Marrying the Master (8 page)

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.”

“I
do not care. Speak about the relationship, speak about how you feel, but never
forget that he is beneath you.” He gripped her waist tighter and sought out her
hand. “Never.”

Now
Lola’s eyes flashed, and she pulled herself up to her full height. How did she
put it? She could switch gears on a dime? She’d always said it was a redhead
trait. He could see that she’d switched into ‘angry.’

“You
don’t have to tell me that, Roman, believe me. That doesn’t change my current
lack of credibility as a sub. I haven’t felt…I haven’t been sure of myself in
that role, especially not publicly, since Benjamin. And no, you do
not
get to tell me how to speak about my
relationships, no matter how disastrous, because they are
mine
.”

Roman
smiled, unable to stop himself even though he knew it would annoy her. He loved
her fire. Always had, and, likely to his detriment, he always would. But now it
seemed to be covering something, something more vulnerable, some core of hurt
that she still carried with her. The trust that submission required had always
put Roman in awe of any true submissive, and Lola was no exception. He could
not imagine what it was like to have that trust betrayed
,
to feel as though you could never be your full self again because someone had
chosen to hurt you instead of cherish you.

Something
low in him wanted to simply go out and hurt the man who had done this.
Something else made him
want
to stay here and fix it.

He
drew her in, wanting to make sure she understood this.

“Lola,”
he said, “just because you have not found a man worthy of your submission does
not change who you are. I see you. I know you. Do not forget that.”

She
blinked, her red lips parted. Roman didn’t know what she had expected, but it
was apparently not that.

He
went on, “You will find your way. I will lead you. From this moment on, in
public,
you are my submissive
. Do you
understand?”

Roman
put his hand under her chin, and raised it gently. “Answer me.”

It
was an unmistakable order.

“Yes,
sir,” Lola said, surprising herself. He could see that it had been an automatic
response.

Roman
liked hearing those words far too much. For a moment his dominant self gained
the upper hand over his conscience, and he had to take several steadying
breaths. If they were not very, very careful, they would both find out what
happened when the walls fell.

Lola
had been having second thoughts about all of it—about risking her own
heart playing submissive to Roman’s Dom, about tempting Roman until she had proved
that she affected him even a little bit, and most of all, about playing with
fire—right up until he said those words.

Just because you haven’t found a man
worthy of your submission doesn’t change who you are.

I see you. I will lead you.

Mine.

Every
anxious thought rattling around inside her head faded in the face of those
words. She melted all over again. She wished he could see what he did to her.
Wished they weren’t blinded to each other by sheer familiarity. Wished he took
her seriously enough to want her for his own.

Did
he? She had been crushed when she’d found out he didn’t respect her enough to
tell her about that stupid
Sizzle
article, or about Catie’s undercover intentions. But he had just said those
words:
I see you
.

She
was powerless to say no. Didn’t
want
to say no, even though she knew that would be the smart thing to do.

And
so here she was, being led by the hand across the room by Master Roman, feeling
every member of the club she’d helped build watch in awed silence. Word must
have already spread, and if it hadn’t, they only had to see Roman’s body
language. He was all Dom, and all of it was directed at Lola.

Oh
God. Already she felt overwhelmed by him. She was shaky, unsteady. And while
theoretically the presence of a strong Dom would be the exact thing she needed,
it was
Roman
, and how he had such a
hold over her while she had nothing on him, that made her feel so…weak.

“Roman,”
she said, pulling a little bit on his hand. He turned, his expression one of
concern.
Intense
concern. She
swallowed. “How are we going to do this, exactly? How are we going to…come
out?”

“We
are going to
be
,” he said, and drew
her in to another searing, sealing kiss.

This
one could leave no doubt in anyone’s mind, at least about Lola’s feelings. Her
whole body betrayed her and responded to him, as though it had found its true
master, and it definitely wasn’t her. The warmth spread from his lips to hers,
down her neck to her chest, her breasts, to her churning, molten core.

He
pulled away, leaving her panting, his head still close to hers, his breath warm
on her cheek.

“Like
that,” he said.

And
he pulled her, dazed, the rest of the way to a poker table. As though to put an
exclamation point on that very public kiss, Roman sat down languidly in a wide,
comfortable armchair and pulled Lola down onto his lap.

It
took Lola a second or two to regain her bearings. She wasn’t imagining it:
everything stopped for a second while the whole room watched them. Slowly
normal conversation began again—though it was now hushed, maybe—only
with eyes still on them. She turned to the table, hoping for some relief, and
was sorely disappointed: here was Ford, grinning evilly, and Jackson Reed,
looking astonished and pleased, and a newer member, a man whose eyes she’d felt
on her more than once: Salvador Benes.

Great.
They were playing poker.

“Does
this mean what I think it means?” Salvador asked, reaching for his drink.

Roman’s
arm tightened around her, and Lola felt herself begin to flush.

“What
do you think, Salvador?” Roman said.

Salvador
shrugged and gestured to the cards. “We waited for you.”

Roman
reached over, and Lola could only think about how close his mouth came to her
breasts, which were practically falling out of her dress to begin with. It was
sort of the point of that particular dress. And now she was sitting on Roman’s
lap, while men she knew watched, open-mouthed.

She
felt dizzy.

“I
call,” Roman said, and settled back into his seat, squeezing Lola to him like
this was all totally normal. Like this was a thing they did. The new sub
who
was dealing caught her eye and gave her a commiserating
smile, like,
Doms, I know.

Lola
risked a look at Ford. He was really smiling just way too much.

Alyssa
dealt out another card, and Salvador immediately said, “Raise.” He threw a
bunch of heavy chips in the pot, and held Roman’s eye. Ford laughed and folded,
and Jackson was already out of the hand.

“Re-raise.”
Roman threw his own chips in. Lola was starting to feel like a prop, like a
plaything—and she liked it.

Really
liked it. And she was sure Roman
could tell.

Dammit
. He already had her. Already. It
wasn’t even half fair.

Salvador’s
eyes were on her now; she could feel them. There was something in the air, some
hint of male pheromones, the kind of thing you could feel right before men did
something incredibly stupid.

And
here it was: “I had no idea Lola was a submissive,” Salvador said.

Roman
corrected, “She’s
my
submissive.”

He rubbed
his hand up the length of her thigh. Lola inhaled sharply.