The Professional Part 2 Read online

  Screaming. Screaming. Until his roars joined mine and his heat flooded me, his hips whipping against my ass for his final draining thrusts.

  Dizziness. Remembering to breathe. Happily picking up the pieces.

  He collapsed over me, murmuring my name as he nuzzled my hair. His lips brushed my nape, his breaths fanning perspiration there.

  Yet then he tensed, seeming to wake up. He withdrew from me with a curse, climbing off the bed.

  By degrees, I managed to make it to a sitting position.

  “This wasn’t what I wanted.” He yanked up his pants.

  He was acting like what we’d just done was wrong—when it’d been amazing and perfect and exhilarating.

  He pointed an accusing finger at me. “You push and push. You don’t know what you provoke.”

  I shoved my hair out of my face. “But I want to know!”

  When he said nothing, I rose to snag my robe. Time to dig in my heels. Belting the garment around me, I said, “Sevastyan, something’s got to give.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m unhappy. With our relationship, with our sex life—”

  “Are you joking? I make you come till you scream. Yet you’re unsatisfied?”

  “I want to explore what you showed me before. On the plane, you said I wasn’t supposed to be like this, but I am.”

  He stilled. “You don’t know what you are. You’re twenty-four and have never had another lover.”

  “You are the one who said I loved it, needed it. You were right! I’m a flesh-and-blood woman, a hot-blooded woman—not some porcelain doll. So why have you changed with me?”

  “You’re under my protection. You’re mine,” he said simply.

  “Please tell me this is not one of those Madonna-or-whore situations, where you think of me either as a pristine pedestal-topper or a slut.”

  He shrugged. No denial. Oh, shit. I pinched my temples. No, no, no, he can’t think that way.

  Because I knew such a belief couldn’t be fixed. Not like a broken clock. Not with my sweet, sweet love. Not with all the magic of my vagina. Not with my inevitable ocean of tears. “Look, neither of us is getting what we bargained for. Maybe we should think about taking a break from each other.”

  He whirled around. His lowering expression made me back up a step. “You belong to me. There are no breaks.” He swept his arm over the dresser, sending makeup and jewelry flying.

  I tensed, ready to bolt for the safe room. Until I remembered that, for all his faults, this man would never hurt me. In spite of his balled fists, I demanded, “Then help me fix this!”

  He put a hand to his throat as if he couldn’t get enough air. “There is a need inside me—it’s like a beast that howls. I need to do things to you. I need to control you, command you, punish you. In order to madden you.” He stabbed his fingers into his hair. “I indulged in this before you, but never felt like I couldn’t live without it. Yet now, with you . . .”

  “Now what?”

  “It’s like a sickness inside me that I fight and fight but can never defeat.” His voice was rising with each word. “And then you tempt me like this?” he yelled. “You gut me!”

  I yelled back. “So stop fighting it!” I marched up to him, grabbing his face. On my toes, I met his gaze. “I’m here, Sevastyan. I’m ready, I’m willing. I need you.” I’m falling for you.

  For some reason, I held those words back. Maybe because I didn’t expect him to respond in kind.

  He’d talked about owning, controlling, and possessing me. He’d talked about obsession. But never about love. “Why would you fight something we both crave?”

  With an eerie gentleness, he peeled my hands away, then strode over to the safe room’s desk. From a false-bottomed drawer I hadn’t known about, he retrieved a letter. Returning to me, he shoved it into my hands. “You weren’t the only one who received a letter.”

  Overwhelmed with curiosity, I opened it. My father had written a final correspondence to him as well? The paper was crinkled. How many times had Sevastyan read it? Would he expect to read mine, still hidden in my suitcase?

  My eyes widened as I scanned the lines:

  She is precious, Aleksei, treat her as a treasure, and above all things, respect her. . . . My Natalie’s life is in your hands. . . . She’s fragile, has been uprooted from a safe and sheltered existence, forced into the danger our world presents. Nothing else matters if she’s not happy and protected. . . .

  Oh, dear God. I gazed up at Sevastyan as everything became clear. “This is why you’ve been denying us?”

  The man who’d been his savior, the one he felt like he’d failed, the mentor who’d guided his life for decades—had given his blindly loyal enforcer a final set of instructions. “Sevastyan, I respect Paxán’s wishes. I do. But this letter has no bearing on what goes on between us.” I handed it back to him.

  He clasped the page with a shaking hand. “How can you say that?”

  “We have to make our own way together.”

  “This letter reminded me of what you are. And then, right after I first read it, I saw . . . I saw the bruises I’d given you. I hadn’t even meant to discipline you, not like I do in my twisted imaginings.”

  “Sevastyan, just wait—”

  “He was your father. He was . . . my father. He expected me to treat you like a treasure. He didn’t know about that part of my life. I took pains to keep it secret. If he had, he would never have chosen me for you.”

  “You’re acting like that type of life is dark and dirty. Like only broken people do it.”

  He raised his brows: No shit!

  “You don’t have to be broken to like kink. Look at me. I had the most idyllic upbringing ever, and I can’t stop thinking about it with you.” When I saw he wasn’t budging, I said, “You were instructed to keep me happy. Well, right now, I’m far from it.”

  He looked like he’d just stifled a wince. “Then that means I should succeed at least in protecting you. I don’t want my past to taint you.”

  “Taint? Because I was so wholesome? Hate to break it to you, but I was already leaning this way. When I went online to order my ‘arsenal,’ do you think I didn’t mosey over to the other pages on the site, the ones with braided black leather and shining silver chains? I was already curious.”

  For the first time, doubt flickered in his expression. Hope?

  I pressed my advantage. “That’s right. Maybe deep down you sensed it in me from the very start.”

  He shook his head hard. “This can’t be. I don’t want to discuss it further—”

  “Shut up and listen to me! I’m fighting for us, and you’re not even trying to meet me halfway. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  “No! What are you talking about?”

  “What you described as a sickness . . . you can’t suppress something like that forever. You already threatened to find another woman the last time you didn’t get your way with me. Since you refuse to see me as a partner, sooner or later you’ll go to another to have those needs fulfilled.”

  With a sharp shake of his head, he grabbed my arms, about to speak, but I cut him off: “Did you never think that I might go to another too?”

  He released me with splayed fingers, as if tossing a live grenade. With a vile curse, he turned toward the door.

  On his way out, my fighter punched a hole in the wall.

  A lone, still pissed, I’d gotten myself dressed, then picked at some food I’d found in the fridge. Afterward, I’d called Jess—who’d been hungover and out of it. So I’d made my way into the panic room to idly survey pedestrians for mindless hours.

  Or, more honestly, to wait for Sevastyan’s return like a sap. What if he had gone to another woman? What if he was whipping her right now, dominating her with that compelling voice and magnificent body?

  My eyes watered. I could get past anything, but not infidelity, not when I’d all but begged him not to do it—

  I jerked up in my seat whe
n I saw Sevastyan return. I blinked through my tears, watching him enter the kitchen with a large gift-wrapped package.

  He’d been out getting me a present? My emotions spun wildly in the other direction. Giddiness. Glee.

  As if he knew I was watching him, he glanced up at the camera as he set the box down on the counter. The look in his eyes was filled with warning. And maybe even a little . . . sadness. Then he left again.

  Where was he going, and why leave the package? Was it a peace offering—or a parting gift?

  I sprinted to the stairs, bounding down them to the kitchen. I tore into the box, finding an emerald-green beaded gown. Lingerie was included—a cropped black satin bustier with a matching thong. Thigh-highs and heels completed the ensemble.

  There was even a long velvet jewel case with emerald earrings and a matching pendant.

  I swallowed. What was this all about? I spied a card inside, snatched it up. As I read his handwriting, my excitement receded, my stomach giving a lurch.

  Nine tonight. Be careful what you wish for.

  S

  Chapter 33

  I finished pinning my hair up just before nine, then checked my appearance in the floor-length mirror.

  The gown was nothing short of exquisite. The beading was sophisticated and asymmetrical, the design sweeping up my body, drawing attention to the high slit at the right leg, then to my flaring hips and finally my breasts, which were on full display.

  At first, I’d thought the bodice didn’t fit; then I’d realized my boobs were supposed to bubble up on top like this. The pendant he’d given me nestled right at my cleavage.

  This look had called for makeup, so I’d put on lipstick, mascara, and even some shimmery eye shadow that made the color of my eyes pop. I’d snapped a selfie of my getup and texted it to Jess. She’d pronounced me a stone-cold fox. She’d pronounced herself heteroflexible and very interested in sexy funtimes with buxom redheads.

  Still, having never dressed in anything like this, I was having qualms about going out in public. But then, I had no idea where Sevastyan was taking me, or even if he was taking me out. My dolling up could be part of some fantasy of his.

  Was I nervous? Hell, yeah. That card had spooked me. Yet then I’d reminded myself of what exactly I’d wished for: to explore our darkest desires—together.

  And, man, was I game.

  Plus, his concession signaled that he was trying to make me happy. I considered whatever he was about to show me as couples therapy, team building for two—

  Sevastyan appeared in the doorway of our room. I sucked in a breath at his heart-stopping appearance.

  He wore a traditional one-button tuxedo, obviously bespoke. The jacket flawlessly highlighted his broad shoulders and muscular chest. The material screamed expensive, but the cut said conservative.

  Understated accessories—stoneless cuff links, a pocket square of dark silk with a barely-there design, a classic tie—completed his spellbinding ensemble.

  His clean-shaven jaw made my hands itch to caress those chiseled edges.

  He’d retained just one of his rings for the night, that sexy thumb ring. Along with his tattoos, it was a gritty counterpoint to the elegance of the rest of his outfit.

  Even in a tux, he was still my street fighter. This man was on his way to becoming mine, was taking steps—albeit strange and mysterious ones—to advance our relationship.

  Maybe in time he could feel something deeper for me too.

  Studying my appearance as avidly as I studied his, he murmured, “Anticipation becomes you.” He drew back to rake his gaze over me from the ground up. “Ya potryasyon.” I’m undone.

  “I could say the same.”

  “Come.” When he put his hand on my hip to lead me downstairs, I could feel the heat of his palm even through the dress beading. Was he nervous? Or just that eager?

  “Where are we going anyway?”

  “Dinner first.”

  So we were heading outside of the mansion, and I looked like Jessica Rabbit. Oh, well. See me, love me, motherfleckers. “And then?”

  “Patience,” he murmured with a squeeze of my hip.

  He helped me into a sleek new stole—fur again, Siberian?—then into our waiting limo. As we set out, tension rippled between Sevastyan and me. I had no idea what he was thinking, feeling. But when I shimmied in the dress and flashed my thigh-high through the gown’s slit, his lips parted on an exhalation.

  Our destination was a posh restaurant called Plaisirs. Its patrons were dressed to the nines—yet even they stopped and stared at Sevastyan as we walked by, forkfuls of food hovering in midair. They even stared at me.

  The Nebraska girl cleaned up good. Feeling more confident, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, which seemed to please Sevastyan.

  Dinner—at what had to be the best table in the house—was a light, sensual affair. Lobster, succulent fruits, delectable truffles, petits fours. The wine was so sublime I couldn’t stop licking my lips.

  Sevastyan ordered a vodka rocks, but didn’t touch it.

  I was just tipsy enough to ask, “If you don’t drink, why order it?”

  He released a pent-up breath, as if he’d known this question was coming eventually. “My father was an alcoholic. I do not wish to become one,” he said in utter understatement. “But in Russia . . .”

  “So many things involve alcohol?”

  “Exactly. Maybe I do it to test my resolve.”

  He’d confided something to me! My heart gave a little flutter. We were moving in the right direction. And suddenly his comment about the irony of smuggling cheap booze made perfect sense. “Is your father still alive?”

  “Nyet.” Hard no. “It’s a subject I’d rather not discuss.” Softening his tone, he said, “Not tonight of all nights.”

  “Fair enough. So . . . any hint about where you’re taking me next?”

  “You’re soon to see.”

  “Okay, Siberian.” Reining in my curiosity, I took another sip of ambrosia/wine, grinning against the glass.

  “You’re . . . happy with me.” He sounded surprised.

  “Very.”

  “Because you think you’ve won in this, that I capitulated to you.”

  I set down my glass. “Not everything’s a game, Sevastyan. Maybe I want us both to win.”

  “Then why were you pleased with me?”

  “Because you listened to me. You acknowledged that I needed something from our relationship, and I believe you intend in some way to give it to me tonight. You’re trying, and it gives me hope about our future.”

  “Whereas before you had nothing but doubts?” A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.

  “Sevastyan, you control whether I have doubts. It’s in your hands.”

  “It sounds simple when you put it like that. But know that tonight is anything but simple for me.”

  And still he was going through with it. “I understand.”

  He frowned. “You expect much from me. In many areas of our lives. But perhaps I don’t . . . recognize everything a young woman needs.”

  What to make of this perplexing statement? Then I remembered that, beyond sex, he didn’t have a lot of experience with women. He’d never been in a relationship, had no siblings—so no sisters—and hadn’t had a mother since he was thirteen, or younger.

  Did he know a woman’s body? Judges’ scores of ten across the board. But her mind? Not so much.

  In a wry tone, I said, “From now on, I’ll speak up about what I need—you know, try not to be such a shy and retiring flower with you.”

  His expression turned to a look of fascination, again as if I were a creature he’d never seen in the wild before.

  We stared at each other for long moments, while I attempted to imagine his thoughts. Was he trying to decipher mine as well?

  He dragged his gaze away to check his watch, then signaled for the maître d’. He said something in French to the man, who promptly returned with my stole and a small box that I
didn’t remember Sevastyan checking at the front.

  I turned toward the entrance, but Sevastyan took my arm. “This way.” Box in hand, he led me toward the rear of the restaurant, right past the other tables . . . then out a back door into a cobblestone alley.

  “Is something wrong?” I whispered. “Did you see a threat?” So help me, if some mafiya thug ruins my fantasy night . . .

  “No. We go to our next destination,” he said with an enigmatic air.

  “Oh.” Excitement rekindled inside me. “What’s in the box?”

  He surveyed the area. “I suppose you can have it now,” he said, handing it to me.

  With a grin, I tore it open, finding inside the most stunning mask imaginable. The material was a rich green that complemented my gown, the edges lined with what had to be real emeralds.

  At the sides, silken flares jutted like a butterfly’s wings. Beneath each of the slanted eye cutouts, the material curved down into a curlicue, a tapering wing.

  “This is so gorgeous, Sevastyan!” I eagerly gave him my back when he moved to tie it on. “Is this for a masquerade?” In the last novel I’d read from Jess’s collection, a historical romance by some author with a weird first name, there’d been a courtesans’ masked ball. The French heroine and her Scottish hero had attended, naughtiness ensuing. “Are we going to one?”

  “Of a sort,” Sevastyan muttered.

  Before I could ask about his odd tone, he’d tied my mask and turned me to face him.

  “You’re incomparable,” he said with such solemnity that I blushed.

  Who could resist falling for a man like this?

  A better woman than I?

  Then he pulled a silky onyx domino out of his coat pocket, tying it on.

  My mind . . . went . . . temporarily . . . blank.

  Once my brain sputtered back to life, a tangle of thoughts hit me. Sexy. Rogue. Lava hot. Spontaneous orgasm.

  He couldn’t possibly look more wicked. “Come along.”

  As he squired me forward, I kept sneaking glances up at his face.

  “It’s not far now, pet.”

  I was nearly overwhelmed with curiosity as we made our way toward the end of the foggy alley, the click, click of my heels echoing.