Master's Flame (31 page)

“It’s not done yet? Really?”

He wasn’t angry, but he pinched her ass through her white silk dress and pretended to be. “You said I could have it as a wedding gift.”

Valentina managed to look both indignant and apologetic. “The rule is that you have a year to give a wedding gift.”

“I thought it was a year to write thank-you cards. Whatever the rule, what are we to do about this?” He pointed to her self-portrait on their bedroom wall, and the empty space beside it. “Our decor is out of balance. Until you finish my portrait and put it there, your portrait appears disproportional.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Master. I know you hate when things are out of whack.”

“I’m going to whack you, little slave girl, if you don’t finish this in the next week or so.”

She skittered away as he followed his pinch with a good-natured smack on her ass. He knew from his groping investigations that she had nothing on under the wispy wedding dress she wore. She turned back to him when she’d put some space between them.

“The thing is, I want it to be perfect. It has to be perfect.”

“But I’m not perfect.” He shouldn’t nag at her; it was spectacular so far. She’d recently added a bit more texture to his shirt, including a row of mismatched buttons and a feather blue eyelash he’d acquired from his daughter. Strangely, it was nowhere near his eyes.

But that epitomized Valentina’s genius. Even the brushstrokes felt alive. He knew she changed the colors and shapes of them until they communicated exactly what she thought they should. “Look at your poor lonely painting,” he said, indicating the bare spot on the wall.

“It doesn’t look that lonely. It looks happy.” She sidled back to slip her arms around his waist. “Maybe because the bugs haven’t come for the candy.”

“Yet.” He tugged her chin up to give her a kiss. “I suppose I must be extra patient with you now that you’re my wife. Perhaps I’ll lock you in the cage and not let you out until it’s finished.” He’d erected one in their Paris bedroom that was exactly like the Marseille cage, and put it to regular use.

“That doesn’t sound very patient,” she said forlornly.

“For me, it is.”

“What about our honeymoon?”

“Oh, I’d find it a lovely honeymoon. You. Me. The cage.”

She shivered, melting into him. He cupped her face, rubbing behind her ears.

“Do you feel like something’s still missing in me,
mon coeur
?” he asked softly. “Is that why you haven’t finished?”

She pulled back, shaking her head. “No, oh no, it’s not that. I feel like I have all of you now, every part of you. I love you so much.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss him, then turned and tilted her head to look at his artistic likeness. “It’s only that, just when I think I’m done, I learn something new about you and I have to make changes. Even when it’s done, I feel like it won’t really be done. There is a lot still to happen between us. Anyway, it’s only part of your wedding present.” Her wide, earnest gaze returned to his.

“What’s the other part?”

“Me,
monsieur
.”

She gave him one of her impish smiles, the type that never failed to make his cock stand on end. He swept her into his arms and carried her to their bed, and laid her back, pushing up the skirt of her dress as he came over her. He should probably take more care. The dress cost a lot, but ripping it off his bride—his
bride
, for God’s sake—was worth all the fortune in the world.

“I never wanted to get married,” he murmured in her ear. “This is all your fault. All this upheaval in my life.”

“Yes, Master,” she said as he stripped off the last of the gauzy material. “I should be punished. Severely punished.”

He chuckled and shoved open her thighs. “I think fucking is a more traditional wedding night activity. We’ll save the arduous, prolonged punishments for the honeymoon.”

Valentina made a sound between a groan and a sigh as he shoved his fingers inside her. The honeymoon...oh, he had plans for the honeymoon, and plenty of time to put them into action. One of her younger sisters had come to Paris a few months ago to learn Valentina’s part in
Élémental
, at least the nearest approximation of it she could manage. With Lucia to fill in, Michel could steal his bride away for two whole weeks to a remote castle in the Italian countryside. It had a real, honest-to-goodness dungeon, one of the main reasons he’d rented it.

Another reason–Michel needed the break, since there had been two of the Sancia sisters in his hair. He had nicknamed them Vesuvius One and Vesuvius Two. When they returned from Italy, Michel knew he would have to find Lucia an act in one of Cirque’s other productions. Such talent shouldn’t go to waste. In fact, he was in talks to bring all the family under Cirque du Monde’s wing, the entire collection of sisters, brothers, cousins, father and mother, aunts and uncles. There were a good number of them, all talented and lacking inhibition or fear.

Earlier tonight, six of the young women from her family, including Valentina, had done a seductive, sensual dance at the wedding reception. It was a family tradition, apparently, of Iberian-Andalusian origins. The flame-haired women had shaken their hips and twirled and writhed with age-old moves of invitation until every attendee was on their feet, stomping along with catcalls and applause. By the end of it, he wanted to tackle Valentina right in the middle of the dance floor and fuck her into oblivion. He did not, however. Nor did he dream of taking all six of them to his bed as some of the other men undoubtedly did. One Vesuvius in his life was enough. More than enough. One volcanic, fiery lover, with talents yet to be explored.

“Do the dance for me again,” he said, rolling away from her. “The one you did with your sisters and cousins.”

“But I’m naked. I have no skirts to swish about.”

“Improvise,” he ordered. “I want sexy dancing. Now.”

She scooped her slightly damaged wedding dress from the floor and draped it over one shoulder and down across her waist. She began a seductive hum, rolling her hips and then snapping them on the downbeats, using the dress to flutter about now and again. They had had chamber music at the wedding, and full symphonies at the reception, but somehow it wasn’t as lovely as this improvised melody. So beautiful, her shape and femininity, and the power she held even when submitting to his commands. Without that power, she wouldn’t fascinate him. She wouldn’t challenge him so that his every day became about owning her and improving her, and loving her, and making her smile.

His cock bucked as she raised her arms in the air, their sinuous movements ending in prettily posed hands. She turned in a circle, then looked back at him over her shoulder. Their gazes caught and locked.
Come hither
, her eyes said.

I’m going to fuck you to pieces
is what he thought. He reached out and grabbed the dress and yanked it toward him. She followed, falling onto the bed, right into his clutches.

“Fucking and dancing and making art,” he said, pushing her beneath him. “That’s pretty much all you’re good for.”

“I perform too,” she reminded him.

“
Oui
, you somehow manage to do that without breaking your neck.”

“Because I’m talented,” she said, sighing as he caressed her.

“I know all about your
talents
.” He felt drunk on love and lust for her. He felt happy. Ecstatic. Reborn. “You drive me crazy. Why on earth did I make you my wife? Am I crazy too?”

“I think you must be a little,” she said with a grin.

His lips covered hers as he entered her. The dress slipped between them, cool silk against warm, fragrant skin. Valentina,
La Vampa
, Vesuvius, whatever her name, he loved her. He adored her elementally, like air and earth, and water and spirit.

Like fire.

THE END

I hope you enjoyed Michel and Valentina’s fiery love story, the conclusion (at least for now) of my Cirque Masters series. I’ve had a lot of fun bringing the world of Cirque and the world of kink together in one yummy package for all of you to perv.

If you missed the first two stories in the Cirque Masters series, I hope you’ll go back and check them out. The first book is
Cirque de Minuit
, Theo and Kelsey’s dramatic love story about overcoming mistakes and healing the ones we love. The second book is
Bound in Blue
, featuring a cross-continental romance between Sara and Jason, as Michel tries to come to terms with being a father. (Spoiler: it’s not easy for him.)

Many thanks to Linzy Antoinette, Candace Blevins, Tasha L. Harrison, J. Luna Scuro, and dear Doris for reading
Master’s Flame
and sharing your thoughts, and thanks to my editors Lina Sacher and Audrey for helping me polish Michel and Valentina’s story to a glowing shine.

If you liked this book, I hope you’ll be kind enough to leave a review at your favorite online site, mention the title on Facebook or Twitter, or perhaps recommend it to a friend. Without your support I couldn’t do this, so THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for reading and encouraging me. To Annabel’s Army, to all my faithful readers: You are the magic—and fire—of my days.

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The Lady Aurelia has been promised in marriage to the Marquess of Townsend since she was four and he was fourteen. Unfortunately, she grew up into a pillar of propriety while her betrothed grew up into a renowned rake. Of course, no one would expect such an unsuitable match to go forward…

“It is a lovely day, isn’t it?” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say to his daunting shoulder.

“Yes, and a lovely party, as you mentioned some moments ago. You seem to find everything lovely. What a charming quirk.”

Aurelia bit her lip, wishing she could quirk him right between his eyes with her slipper's heel. “I only mean to make polite conversation, Lord Townsend.”

“Ah, well. I can do that too if I apply myself.” He tapped a finger against the sculpted edge of his jaw. “I’m delighted you’re enjoying yourself, Lady Aurelia. How kind of His Grace to host this party in our honor.”

“You call the duke ‘His Grace’? I thought you and he were close friends.”

“We’re longtime friends, and I’ve called him many things in the course of our history, but in such a
lovely
setting”—he emphasized her word with a tone of mockery—“I find myself inclined to adhere to formalities.” He gave her a speculative look. “Is that what you and your friends do there at your tea table? Gossip about me and Arlington?”

“No, we don’t do anything of the sort. It’s only that your name comes up in conversation, now that we’re engaged.”

“That must be a trial for you.”

Aurelia decided not to answer. In truth, it was a trial, just like everything else about this engagement. This was the third social event they’d attended in one another’s company. The opera had been easy—they’d simply sat beside one another until they could leave. Riding in the park had been easy too, since the bustle of people and carriages made conversation impossible.

This garden party was far too quiet, and strolling on the Marquess of Townsend’s arm felt too intimate for her tastes.

“Out of conversation already? No more
lovely
topics?” he jested lightly. “We’d suit one another better if you weren’t such a mouse.”

“I am not a mouse.”

“Look at me and say that.”

To her chagrin, she realized she’d ducked her chin practically to her chest. But his closeness unsettled her, no matter how she tried to ignore it. His conspicuous masculinity tangled her in knots. This great, ungainly man was going to be her husband. He was going to get children on her. She’d been sheltered, but she still knew how that was done. She’d heard enough tales to thoroughly flummox her.

“I am not a mouse,” she repeated, almost managing to meet his gaze.

“They call you Lady Dormouse. Did you know that?”

“I do not care. And it’s not a gentlemanly thing to point it out.”

“Ah, but I’m not much of a gentleman. How poorly we suit each other. It’s a shame.”

“Cry off on our betrothal then,” she said through tight lips. “I wish you would.”

“I wish I could. I’ve tried to think of ways to do it, but there are more powerful forces than us forming this union.” He paused and turned to her, tilting up her chin with one gloved fingertip. “Besides that, I find you too fragile and innocent to ruin. It would weigh on my conscience.”

His lofty expression made her cross. “I thought you abhorred my fragility and innocence.”

“Abhorred is a strong word. No, Aurelia, fragility and innocence aren’t bad qualities in a wife. At least I’ll know no one has trespassed before me when I mount you on our wedding night.”

She drew in a breath as delicately as she could, when what she really needed to do was gasp for air. Of all the inappropriate and coarse things to say! She moved to pull away from him, to flee, but his grip tightened on her hand.

“Does my forthright speech trouble you, my lady?”

“You know it does,” she said between her teeth. “You...you impolite blackguard.”

“Oh, dear, is that the best you can do? Lady Dormouse indeed. You ought to call me a bastard instead. A bleeding bastard, if you really want to make a point.”

“Ladies don’t talk that way. Gentlemen shouldn’t either.”

“And gentlemen shouldn’t speak of mounting their brides. I know. That doesn’t change the fact that it shall happen very shortly, my Aurelia.” He paused, gazing down as she considered him with a stricken expression. “I’ll make it good for you, darling. Don’t worry.”

She wanted to spit at him that she wasn’t worried, but the truth was, she was terrified. Her gaze dropped to his neatly tied cravat, down to his broad shoulders and chest. When she looked back up to meet his eyes, he wore a self-satisfied expression.