The Master (19 page)

I exhaled with relief. “Thank you.”

“So, what’s it like between you and Sevastyan? Since you’re essentially living together?”

“We fight a lot.” After sex, as soon as we left the bed—or the couch or the shower or the floor—he would grow ice cold again.

Once we’d recovered from our frenzied fuck yesterday, he’d dragged me into the study, dumping me into a seat in front of a computer. No Internet access, of course. “Make
yourself useful.” A fifteen-page document in Spanish had been pulled up on the screen. “Translate it, then print a copy. You’ve got three hours.”

The document had been about the Panama Canal. I began to suspect he was in Miami to take advantage of the upcoming canal expansion. Interesting.

Three hours later, I’d found him in the living room on the phone with his brother Dmitri.

Whenever he talked to his younger brother, his mood plummeted, and nothing ever seemed to get resolved. Yet he talked to the man
a lot
. Sometimes I could even hear Dmitri yelling, but
Sevastyan never raised his voice or got angry in return. If I were Máxim’s girlfriend and I gave a damn about him, I’d try to limit those calls.

When I’d dropped my printed report onto his lap, he’d ended the call. As if it were a chore to read, he’d exhaled and turned the cover sheet to the first of fifteen identical
pages:

I’d turned on my heel and sauntered back to my room.

Ivanna said, “It can’t all be bad.”

“No, it’s not. Sometimes, I like it here with him.” Between Sevastyan and the floors of gun-toting
mafiya
guards, I felt safer than I had in years. Up in his tower, I
was getting used to luxury, to not scrubbing toilets, to gourmet food, to views that went on forever. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a changed woman—skin glowing, eyes clear, dark circles
gone.

I was officially recharged and heading toward . . . bored. I hadn’t been bored in three years!

I’d hit the penthouse library (because ten thousand square feet of space meant it had a library). I’d finished novel after novel by the pool. Then I’d discovered on-demand
video. I’d found a yoga class. Somehow I got through it. I would never scoff at yoga again.

“Is the sex amazing?” Ivanna asked.

“He puts me . . . he puts me in a chastity belt.” Normally, I’d never tell her about this, but I had to vent.

She gave a throaty laugh. “How unexpected!”

“You aren’t outraged for me? It’s archaic! And I don’t have any clothes. I either wear a shirt of his or go without. So basically I’m left naked and available for
his use whenever he wants me.”

“Your accent just thickened, and your voice grew husky. He’s not the only one enjoying your situation.”

I lay back, staring at the ceiling. “All I can think about is him. His body. It’s like I’m drugged. My brain goes on a loop, replaying things we’ve done, imagining things
we’ll do. I walk around in this lust-fueled haze.”

“It sounds enchanting.”

“Have you ever had a man put you into chastity?”

She sighed. “I’ve never had one who cared enough to.”

Care? He’d assured me he would toss me out as soon as he was
done using me
. And where would that leave me? Crushed. “I don’t think that man’s capable of caring.
Ivanna, he can be so cold.
Por Dios
, I’d get whiplash if I tried to keep up with his moods.”

And yet . . . he could also be a dream. This morning when he’d made love to me, he’d pinned my wrists over my head. But then he’d threaded his fingers through mine, locking our
hands together.

Lock and key. Intertwined.

The pleasure he continued to give me was indescribable. And in those sweet twilight moments after sex, he drew me like no other man before. Earlier, as we’d caught our breath, he’d
confessed, “I have little control with you. Stranger still, I’m making peace with it.” Yet then he’d grown chilly once more.

Ivanna said, “Despite his moods, it seems as if you like him.”

If I was honest with myself, I’d say that I did. I enjoyed his tricky mind and his intensity. His passion. But only an idiot would get attached to a guy like that.

Besides, if I developed feelings for him, then that meant he was trouble. Any impulse I had to like him or trust him should be taken as irrefutable evidence to do neither.
You can’t
argue with science.

I told Ivanna, “I just want my freedom.”

“Could you fall for him?”

“I . . . maybe?”
Idiota!
“I don’t want to find out! Which is why I need to get away from him as soon as possible!”

“Why
wouldn’t
you want him? Cat, are you already involved? Do you have a man?”

One hunting the city to kill me! I gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah. You could say I’m involved with another man.”

“Do tell!”

I sighed. “Another time maybe.”

“Very well. Then let’s think about your end game. With as much access as you’ve been given to Sevastyan, have you learned any scoop to tell me about his past? His deep dark
secrets? We could sell such a story.”

“His deep dark secrets? Those are the kind I keep best.”

“So you won’t tell me what he’s doing in Miami?”

If I had to guess, Maksimilian Sevastyan was buying up as much of the city as possible. From what I could glean, Miami was the closest ultra-deep port to the Panama Canal, which meant tons of
new shipping traffic for the city—traffic that would demand warehouses, infrastructure, and rail spurs.

Yet I told Ivanna, “He’s here to work on his tan?”

“I see,” she said in a knowing tone. “Chin up. Now that you have a phone, you can call others. Maybe another friend could do more than smuggle in contraband?”

“You’re right. I’ll burn up the wires, dialing everyone I can count on. . . .”

After we’d hung up, I threw my arm over my face, tempted to fling the phone across the room.

I was still friendless. Still trapped in this belt. Trapped with a man who looked forward to the day when he could discard me. I was about to scream with combined frustration when I shot
upright, remembering Mrs. Abernathy’s threatening message.
Mierda!
If she called INS . . .

I dialed the woman up. “Hi, Mrs. Abernathy, it’s Cat. I’m confirming for the thirty-first.
Sí, señora.
I’ll be there at nine a.m. sharp.
Gracias.
” My jaw dropped when she started a lecture about work ethics.

Work ethics. From someone who didn’t have a job.

I’d just hung up and hidden the phone in the guest room closet when I heard Sevastyan return.

Already? The sun was still high in the sky. I smiled when he bellowed, “
Fucking come to me, witch.
”

K
nowing how much it would piss him off, I’d added a sixth slash to Sevastyan’s mirror this morning.

Not long after, he found me in the pool, doing topless laps to music as per my usual. As per his usual, he was dressed to the nines. His tailored dark blue suit lovingly fit his broad shoulders
and lean hips. His sunglasses made his hotness catapult off the charts.

He always looked flawless—except on those occasions when I could muss his hair. He picked up the remote, turning down my tunes.

“You and your clothes,
Ruso
. How much did that suit cost?”

“In U.S. dollars? Ninety or so.”

I gaped. “Thousand?”

“A Dormeuil Vanquish suit doesn’t come cheap.” He jerked his chin at me and said, “I always pay for quality.”

Thanks for the reminder.
He was as hot and cold as ever, but his overall mood deteriorated with each day I remained here.

So why hadn’t he kicked me out of his tower? Though I was thinking more clearly today—he’d decided I could use a night’s uninterrupted sleep without my belt—I
couldn’t figure him out.

And when exactly had
the
belt become
my
belt?

“I’m leaving for the morning, then holding meetings here from three on. You’ll need to stay out of the common areas.”

“Why? You don’t want your associates to see your prisoner walking around braless in your T-shirt?”

“I don’t need to give you a reason why. This is what I want from you.”
So says the king.

“If you have to hide me, then why don’t you just send me packing?”

“You’ll remain with me until I’m done with you.”

Ooh, that burned me up! I wanted to slap him. At times like this I actually missed my shitty existence. Though I felt safe and had spare time, and had eaten so much lobster I was nearly sick of
it, I did yearn for things.

Like having an occupation and running. I even missed attending class. “Oh, I see. Poor Sevastyan is
still
wanting this ass.” I gave a theatrical sigh. “I suppose if
I’m going to be your quote-unquote
prisoner
for another day, then I’ll need things. I know you like to keep me barefoot and not-pregnant, but my uniform is getting
old.”

“Give me your address, and I’ll send someone to fetch whatever you need.”

“I can’t give you that kind of information. You know why,
chulo
? Because I
do
fear a besotted client, and we both know that you want me more than I want you.”

His shoulders tensed up. All arrogance, he said, “Then it’s fortunate that I don’t give a fuck if you want me or not. Don’t test my patience. This week I’ll have
little enough of it.”

I’d hit a chink in his armor! “Speaking of this week. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”

“Do
not
remind me.” Arctic blast.
Somebody doesn’t like Christmas?
“Your partner will have to miss your smiles for the holiday. Never forget,
Cat
,
you’re here for my use—at my disposal.”

Spanish left my lips, insulting him and all his ancestors. Yet then I grinned evilly, planning to shove seven figures’ worth of his suits into the hot tub. To begin with.

He did a double take at my expression, then stormed off, barking something to Vasili on his way out. Probably: “Watch her.”

I stewed for another thirty minutes, deciding how else to screw with Sevastyan.

In the shower, I lit on an idea. I couldn’t dial out on the hotel phone, but I could dial down.

I dressed in one of his T-shirts for the last time, then called the concierge. “I’m Maksimilian Sevastyan’s girlfriend,” I told him. “And I’m going to need
some things brought up to the penthouse and billed to the room.”

“Of course. My name is Alonzo, and I’d be happy to be of service.”

Muy bien.
“Do you have a pen and paper?”

The man didn’t miss a beat when I ordered bathing suits, cover-ups, lingerie, slip-on beach sandals, dresses, Louboutins, makeup, and my favorite brands of toiletries. I ordered multiple
pairs of running shoes, athletic boy-shorts, and sports bras.

To go with all my workout wear, I kind of bought a treadmill.

When boxes began arriving, Vasili, the hulk of Russian bodyguards, scowled at me from the lobby. Three new security guys were with him, now searching the boxes. They were as impassive as robots,
their holsters and guns visible—because they were ready to
drop
anybody not authorized to be on this floor.

Ha! Do your worst, Edward.

The treadmill delivery made Vasili’s scowl deepen, folds appearing on his bald head. “Not smart.”

“Sevastyan shouldn’t have taken on the responsibility of a new pet if he didn’t have time to watch her. My breed is very destructive.”

In broken English, he said, “Boss not type of man to fuck with.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m not the type of
woman
to fuck with.” Everyone always underestimated how tough I was. I kept getting knocked down, but I also kept
rebounding, every—damned—time. During this enforced vacation, I would run miles in addition to swimming laps, getting even stronger.

I directed the deliveryman to set up the treadmill in front of the wall of windows in the guest bedroom. Ah, a view of the water for my jogs.

After that, I opened packages and tried on my swag for hours. The bathing suits alone were amazing. I’d told Alonzo to get a shopgirl to pick out “crazy sexy,” and in Miami,
that wasn’t a phrase to be taken lightly.