ROAR (5 page)

This academy would give Gunnar an additional avenue to explore the lifestyle outside his small circle of trusted friends without risking his personal safety or the security of his missions. Most likely, he’d hire someone to run the place and stay on the periphery. He had little time for much else.

Inside the dungeon, Anderson introduced a respected Domme from the training center in Los Angeles. He learned she would be staying on to help with the transition.

A door opened at the far end of the dungeon, and a heavy-set man carrying a cardboard box entered followed by dozens of cats. Anderson growled in frustration before muttering to himself, “Not again!”

He excused himself from the group, all of whom seemed nonplussed when a staff member pulled a bullwhip from the dungeon wall and began swinging it above the heads of the defenseless creatures until Anderson put a quick end to it.

When a plump tabby rubbed the leg of the brunette with the nerdy glasses, she screamed as she sought refuge with the investor standing next to her. “I hate cats,” she whimpered piteously. “They’re too much like giant rats!”

More staff members descended upon the dungeon. Several tried, without success, to herd the cats by waving riding crops or paddles in the air, but the desperate plea of the besieged woman in the tour group led Kristoffer to reach down and pluck the tabby up and away from her. He stroked its neck while watching with humor as the chaos unfolded.

The frightened feline purred, much like Tori’s pet, Noma. Calming the animal gave him a sense of peace as well. “There, now,” he whispered in its ear, which flicked against his lips as if ticklish. “Everything’s going to be all right.” He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to the tabby or himself. Tonight had been unsettling on so many fronts.

Watching the continued but failed efforts of the staff at herding cats, Kristoffer shook his head with the strong suspicion that the pandemonium around them had to have been planned. How else would this many cats manage entry into a dungeon deep within the walls of a secure warehouse?

No doubt Anderson had carefully crafted this incident. His eyes glinted with merriment rather than irritation as he directed his staff to wrangle up the poor creatures. Was it simply for his own amusement, or did this ruse serve a higher purpose?

Whatever the case, Kristoffer needed the comical ending to this most disconcerting evening. He turned to find the headmaster holding two kittens and decided to call him out. “Herding cats? You can’t be serious, Mr. Anderson.”

“What?” He feigned innocence, but Kristoffer raised his eyebrow. Anderson dropped the pretense, aware Kristoffer was on to him. The headmaster shook his head, chuckled, and handed the two kittens over to a staff member. He pointed his finger at Kristoffer, laughing warmly. “I
knew
I liked you for a reason.”

The headmaster grew serious. He whistled, a door opened, and the cats headed toward it without protest. Kristoffer assumed someone had opened a can of tuna or some other feline enticement behind the door. Anderson took the cat from his hands and set it down to follow the others. Before it did so, the tabby rubbed against his charcoal gray pants leg, leaving tufts of orange and white fur in its wake. He bent to rub behind its ears one more time before it, too, followed its nose.

Anderson crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest and stared intently at each potential investor, one after the other. “This was simply my way of illustrating how investing can be a lot like herding cats unless you know what you’re doing.”

Kristoffer had to give him props for orchestrating this elaborate object lesson.

After reiterating the importance of finding the right person to head up the academy, Anderson continued, “You may think that you came here tonight to decide whether this is the right investment for you, but you’d be only partially correct. I will not hand over this business unless I feel confident that you or your client is worthy to own this training center.”

Kristoffer clapped his hands slowly and with admiration. “Well played, Mr. Anderson.” At least he’d made a good impression, which might give Gunnar’s proposal a leg up over the others, because as they moved toward the boardroom to discuss the details further, he heard a number of the members of the group express interest as well. Kristoffer would have to come up with a solid, tempting proposal that would be advantageous to both parties in order to win the day.

While there wasn’t much he could control anymore, Kristoffer intended to make sure he acquired this property for Gunnar if his cousin’s heart was set on it. There were so few checkmarks in his “win” column in any other aspect of his life, but when it came to business affairs, Kristoffer excelled.

The brunette seemed quite pleased by the subterfuge and met Anderson’s gaze. Had she been in on it as well? When she glanced his way, Kristoffer couldn’t shake the feeling he knew her until the young woman burst into youthful giggles that echoed down the hallway, making it difficult for him not to smile himself. Such innocence and passion. He hoped she’d never have to face any serious heartache in her life.

With a sudden burst of clarity, he realized what had been bugging him since he’d first seen her. This was none other than Brianna Bennett! While researching the Submissive Training Center in LA in preparation for this tour, he’d watched the documentary she’d made describing her experiences there. Her exuberant praise of the program was one of the reasons he’d agreed with Gunnar to give the place a closer inspection. That also explained her obvious familiarity with Anderson.

Kristoffer shook his head, grinning as he wondered what the two were planning next.

Before entering the meeting room, he glanced down the hallway to the classroom where he’d seen Doctor Jeffrey’s naked body in great detail. The chances of another encounter with her—clothed or otherwise—would be slim.

Thank you, God of Thunder
.

K
ristoffer let the sounds of Miles Davis’s mellow trumpet fill his high-rise condo as the clock’s hands crept toward midnight. He stared out the wall of windows at the city lights in the distance as he tossed back the remainder of the glass of scotch. Most nights, he drank wine to relax, but needed something stronger tonight. Normally, a single glass of twenty-year-old scotch neat was the perfect dose of self-medication to take the edge off. For some reason, this evening he’d poured a second.

Idly stroking Noma behind her ears, he relaxed even more. This temperamental feline had been his only companion since the accident. Well, they’d had a rocky start dating back a full decade because Noma preferred Tori to him from the time she was adopted. Somehow, though, when he moved into this new place and the cat’s mistress still was nowhere to be found, she’d finally warmed up to him. That had been nearly a year after the accident, coinciding with Kristoffer beginning to escape from his grief-stricken stupor. Coming to the realization his beloved wife would never be returning to the life they’d once shared had taken a major adjustment to put it mildly. On the first night here, with Kristoffer feeling lost and alone, Noma had rubbed against his leg out of the blue, perhaps to let him know she needed someone to comfort her in her loss, too.

Apparently, Kristoffer would do.

Had Tori reached out to lay down the law and insist that her pet bond with him?

You always took such good care of my needs, Tori.

Until then and throughout that first difficult year, Kristoffer had only been permitted to meet the tabby’s physical needs—food, water, and litter. Being allowed to stroke her and sit with her like this helped him feel a connection with Tori he hadn’t felt in a long while. Noma held on to her independence most of the time, though.

“Is that the way of things, Noma? We’re here to hold each other up?”

The cat purred harder, but didn’t deem the question worthy of a meow. The two of them had reached an understanding. They could communicate silently, each finding comfort in their mutual love for Tori.

Now, he really needed to get up from this sofa and spend a few hours on that report. Gunnar would expect his preliminary analysis, recommendation, and bidding advice for a competitive offer tomorrow as he aggressively pursued Gunnar’s apparent goal of acquiring The Denver Academy.

Why hadn’t Kristoffer been able to string two thoughts together since he’d left the school a couple of hours ago? Knowing sleep would elude him anyway, he put the cat on the couch where she curled into a ball. He stood, picked up his empty glass, and placed it on the bar before strolling out of the room toward his office.

The vision of Pamela’s nude body wouldn’t release him.
Wait a minute
. Since when had he started referring to her as Pamela? She’d asked everyone at the meeting two weeks ago to call her that, but in light of what he’d seen tonight, using her first name seemed more intimate than he wished to be.

He couldn’t be attracted to her. No, not at all. No woman had pierced his armor since the day he’d met Tori and none ever would.

The only reason he was even thinking such thoughts about another woman was that the last few years of lonely exile had finally taken their toll. His body wasn’t dead yet, although the heart and soul he’d pledged to the only woman he’d ever love had become as lifeless as his beloved Tori. Why indulge in thoughts of fleeting, empty sexual pleasure? Nothing could come of any attraction to her, so these thoughts were a colossal—illogical—waste of time. He wouldn’t jeopardize his work or Gunnar’s mission for any brief, meaningless encounter with her or any other woman.

As if the doctor was even interested. The pleading look in her eyes hadn’t been begging him to make a move, but to pretend he hadn’t seen her.

Mind over matter won out, and he managed to spend the next ninety minutes outlining the pros and cons of the deal, until his eyelids felt as if they were sliding over sandpaper every time he blinked. He powered down his computer and leaned back as the leather scrunched in his chair. Exhausted, he closed his eyes. He’d have to leave for Breck by seven and ought to stretch out in bed for a few hours, but he didn’t have the energy to leave the office. He’d rest his eyes a moment…

*     *     *

“Kris! Watch out!”

Kristoffer jerked awake as Tori’s scream echoed around the room. A crick in his neck told him he’d been lying in the same position a while. He glanced at the hands on the illuminated clock face on his desk. Four-forty.

Would the nightmares of that night never leave him? Damn it, if he didn’t catch some sleep, he’d be a menace on the road later this morning. No, he’d delay his meeting before jeopardizing anyone else’s life. Gunnar, of all people, would understand.

Kristoffer unbuttoned his dress shirt as he made his way across the office and back through the living room toward the master bedroom. Jazz strains spilled from the living room speakers, reminding him he hadn’t turned off the stereo earlier. Chuck Mangione’s “Give It All You Got,” one of Tori’s favorite arrangements, played. He’d be sure to remove the CD from the stereo stacker and take it with him when he left the house.

But first, some sleep.

The bedroom was free of the frills or embellishments Tori had loved so much. In place of the brass bed he’d shared with his wife, he now slept in this imposing four-poster, canopy bed that had once belonged to his grandfather. It had been in storage for more than ten years, because it didn’t go with the décor of his home with Tori.

He left the canopy cloth off, not needing to cocoon himself the way FarFar, his father’s father, had done on those frigid, incessant winter nights in Norway. Kristoffer preferred to display the inlaid wood of the canopy frame in all its glory, not that many had ever seen it. The carved headboard and footboard were worn after centuries of use by the Larson family, but the craftsmanship would never fade. Family tradition told of his third or fourth great-grandfather making the bedroom suite by hand.

The matching dresser was the only other large piece of furniture in here. FarFar had also sent the cradle Kristoffer’s and Gunnar’s fathers had slept in when babies. If he and Tori had wanted children, the babies would have slept there as well. He’d left the cradle in storage, because visions of what might have been were too painful for Kristoffer these days. However, they’d been careless with birth control many times without a pregnancy, so perhaps being a parent had never been in the cards for them. In retrospect, being childless had been for the best. How would he have raised kids without Tori?

Gunnar had chosen to inherit FarFar’s weapons and war memorabilia. The two cousins were so different and yet closer than many brothers. Thank God he had Gunnar in his life.

Surprisingly, no sooner did he stretch out on the lonely bed than his eyelids drooped again. Well and good. He didn’t want to cancel his meeting with Gunnar. The proposal he’d drafted was a solid one, and he wanted his cousin’s thoughts on it before submitting it to Brad Anderson.

The alarm blared in what seemed like mere minutes. He noted with relief that he hadn’t had any more dreams about that horrific night. After a quick shower, he downed a cup of black coffee then filled his thermal cup with the amount left in the Technivorm carafe. No surprise. He measured out the same amount of coffee every day, whether working at home or going to a meeting at Forseti headquarters. Kristoffer found comfort in routine. Perhaps because life had thrown him a number of curves. He gave a mental shrug. No matter. Everyone had one idiosyncrasy or another.

His hair still wet, he grabbed a white shirt from the closet and quickly dressed. Gunnar didn’t demand formality at their meetings; however, Kristoffer thrived on professionalism and decorum. They provided stability in an otherwise unstable world.

Except for his unconventional shoulder-length hair. But Gunnar’s was half a foot longer, and as CEO of his corporation, Gunnar didn’t raise an eyebrow or care about Kristoffer’s. As if physical appearance would be an issue between them anyway.

He carried his travel mug in his right hand and briefcase in the other with his suit coat draped over that same arm. Minutes later, situated behind the wheel of the Jag, he eased from the condo’s parking garage and into the flow of traffic. Most commuters were headed toward the city, but his destination was two hours west. Plenty of time for a leisurely drive to Breck. He felt surprisingly refreshed. That last bit of sleep without dreams must have done the trick.