Chapter 2
VIKTOR
Viktor stood on the sidelines of the fundraising gala. God, these things were tedious. Had it not been for the anticipated presence of Fitzwallace and his wife JJ, Viktor would have been gone long ago. He glanced at his watch. He had arranged to have one of the club’s submissives waiting for him. She could wait. He would use her well, give her what she needed, and then take what he wanted.
He spotted the Fitzwallaces as they entered the ballroom and smiled. He envied Robert Fitzwallace his wife and submissive. They were famous, or infamous, depending on your point of view, for not only their ownership of Baker Street and the Cerberus group, but also for living the lifestyle twenty-four/seven. JJ wasn’t a perfect sub; in fact, she was an alpha sub who only submitted to one man—Fitzwallace. But as Fitz often said, she was perfect for him.
He looked at the crowd milling around in the ballroom, sipping champagne and using the silent bidding system to try and buy things they didn’t need. There wasn’t one person on the guest list or here tonight who had any need for any material thing. The gala was being held at one of the large event venues here in the city that afforded the guests a spectacular view of the harbor.
The twinkling lights strewn all over the balcony, as well as the starlight, drew his attention. Standing just inside the doorway that led to the terrace was a stunning redhead, dressed in a slinky black dress that outlined curves that begged to have a man holding them as he pounded into her. His groin tightened. Like the others here tonight, he might not need anything materially, but he definitely needed the release only a woman could provide.
“Viktor?” said Fitzwallace as he drew alongside him.
Viktor turned to face him. “Fitz. I thought I saw JJ with you.”
“You did, but since you didn’t walk your ass over to us, my darling wife chose to go look at what was on offer.”
“That’s going to cost you,” Viktor chuckled. “I don’t think there’s anything on offer that won’t go for less than five figures.”
“Aye, but she’s worth it... every single penny.”
Fitz’s gaze found JJ and he smiled. Something inside him seemed happier and more relaxed when he was with or near his wife. Their bond was palpable and powerful. They might have their most intimate play in private, but they took their connection out into the world. The way they looked and touched each other said so much about them if one was observant enough. Viktor Romanov was nothing if not observant.
“You and I need to have a sit down and talk about your future with Cerberus,” said Fitzwallace, shifting part of his considerable focus to Viktor—although part of it was always trained on JJ if she was anywhere around.
“I have a future with Cerberus?” asked Viktor nonchalantly.
The nonchalance was feigned. Fitz had been after him for several years to join Cerberus. After the death of his cousin, Viktor had stepped away from his business interests to ensure his great-aunt, Rosemary, was made comfortable as she began her decline into death and to find those responsible for the murder of his cousin. The violent predator in Viktor had been awakened and while he was able to assert his iron will to contain it, the thrill of besting a business opponent was quickly losing its allure.
“You’ve always had a future with Cerberus, and you damn well know it. Do you know her?”
“Who?” Answering a question with a question was a tried-and-true method of deflecting the question asked.
“The redhead in the come-fuck-me-hard black dress.”
“No, but I’d like to. Should I know her?”
“Depends. If all you want from her is a few, good hard scenes at the club, probably not.”
“Is she that vanilla?”
“Unknown. I just know if you treat her with the callous disregard as most of your play partners, JJ will skin you alive.”
“What’s JJ’s interest?”
“Emerson Ravenel is the head of Ravenel Reliance—they’re experts in authenticating, locating and valuing artifacts, art and jewels. Each sister specializes in one area. Emerson’s specialty is artifacts and antiquities. She has a specific interest in Fabergé eggs.”
“So how do you know her?”
“Cerberus has utilized Ravenel’s expertise in helping us recover things long believed lost from the world. To describe all three sisters as relentless would be putting it mildly.”
Viktor forced himself to shift his focus from Emerson to Fitz. “So how does JJ figure in?”
“Emerson got herself into something of a pickle with those in the UAE. As I said, Cerberus has utilized Ravenel Reliance. When her sisters lost contact with Emerson, they reached out to us. We were able to extract her. We took her to one of our safehouses, and my wife mother-henned her until she was fully recovered.”
Viktor could feel his blood boil. “Did they harm her?”
“Down boy. They scared her more than anything.” Fitz chuckled. “When we were getting her out, she could barely walk she was so weak. But she made Nigel turn her loose so she could kick her chief tormentor’s balls up into his body cavity.”
“What did they want with her?”
“The location of a recovered artifact and the name of the person who hired them. Emerson would give them neither. Nigel wasn’t sure the bastard would ever father children.”
Viktor smiled. So, she was a fighter and a survivor.
“I’m warning you, Viktor.”
“I’m to steer clear of her? What if I don’t want to?”
“I didn’t say that. I can see you’re attracted to the girl; I’m just saying have a bit of care with her feelings. I don’t know that she knows anything about the lifestyle, but your brand of dominance might be too much for a tourist.”
“I don’t know, Fitz; sometimes tourists are the ones who decide they’ve found their home and never want to leave.”
Viktor turned back to look over the ballroom, his eyes searching for Emerson. When he found her, he didn’t like what he saw. Oliver Toney had all but cornered her. She looked a little like a deer caught in the headlights. Toney was an older man—a widower, some said, but Viktor had never been convinced he hadn’t had a hand in his wife’s death. Emerson looked decidedly uncomfortable before she managed to escape. She headed out to the balcony, tipping back her champagne flute and draining it dry before she opened the door to go outside.
A passing waiter wandered by to collect Viktor’s empty glass. Snatching two full ones from the waiter’s tray, Viktor turned a predatory grin on Fitz. “Do me a favor and call the club. Tell them I won’t be in tonight.”
Fitz chuckled. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What is he talking about?” asked JJ as she joined them, melting into her husband’s sturdy frame as he wrapped his arm around her.
“Nothing that doesn’t fall under the category of not coming between a Dom and his sub.”
JJ followed Viktor’s glance. “Emerson Ravenel is no man’s sub and never will be. Fitz might not stop you and can remind me all about Doms and their subs, but he’s not the only one who can put people in place to ensure you back off.”
“You will not send any of our people to do your dirty work. None of the boys will do that again,” Fitz growled.
“Who said I’d ask one of the boys? Last time I checked, our two best snipers were both women.”
Viktor chuckled as he backed away from them. “Trust me, JJ, I won’t do anything she isn’t begging me to do.” He turned to make his way to the balcony and the woman who had piqued his interest in a way no other woman ever had.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” JJ mumbled before muffling a shriek in what Viktor was sure was a response to Fitzwallace’s hand connecting with her ass. Fitz might be indulgent where she was concerned, but he took the lifestyle seriously and made sure JJ was always aware of who was the Dom and who was the sub.
Leaving the bright light of the ballroom behind, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the balcony and a moment more to spot Emerson Ravenel half-hidden behind a tall potted Owari Satsuma Mandarin Tree. The top half of the tree was effective at hiding her, but the lower portion with only its trunk did a poor job.
“Ms. Ravenel? I saw you had an empty glass of champagne. As one of tonight’s patrons, I thought it incumbent upon me to see that was remedied.”
She peeked around the edge of the tree that was laden with fruit. It was hard to read the expressions that crossed her face, as they went by so rapidly. Viktor wasn’t sure if she was going to bolt, sink back behind the tree, or come out and take the offered champagne flute.
“I’m fine,” she finally said, not moving at all.
“You don’t have to have any champagne, but you also don’t have to hide behind a tree.” Viktor took a step forward. She looked like she wanted to retreat but didn’t. He lowered his voice. “I have to tell you; your choice of hiding places is a poor one. You don’t exactly fit behind that small tree.”
She stepped out boldly. “Are you calling me fat, Mr. Romanov?”
“Never. I had a great-great-grandmother who survived the Russian Revolution and a great-aunt who was a jackdaw during World War II. Both of them would bash me over the head with their umbrellas were I to do something so crass.”
Her defensive posture relaxed. “They both carry umbrellas? Pessimists?”
“Hardly,” he chuckled. “Pragmatists. They both called London home. Carrying an umbrella made sense and was then handy if you wanted to keep from getting wet…”
“Or bash your great grandson over the head.”
“Precisely,” he said with a grin.
Suddenly, as if remembering something she knew about him, she tried to dart past him. With the well-honed skills of a predator, he stepped between her and her path to freedom.
“I need to go,” she said, stepping back.
“No; you need to stay and talk with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to.”
“Give me a reason I care about,” she said boldly.
Time to switch tactics. “Tell me, Ms. Ravenel, have I done something to offend or frighten you?”
“Personally? No. As far as I know, this is the first time we’ve ever spoken. But I’ve heard some ripe tales about you and your club.”
He nodded. “Ah, Carriage House. It’s a beautiful, private club…”
“It’s a kink club, and from what I hear, you are the chief deviant and kink master.”
“Deviant is not applicable, and Master is my preferred honorarium when a beautiful woman kneels at my feet and offers herself to me.”
The shock that flashed across her face was almost comical. He should be angry or offended. Viktor was neither. Instead, he was entertained and charmed. He offered her the champagne flute again. “Won’t you have a drink with me?”
Hesitantly, she took the proffered flute. “I can do that, but if you’re expecting me to fall to my knees and call you Master, think again.”
“I would never expect something like that from you, especially in front of this crowd.”
“Afraid they’d call you out?”
“For what? My sexual proclivities? No. Most of them are either members of the club or are so far in debt to me in one way or another they wouldn’t dare.” He closed in on her, realizing he wanted her to understand from the beginning how it would be between them. “If I was so inclined, I could bend you over that railing, ruck your dress up, and fuck you long and hard. It would probably do both of us a world of good.”
She backed away until her body was against the railing. “I’d scream.”
“I suspect you will, but only in a way you will enjoy.”
She shifted the champagne flute from one hand to the other and then brought the now free hand up to slap him across the face.
“I deserved that,” he said, smiling.
“Yes, you did. Tell me, Mr. Romanov, how would your great-great-grandmother and great-aunt respond to you speaking to me that way?”
A moment of pain crossed his face. “Alas, my great-great-grandmother is dead, and my great-aunt is nearing the end of her extraordinary life. Neither, as you rightly suspect, would be pleased with me. But your beauty and the fiery passion that burns within you have awakened that deep part of me that would see you collared and within my care.” He let the words settle in as he heard the music playing shift to the strains of a slow song. “So let me start again. Ms. Ravenel, I am Viktor Romanov. Would you give me the honor of this dance?”
“I don’t dance.”
“Don’t be silly. Everyone dances.”
“But not everyone dances well. I sort of resemble a dodo bird floundering around. It isn’t pretty.”
“Nonsense,” he said, gently taking the glass of champagne from her and setting it down on the railing before kneeling at her feet and gently removing first one shoe and then the other. He stood up, taking her hand and placing it on his shoulder before taking her other hand in his and pulling her close. “I’ll teach you to dance with and for me later. For now, I’ll do all the work.”
“I thought you only liked submissive women and liked to order them to do things for you.”
“Who has filled your pretty head with all these nasty, and might I add, incorrect ideas?”
“My sisters warned me about you.”
Viktor pulled her closer, feeling something settle within him as he did so. “Your sisters know little about the lifestyle,” he whispered. “Step up on my feet. I will dance for both of us.”
Emerson did as he ordered, her eyes never leaving his. He began to move, first the left foot, then the right as he took them for a turn around the balcony in a graceful, sweeping motion. She was stiff at first and then relaxed. He could sense when she gave over to him—a subtle acceptance of their roles and the gifts they could bring to each other.
As the song came to a close, Emerson stiffened, stepped back and pushed him away.
“What is it, Emerson?” he asked, confused.
“This,” she said, wagging her finger between them, “whatever it is or whatever you think this is… it isn’t.”
She turned and walked away, making her way through the throng of people still milling around and leaving him standing alone, bemused. He walked back over to where he’d knelt at her feet and picked up her shoes. He would need to see that Cinderella’s slippers were delivered to her tomorrow.
He closed his eyes, realizing he hadn’t felt this happy or at peace since his great-great-grandmother had died. Within his mind he could hear her, the Grand Duchess Anastasia, whispering, “Never forget, Viktor. The blood of the tzars flows through your veins.” He had never forgotten. But was it possible he had found someone worthy of his imperial blood? Internally, he shrugged, practicality reminding him that all women tended to be the same. In the end, unworthy of trust.