She’s close friends with your biggest enemy and his daughter. Motive—if you’re out of the picture, she gains control of your estate and becomes an obscenely wealthy woman. Opportunity—she’s alone in your office and penthouse. You don’t know what she’s doing in her free time. Not to mention her recent behavior. After you were taken into custody, she spent the time buying ball gowns and attended a dinner party at the McElroy house. Not exactly the actions of a heartbroken wife.”

  Although I didn’t want to give credence to his theory, he had solid facts. On paper, Rourke appeared to be a leading suspect. In my heart, however, I knew better. No matter how angry or upset she might be, she’d never betray me. I shook my head. “You need to look elsewhere. You’re wasting your time with her when you could be investigating the real culprit.”

  “You’ve got to admit, it’s possible.” Ignoring my protests, he continued. “She came back to New York, knowing you’d follow her here, knowing the danger you’d be in. She knows your deepest, darkest secrets. If anyone could breach your security, this girl could do it. Do you really think her introduction into your life was by accident? Think about. Ivan told me how she crashed your masquerade without an invitation at the urging of Everly McElroy. It’s almost too perfect.”

 

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