The Master (8 page)

“Nah,
no es posible.
In the future, book often and book early.”

Another bout of silence.

At length, he grated, “Wear something sexy.”

A
t the door to Máxim’s suite, I removed the long lightweight jacket I’d worn to conceal my racy dress.

He’d said sexy, so I’d gone to Ivanna’s, uncaring if I was fifteen more minutes late. She’d brought out the tiniest dress I’d ever seen, gifting it to me because,
as she’d put it: “My breasts are too big to wear this since I got enhanced.”

The cream-colored confection was short and backless. Two narrow bands of silk made a halter to cover my tits—somewhat. Side-boob galore. The “skirt” was about eight inches long
and displayed the cleft of my ass, but the hem was trimmed in a fringe of slinky strands, making for a peekaboo situation whenever I took a step.

A braided gold cuff on my upper arm, chandelier earrings, and fuck-me stilettos rounded out the ensemble. I’d worn my hair in a loose knot to show off my bared back.

She’d even given me a beaded purse to go with the dress. Ivanna’s last instructions: “Land him, Cat. Whatever you did—do
more
.”

What had I done that other women hadn’t? Well, I’d kinda been a bitch at times. I’d refused to “fawn.” I’d insisted on my own pleasure.

Three things I could definitely repeat! With that thought in mind, I pressed the penthouse doorbell.

“You’re late,” he snapped when he answered. “You said nine . . .” He trailed off as he raked his gaze over my body. “Fuck. Me.”

“
Hola.
” I hoped I sounded casual, but he looked even hotter than last time. He wore a sharp gray suit, with the collar of his crisp white button-down open.
“
Qué pasa?
” I sauntered past him into the living room. Stopped in my tracks.

Another man was here, a giant. Burly and even taller than Sevastyan, this guy had a bald head, a brick-end chin, and a bulldog jaw shadowed with rough stubble.

My heart tripped with panic. “I don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Sevastyan frowned.

“Two men.” Instinctively, I retreated a step—then realized with a start that I hadn’t taken a step toward the door; I’d taken a step closer to Sevastyan.

“Ah. Vasili’s my head of security and right-hand man. Has been for over a decade.”

Relief sailed through me.

Vasili grated something in Russian. Sevastyan responded. I couldn’t understand the words, but there was no mistaking Sevastyan’s
do not fuck with me
tone. He looped his arm
around me, drawing me close, which seemed to surprise Vasili.

More evidence that Sevastyan didn’t like to touch or be touched? Or he hadn’t in the past?

In English, he said, “Vasili was just leaving.”

The man shot me a cutting look as he passed.

When we were alone, I said, “He certainly doesn’t like me.”

“He’s suspicious because he can’t find information about you. Anyone who comes in contact with me more than once would have an inch-thick dossier by now.”

That sounded risky, but I’d only be here for another hour or so, then
adiós
.

I set down my jacket and purse. “I don’t appreciate being strong-armed into a date at the last minute. I do have a life, you know.”

“In my experience, most escorts don’t have to be ‘strong-armed’ into dating billionaires.”

“Oh, baby boy”—I gave him an
embarrassed for you
wince—“you weren’t quite a billionaire today, now, were you?”

His lips curved. “Bad day in the markets. So you looked me up? And you still give me shit?”

Growing serious, I said, “I didn’t appreciate you violating my privacy. I meant what I said Monday night: I wanted my line to stay private.”

“You’re really angry about that? I know something that will cheer you.” He crossed to his briefcase, offering me a stack of hundreds, bound with a currency strap. “Five
thousand. I assume you won’t try to haggle for more after our first night.”

I followed him, accepting the money. This would be twelve grand in two nights! Plus the phone number fee! Still, when I thought of how miserable I’d been over the last two days—and
his high-handedness today—I found myself saying, “No haggling. With the late-booking fee, it’s
ten
thousand. Or I take the party in my tiny dress somewhere else.”

I knew I’d aimed too low when he handed me another stack—as if I’d asked him to pass the salt.

My anger faded. I could afford to get another number. Wasn’t like I would need to update my contact info with all my friends and family, since I had neither. Once I left town, I’d
toss the phone anyway.

As if in a dream, I floated toward my purse to stash my windfall.

When I returned, his gaze raked over me in a way that made me want to fan myself. My nipples were already straining against the silk.

“I thought I told you to wear something sexy.” A joke out of the Russian? “Why didn’t you dress like this last time? I only turned you away because you appeared almost .
. . wholesome. At least from the front.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would take me out. Now I know you won’t.”

He crossed to stand in front of me, seeming to make a visible effort to keep his eyes on my face. “Perhaps I would if I had no time limit.”

“You’re the one who called at the last minute.”

“I began calling late this afternoon.”

I tapped my chin. “Then that sounds like a
you
problem.”

“Where were you tonight?”

“I told you. Here and there.”

“Do you have a standing date?”

“Boundaries, Sevastyan. That’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business when your schedule affects my plans.”

His plans consisted of depositing sperm into a condom, then dozing off. How nice life must be for him.

“And following another is not my style.” He stalked even closer.

“You aren’t, okay? Not that you’ll believe me. I haven’t had sex with anyone but you in a while.”

“Have you thought about me?”

“Fleetingly.”

His lips curled again. Not surprisingly, he had a sexy grin. Everything about him was sexy to me. When charming and warm like this, he was a different man. One I found myself dangerously
attracted to.

He pulled me closer, lowering his head. His scent washed over me, sending shivers over my body. “I think you missed me, Katya.”

Oh, my name in his accent made my toes curl!

Right at my ear, he said, “I think you replayed what we did, and it made your soft little pussy wet.”

His rasped words turned me on so fast and so hard, I gasped. His mouth descended over mine. I tasted a bite of vodka as he gave me sensuous flicks of his tongue.

So much for my wall and boundaries. I welcomed his kiss, lapping back. Just like that, the fire raged, and my fingers dug into his shoulders. When he clamped my thigh to his hip, I rocked my
hips to him.

He broke from the kiss to ask, “Did you miss this”—he thrust his hard cock against me—“for two days?”

I moaned, nodding, grinding back.

“It wouldn’t take much to make you come, would it?” He nuzzled my neck. “Rub your sweet clit with my thumb and you’d go off.”

“Try me—”

My stomach growled. Loudly.

He drew back, releasing my leg. “You haven’t eaten dinner?”

I shook my head.

Seeming to wrestle with a huge decision—which involved peering at my legs, my lips, my hard nipples—he sighed and said, “Let’s go down to the bar for some
food.”

Why not call for room service? “Are you wanting to feed me, or show me off in this dress?”

“Maybe both.”

I
n the elevator, his towering frame and palpable energy took over the space. He trailed the backs of his fingers up my spine, making me
shiver again. “So sensitive.”

Downstairs, as we headed to the outside bar, he kept a proprietary hand on my back. Taller than all the other men, he walked with his chin up and his shoulders squared—utterly arrogant.
Which I kind of enjoyed, when it wasn’t directed at me.

The Seltane’s outdoor area was breathtaking, with giant palms, multiple small pools, and luxurious seating nestled in romantic alcoves. He squired me away from others, closer to the ocean.
Though two sofas wrapped around the candlelit table, we sat on the same one.

Our server—
Tiffani!
—was a tall blonde with a striking face. I expected Sevastyan to drool over her, but he was very attentive to me. He selected a white wine, a specific
vintage that must be expensive; Tiffani raised her brows. He ordered a vodka martini for himself, telling her, “We need something to eat, something quick. Have the chef surprise
us.”

As we waited for drinks, I relaxed back on the sofa, determined to enjoy the lavish setting. My lids went heavy as a breeze wafted over us, dancing with the table’s candle flame. Palm
fronds fanned above. The now full moon was tinged with yellow and painted the waves.

While I was gazing at the ocean, he’d been gazing at me.

“What?”

“I can’t figure you out. I can figure
everyone
out. I’ve met spies less secretive than you.” Spies? As a politician— or
mafiya
heavy—did he mean
that literally? “Are you so secretive because you fear another besotted client? I’m sure you’ve had your share.”

I teasingly said, “Should I be worried about you?”

“You looked me up online—what do you think?”

“Your long trail of brokenhearted blondes tells me your heart is bulletproof. Just like mine.” I said this so confidently, but I
could
see my interest in him
deepening—if he stayed warm like this.

Tiffani returned with our drinks.

After she’d gone, I sipped more crack ambrosia. Over the rim of my glass, I said, “You have excellent taste in wine for someone who never drinks it.”

“Nothing but the best.”

So I’d figured. I was beginning to suspect he’d preferred tall blondes because they represented cachet. He’d had no problems with my looks Monday night or tonight.

“Back to the subject at hand,” he said. “Could I tempt you to tell me about yourself if I paid—”

“
No.
”

He raised his brows. “I’m to ask you zero personal questions, but you can read whatever you like about me?”

“Should I believe everything I read?”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “You know my net worth, yet you continue to treat me as if I’m an aggravation.”

“Monday night, I was delighted with you—but then you were cruel to me.”

He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then tried again. “That night was . . . different.” He gazed out at the water as he said, “I expected you to do the escort
spiel and resented it. I wanted nothing to color the experience.”

What did he mean by different? Surely he expected me to ask. So I didn’t. “I do know your net worth. You should pat yourself on the back for a good job. But it won’t affect my
behavior.”

He faced me. “Oh, really?” His words were tinged with ice.

The man thought I was cozying up to him for his money. The irony! “Your wealth is an abstract—it’s leprechaun gold to me.”

Why would I dream about his money—instead of my own? There’d been a few million liquid, but Edward had probably blown through that much searching for me. He still had the mansion,
but not Martinez Beach.

Each decade, the strength of the land’s trust eroded; in time, a lawyer like him could figure out a way to circumvent the trust. With resort encroachment on both sides, its value would be
through the roof.

Others had had the same idea. Developers had hounded my mother constantly, one reason she’d become a shut-in.

“I could almost believe you,” Sevastyan finally said. When I shrugged, he asked, “How much of your online bio is true?”

“Not a lot.”

“You don’t like dancing, yoga, and shopping? What do you do for fun?”

“I can’t dance, I scoff at yoga, and I despise shopping. I’m a runner, and I don’t have spare time for fun.”

A muscle ticked in his wide jaw. Of course he would take that to mean:
I’m always on my back.
“I have little time myself. Most of my life is dedicated to business.”