The War King Read online

  “That’s my girl. Give me everything. I want all of you,” he said, timing the pace of his fingers to the rhythm of my inner contractions. I clenched around him, riding the high of the most unbelievable orgasm I’d ever had.

  This was what I needed. Him. His mouth. His fingers. His touch. I’d never been so torn and so complete in my entire life. Roman Menshikov ruled my world, and I was a fool for doubting it.

  Chapter 2

  Roman

  This playroom had been specifically designed to suit my basest desires. Removable wood panels covered soundproof concrete walls, ready to be changed out to suit my moods. A wall of mirrors reflected Rourke’s naked body and hid the observation room behind it. Her legs trembled from her orgasm. One of them remained wrapped around my shoulders. She had said she didn’t know me, and maybe she didn’t. Until this morning, I’d been unable to show my darkness to her. If I wanted to keep her, I’d have to reveal the parts I’d kept hidden. It was a gamble that scared the living shit out of me.

  “I need to sit down.” Her voice wavered. She was still clutching my hair.

  I slid my hands up the backs of her legs and stood, pulling her to me. God, she felt amazing, all boneless and sated from my mouth on her pussy. I squeezed her tighter, making her whimper. “Did you enjoy that, baby?”

  “Yes, but I need to see you.” She reached for her blindfold.

  “No.” I grabbed her hands. “You can’t.” Over her shoulder, I gazed at my reflection in the mirrors. My battered face stared back at me. “Not like this.”

  “Why? What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Her voice raised in alarm. At least she still cared. She tried to touch my face.

  I caught her wrist and pulled it away. “I said no, Cinderella.”

  “You say you want me to know the real you and then you hide things from me. It’s not fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair.” I disentangled myself from her and backed away a few steps. Her breasts heaved with her rapid breathing. “You know that.”

  “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She wobbled on her high heels before regaining her balance. “Tell me.”

  I stroked a hand along the side of her face, her skin silky beneath my touch. “Some bad men tried to scare me into submission. Unfortunately for them, I don’t scare easily.” How could I explain when I didn’t understand, either? The less she knew, the better for both of us.

  “Don’t do this.” She yanked away her blindfold, but I’d already slipped through the secret door into the adjoining observation room.

  Behind the one-way glass, I watched her face redden with frustration. She spun in a circle, scanning the room, unfazed by her nakedness. She’d come a long way from the modest girl I’d met last year.

  “Where are you?” Her gaze fell on the mirror in front of me. She stalked over to the glass and stared directly into my eyes. I took a step back before remembering that she couldn’t see me, she was merely guessing at my location. “If you’re trying to make things better, this isn’t helping. You’re just pissing me off.” Her last sentence ended in a shout.

  I stared into her delicate face, separated from mine by a few inches and a thin sheet of glass, admiring the fire in her eyes. This was the woman I’d married, a hellcat, the only person besides Ivan to call out my bullshit. She banged a hand against the mirror, pivoted, and began gathering her clothes from the floor.

  I’d brought her here because I couldn’t stand the separation, sleeping alone, wondering if she was okay. I needed her. She’d gotten under my skin. She was a part of me now, the best part of me. I pressed the intercom speaker, but it was too late. Fully dressed, she plunged out of the playroom. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Someone knocked on the door. I quickly hit the control panel, shimmering the glass from clear to mirrored, and said, “Come in.”

  Spitz entered the room, his eyebrows lifting to the edge of his hairline. “I think I just passed your wife. She broke a lamp on her way out. Trouble in paradise?”

  I ignored his question. “Have you found out who did this to me?”

  “I spoke with my contacts at the agency. No one knows anything about this.” He shrugged. “My gut tells me this is an independent—someone gone rogue, abusing their power to try and manipulate you.” He scratched his chin. Neither of us had shaved in a few days. Strands of gray peppered the stubble on his cheeks. “I think you need to leave the Four Seasons. It would be even better if you moved back to your penthouse. Somewhere we can control.”

  I ignored his request, unwilling to delve into the wreckage of my marriage. “Put a tail on my wife. Double her security. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  Spitz stared at me, his eyelids narrowing. “Personally, boss, I think you need to reevaluate your commitment to this woman.”

  A fury unlike anything I’d ever felt welled up inside me. I grabbed him by the neck and pinned him to the wall. “You’re out of line. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire your ass right now.” He had more than enough self-defense skills to kill me with his bare hands. To his credit, he remained calm and unblinking.

  “Someone inside your circle is giving out confidential information. Who better than your wife? I mean, what do you know about her, really?” He lifted both hands in the air, palms facing outward. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the possibility.”

  I let go of his throat and backed away, my hands shaking. “Spoken like a man who’s been divorced a half-dozen times.”

  “You mean spoken like a man who’s been fucked over by women more than his fair share.” He straightened his collar, calm and unruffled.

  “My wife isn’t like that.”

  “All women are like that.” We stared at each other for an uncomfortable minute.

  “If we’re going to continue this business partnership, you need to understand that my wife and daughter are the most important parts of my life. I won’t tolerate your disrespect toward either one of them.”

  He paced the length of the room before coming to a stop at in front of me. “I know I’m on shaky ground here, but you need to keep your distance from her. Someone might follow her to you.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Asking me to stay away from Rourke was like demanding me to stop breathing. I’d already been apart from her for an eternity, and I was done sleeping alone.

  Chapter 3

  Rourke

  The floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse bedroom offered the best view in all of New York City, but the Manhattan morning skyline did nothing for the ache in my chest or the emptiness in my heart. Roman’s stunt at the Devil’s Playground NYC yesterday had left me with more questions than answers. I pressed two fingers to my lips, savoring the burn of his kisses, and prayed for a resolution to our problems.

  “Ladies, concentrate.” Christian, my friend and personal stylist, clapped his hands, and called order to the chaos in the room. “Rourke, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” I’d completely forgotten about Everly’s fundraiser until Christian had shown up this morning with an entourage and a cartful of formal ensembles. He spread an array of designer ball gowns across the room. The piles of silk looked like resting butterflies on the enormous king-size bed. He fussed and fluffed and tugged at the blue taffeta Vera Wang I was wearing until I heaved an enormous sigh.

  The last place I wanted to be was in a roomful of strangers discussing something as trivial as haute couture, not with the space between my legs aching and the Playground fresh in my memories. Despite Roman’s promises that everything would be fine, uneasiness churned in my stomach. Memories of the way he’d brought me to climax flooded my cheeks with heat. Although I was furious at his highhandedness, I secretly hoped he’d kidnap me again. The whole situation had whipped my emotions into a frenzy.

  Christian tugged at the lapels of his blue silk shirt and snapped his fingers at one of the assistants. “She hates it. Bring me the yellow Dior.”

  “I don’t hate it. I was thin
king of something else.” I smoothed my hands down the soft fabric and stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. It was the fifth gown I’d tried on. Did Roman like yellow? Then I remembered. He wasn’t going to the ball with me. I’d be flying solo to this event. I swallowed down the thickness in my throat.

  “Don’t lie. It’s written all over that pretty face of yours. Never fear. Christian has brought the answer to your prayers.” He clapped his hands, prompting the assistants to unzip my gown and strip me to my underwear. At first, I’d been embarrassed to stand in front of virtual strangers in my bra and panties, but after the second fitting, I’d become used to it. Christian had assured me that none of my girl parts excited him, and his female assistants were too frightened of him to do more than follow his barked orders.

  “How much does a gown like this cost, anyway?” I tried to search for a price tag, but he smacked my hand away.

  “Don’t worry about the money. Your fine-ass husband said to spare no expense and to give you anything you want.” He ducked to admire his reflection in the mirror and to rearrange the spikes of his trendy haircut.

  “He told you that? Directly? When?”

  “Of course he did, from the very first day. He was adamant. You’re the cherry on his sundae, the sugar in his coffee, the cream cheese on his bagel, the—” At the sight of my raised eyebrows, he stopped and took a new direction. “If you must know, this one is forty thousand.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I don’t kid about money or clothing. You know this.”

  One of the housemaids walked in with a tray of fresh fruit, chicken salad, and lemon water. She kept her eyes averted from my nakedness. “Is there anything else, Mrs. Menshikov?”

  “No, thank you. Unless you and the girls want something?” I turned to Christian, who was holding the Dior dress up to the light and frowning.

  “No. We’re not your guests. We work for you. You wouldn’t offer lunch to the gardener, would you?”

  “I don’t know.” As a former personal assistant to Everly and then Roman, I still hadn’t wrapped my head around the transition from struggling employee to fabulously wealthy socialite. I knew firsthand how it felt to be in service to someone else. In fact, overcome by the solitude of the penthouse, I’d been eating supper in the kitchen with the cook. Roman would’ve had a fit had he known. But Roman wasn’t here. I blinked away the sting of tears. “Maybe. If he was hungry. Gardeners need to eat, too.”

  My answer made Christian’s eyes bulge. “Listen up. You’re the queen bee of Manhattan. The sooner you start acting like it, the better. What’s wrong with you?”

  Everything. The word scrolled through my thoughts on a marquis, replaying until I wanted to scream. An overwhelming urge to bolt twitched through my toes. I wanted to run home to Aunt May and the comfort of our two-bedroom bungalow, to eat at a fast food chain without an entourage of bodyguards, and take walks in Central Park alone, but I couldn’t. Aunt May was dead, her house sold, and I was the wife of the most powerful man in New York City, if not the world.

  “No. No. No. What are you doing? Get out of here.” He yanked a Hermes scarf out of the hands of a young woman and shouted into the vastness of the bedroom, scattering all of the assistants into the hallway like frightened mice. “I swear, it’s impossible to get good help these days.” The silk of the next gown rustled as he dropped it over my head and tugged it into place. “What about this one?”

  “I like it. What about you? Do you like it?” In truth, I didn’t give two shits about the dress. Where the hell was Roman, and why all the mystery? I glanced at my phone resting on the dresser, like it might offer an answer. After last night’s tryst, I’d hoped he would call. My phone remained silent, and I was too proud to reach out to him first.

  “Rourke. Snap out of it. It’s not about what I want; it’s about you. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.” I stepped down from the stool and sat on the edge of the bed. “You decide.”

  He placed both hands on his hips and shook his head. “You know what your problem is? You’ve spent so much time in the shadows of Everly and Prince Hottie that you’ve forgotten who Rourke is. You’re acting like you’re still someone else’s personal assistant when you’re the one with all the power. Don’t you understand? With one snap of your fingers, you can have anything—do anything—you want in this world.”

  “If only it was that simple.” I sighed.

  “Where’s that fierce girl I met five years ago? Bring her out. I miss her.” He flapped his hands, motioning for me to stand up. “Now get your ass off that bed. You’re disrespecting the Dior.”

  “Maybe I should cancel tomorrow night.” The thought of walking alone into a ballroom brimming with the country’s wealthiest citizens made my stomach flip. I’d accepted the invitation months earlier, before Ivan’s death and my disagreement with Roman. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Although Roman and I hadn’t publicly announced our separation, speculation and lies had infiltrated social media. There were bound to be questioning stares and whispers. I shifted from one foot to the other, contemplating and getting nowhere.

  “Oh, no. You’re going if I have to drive you myself. I don’t have a license or a car, so it might get a little scary.” He glared. After a moment, his expression softened, and his voice turned sticky sweet. “Come on, baby girl. You don’t want to disappoint Everly, do you? This is her biggest event of the year. How’s she going to feel if her best friend stands her up?”

  “Fine. I get your point.” This was the longest Everly and I had ever gone without speaking to each other. I couldn’t give her another reason to be disappointed in me. On the other hand, maybe she didn’t want me at the event. Pain pricked my chest. I’d managed to alienate everyone in my life. I had a luxurious penthouse, an indecent amount of money, and no one to share it with.

  “Goodness, girl. Those bags under your eyes look like you’re going on a grand tour of Europe. Can I get some concealer in here? Where is everyone?” He turned in a circle, hands extended, shouting into the empty room. “And what’s going on around your middle? You’ve got a pooch.” His nimble fingers adjusted the sash around my waist to hide the extra pounds I’d put on over the past month. Food had become a source of solace. “I’ll have to let this out a little.”

  “Okay.” I yawned.

  “Mrs. Menshikov, excuse me.” A second housemaid stood on the threshold of the bedroom, overwhelmed by Christian’s glare. “Mr. Menshikov’s new personal assistant has arrived. He’s getting his things moved into the apartment downstairs. I thought you would want to know.”

  “Yes, thanks. I appreciate the head’s up.” A flicker of annoyance burned in my belly. I stared at the new dress in the mirror and struggled to control my temper. Roman had fired me as his personal assistant, claiming it was an unsuitable occupation for his wife. Now that he’d hired someone else, the finality stung. I clenched my fingers at my sides. My old life had slipped away, and I was powerless to stop it.

  The maid hovered. Her occasional glances at Christian suggested she harbored a healthy fear of him.

  “Is there something else?” I asked.

  “Um, Mr. Spitz has asked to see you. He’s waiting in the foyer.”

  “Send him up.” I shifted uneasily against the scratchy inner seams of the gown. For forty thousand dollars, the dress should have a gold lining. At the same time, an unwelcome shiver ran up my spine. Was Spitz bearing bad news? Or was Roman summoning me again?

  “To your bedroom? Are you sure?” The maid shook her head. “Mr. Menshikov never allows guests in his bedroom—aside from you, of course.”

  I frowned. Had she just referred to me as a guest? “It’s my bedroom, Janet, and you’re right. Of course. What was I thinking?” Lack of sleep was twisting my common sense. A deep breath steadied my nerves. “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute. No, wait, I’ll go myself.” I hopped off the stool. On bare feet, I trotted down the hall and descended the sweeping stai
rcase. The silk gown rustled with each step.

  Christian followed on my heels, muttering. “Forty thousand dollars, Rourke.”

  “I’m good for it,” I replied.

  Spitz stood at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes widened at the sight of the expensive silk dress, Christian, and my bare feet. The air in the room chilled. He bowed his salt-and-pepper head, shoulders erect. He ran a finger along the inside of the collar of his black dress shirt, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

  “What’s wrong? Is Roman okay?”

  “He’s fine, ma’am. I’m here to inform you that I’ve doubled your security, and I’d like to request that you keep your social activities to a minimum while we work through the situation.” His gaze flitted to the handful of assistants who’d followed me and Christian downstairs.

  “I’m going to a charity ball tomorrow night. Will that be a problem?”

  “Lance has informed me. We’ve made arrangements to keep you safe.” The chill in his tone sent a shiver down my back.

  “Should we go to Roman’s study to discuss this?”

  He lifted a hand. “No need. You seem busy. I’m done.”

  “Wait.” I followed him toward the door. “Is that it?”

  “Well, now that you mention it…” The blunt tips of his fingers scratched over his jaw. “There is something bothering me. If you cared about your husband’s safety, he’d be living here and not in some hotel.”

  “He’s at the Four Seasons. It’s not like he’s in a tent underneath a bridge.” Having seen the opulence of the hotel penthouse a few times before, his argument held little weight. I rolled my eyes.

  “And here you are, the suffering wife, prancing around his Manhattan penthouse in fancy dresses with your entourage.”