Marrying The Master_Club Volare Page 4

  His cock twitched to life, but he refused to look away. He willed his body under control, and just when he’d succeeded, he realized that Lola was furious.

  “Well? Are you going to explain?” she demanded. She took off her oversized sunglasses and he saw her green eyes flash.

  “There are many things I could explain to you,” he said, his gaze trailing down to her legs. “You will have to be more specific.”

  Lola glared at him, then walked over to a black leather couch and sat down. Slowly she crossed those long legs, and Roman was mesmerized. When he finally looked up and met her eye, she blushed.

  “Excuse me,” Ford said, and Roman frowned. He tried to remember that it wasn’t Ford’s fault he was there. Ford cleared his throat. “I imagine that Lola has encountered the press.”

  “Explain,” Roman said.

  Roman kept his eyes locked on Lola. She had dressed like this on purpose. In white, the bridal color, her skin flushed and glowing. Deliberately provocative.

  She was playing the sub game with him, whether she realized it or not.

  Did she know she was playing with fire?

  “There were reporters outside my apartment building,” Lola said, her voice finally beginning to falter under the weight of Roman’s stare. “They knew I ran Volare. They asked if we were getting married. Actually, they asked if we already were married.”

  Roman cursed, startling them all. Roman had made the decision to deal with Sizzle, and with Catie’s deception and eventual redemption, all on his own—had made the decision to be the public face of Volare—precisely to avoid this situation. He would always protect the identity of the club’s members, but he had wanted to protect Lola most of all. It never occurred to him to ask her to take the risk of being outed for her association with a sex club, and the idea of gossip rags discussing Lola’s sex life made him furious, but now it was happening anyway.

  And he could never, ever explain why he had made that choice, the choice that so infuriated her, without admitting that he wanted her. That he had wanted her, for years. And he couldn’t do all of that for a very good reason: he would protect Lola from anything, including himself.

  “How?” he barked.

  “It wasn’t you?” Lola asked, apparently genuinely confused.

  Roman was appalled. “I would never do that to you,” he said.

  Lola’s blush deepened, and she finally looked away.

  What the hell is going on?

  “It was me,” Ford said from behind him. “I leaked it to the press this morning.”

  Now it was Roman’s turn to be outraged. He whirled around, his protective instincts taking momentary control.

  “Explain,” he seethed.

  “I don’t think either of you are fully aware of the political situation,” Ford said calmly. “Obviously this law is total bullshit, and we could fight everything and probably win—eventually. But this isn’t about what’s legal or fair; it’s about politics and public perception. Harold Jeels is just useful for people in Albany who want to run against the perv club down in the city. We can’t give them any excuse. We have to fight this in the media, too, and that means public coverage.”

  “You should have asked me first,” Roman said. “You had no right to do this to her.”

  “I can speak for myself,” Lola said quietly.

  Roman looked back at her, and his anger abated. She was standing now, a portrait of elegance and poise, her long, luscious legs spread slightly and her hand on one hip. Her ability to operate under pressure had always impressed him, and it did so again now. Roman was, as he had been when she had discovered Ben’s cheating, torn between pride in her evident strength and the desire to utterly destroy whatever had hurt her.

  He took a deep breath and tried to remember that Ford was his friend.

  “Of course you can,” he said to Lola. “Forgive me.”

  There was a silence, and he could have sworn he saw her expression soften. She looked down, the slightest hint of a frown marring her beautiful face.

  “Ford, you should have warned me,” Lola said.

  “I couldn’t get a hold of you,” Ford continued. “You weren’t answering your phone. Look, there’s nothing pretty about any of this. This has to be a freaking spectacle. We need to get you two officially married as soon as possible, and then after that we need to make a wedding ceremony into a big media event while somehow protecting members who don’t want their memberships exposed. Everyone has to be convinced this is real. And in the meantime, there’s a possibility that you might need to avoid process servers.”

  “Process servers?” Lola said weakly.

  “That’s why you suggested we meet here,” Roman said. He hadn’t realized this would become such a media circus. “You think they know where Volare is?”

  “Nobody can hide from the taxman, and Harold Jeels knows plenty of people in the New York State revenue service. Trust me—he definitely knows where Volare is located.”

  Roman did not like this. Volare was located on the top floor of an exclusive hotel, a decision Roman had made early on which was always designed to provide cover for the club’s members. A wealthy kinkster need not telegraph his tastes; he could just be staying at the hotel. Even so, Roman did not relish the idea of reporters camped out, waiting for Lola.

  His brooding was interrupted by the tone in Lola’s voice: soft, vulnerable, yielding.

  “Roman,” she said. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

  He looked at her again, at the softness of her skin, the warmth of her eyes, and was gripped with a sudden, ferocious lust. She stood closer to him now, and was looking up at him through her long lashes, her eyes wide open, her lips slightly parted. He had seen her play the sub with her odious ex-boyfriend and knew that he, Roman, could bring out her true submissiveness in a way that bastard Benjamin never had. Knew that she would purr under his hand, that he could make her scream his name and beg. Knew that she would come as many times as he demanded.

  “Roman?” she asked.

  This was the trouble: he wanted to fuck her until they both lost the ability to speak, but that was all he could give her. He couldn’t protect her from his own problems. He couldn’t protect her from his grief over Samantha.

  “You are here to sign a prenuptial agreement,” he said finally. He couldn’t take his eyes off her moist lips. “A prenuptial agreement that awards you an equity stake in Volare upon dissolution of the marriage, no matter the reason.”

  Lola furrowed her brow, and looked at him with concern. Concern. God, what he could do with her submission.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “I kept secrets from you because I wanted to protect you,” Roman bit the words off, his arms tense with the effort of restraint. “And this made you think that I do not take you seriously. That is incorrect. You are…you deserve to be part owner. I should have done this years ago. I am only correcting an oversight, but I hope you will understand the sentiment behind it.”

  Their eyes met, and it was as though the rest of the world fell away, and Roman’s entire awareness contracted down into a single, fine point concentrated on Lola. He knew her so well he could see her mind working, could see her running through possibilities and permutations and figuring out how to feel about what he’d just said. Figuring out what it meant. Roman held himself rigid. He found her mind as sexy as her body.

  “I see,” she said. Slowly she looked him up and down, and Roman’s animal lust traced the path of her gaze. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to take her.

  “Roman?” she said, and looked up through those long lashes. “Stop protecting me.”

  Roman’s pulse roared in his ears, a primal call that he struggled to ignore.

  “Do you know what you are saying?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Maybe.”

  And Lola lowered her eyelashes, her body language unmistakably submissive. Roman had never seen her like this. Had never seen her like
this with him.

  “Lola,” he said.

  They were interrupted by the telephone. Neither of them turned away as Ford picked it up, speaking quickly and quietly. Roman was transfixed by the sight of Lola, head bowed, in front of him. She was no naïf; she knew what this meant. What her body was saying to him.

  She knew.

  “Guys?”

  “What?” Roman didn’t turn away from her. Lola didn’t turn away from him.

  Ford continued, “Harold Jeels is on his way up. You need to avoid him until you’re legal. You also need to get your marriage license today so that you can make it official tomorrow. And you need to find a way to make this convincing—not just to the press, but to the other Volare members, as well. I don’t like telling you to lie, but everyone needs to believe this. Harold Jeels will ask questions and I don’t want to give him any ammunition when he’s obviously prepared to go to war with a bullshit law that only stands because nobody ever bothered to repeal it. He’s fucking nuts.”

  “We must convince Volare, as well?” Roman asked.

  Ford gave a wry smile. “Somehow I don’t think it will be that hard. Now get the hell out of here and go to the city clerk’s office to get that license. My assistant will show you the back stairs.”

  chapter 4

  Roman kept touching her, and every time he did, her brain blew another fuse.

  Roman’s hand rested on the small of her back, on her waist, on her arm, guiding her, prodding her, telling her where to go. As soon as Ford mentioned that Harold Jeels was on the way, Roman had gone into “determined protector” mode. When Roman had glanced out to the front lobby and seen reporters, he’d gone full caveman. He’d immediately put his body between hers and anyone else. It seemed like he didn’t want to go more than a second without some kind of contact.

  Lola wasn’t complaining. But she was worrying.

  What had happened in Ford’s office? Never mind what had happened in Roman’s head—what was behind those smoldering looks he’d given her—what the hell had happened in her head? She’d felt herself slipping into a submissive role in a way that she hadn’t experienced since Ben. It had just come naturally, just her reflexive response to something Roman was putting out.

  In fact, it wasn’t really like it had been with Ben. She hadn’t had to think about it at all.

  Roman had just looked at her and she’d felt warm.

  She’d really convinced herself that she could handle this. She’d worked with Roman every day for years and managed to avoid—or suppress—this exact feeling. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she’d avoided more than a feeling; she’d also avoided almost all personal discussion with Roman. This was the first time in years they’d talked about their relationship, whatever it was.

  He’d said he wanted to protect her. She’d wondered what that meant, she wondered how far he’d go, and then she’d wondered if he’d protect her from himself. If he had been protecting her from himself, from his famous sexual appetites and emotional reserve.

  Just the thought left her breathless.

  His touch, just the slightest touch, lit her on fire. She was sure he must notice. How could he not notice?

  But he’d been focused on outward threats. Roman had actually made her wear his suit coat over her head as he put her in a cab, like some kind of white collar criminal doing a perp walk, and he was unwilling to let her go once they arrived at the city clerk’s office. He’d practically carried her inside.

  “Roman, I’m ok,” she finally said, exasperated. They were waiting while the clerk checked out all their forms and identification. Roman was still hovering protectively over her, as though a reporter might jump out from behind the line of people waiting to file for various permits.

  “They won’t get near you again,” he said firmly. “I promise you that.”

  “Well, they know where I live, so I’m pretty sure they will.”

  “No. You will move in with me.”

  Lola looked up to see if he were joking. He wasn’t. And she was distracted just by the sight of him. His dark olive skin managed to look good under fluorescent lighting, and the muscles in his neck writhed as he ground his jaw in frustration. She knew he didn’t want to wait around out in the open like this. The idea that he wanted to get her back to his apartment…

  Don’t read into it, Theroux.

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” she managed.

  “It is the only idea. You will be my wife; of course you will live with me.”

  “Well, in name only,” she said. He looked down at her, his dark eyes unreadable, and a now familiar tingle spread through out her body.

  He’d never looked at her like that before. And now, in the past two days…

  “Mr. Casta, Miss Theroux? Your license is ready, you just have to wait twenty four hours.” The clerk peered up at Roman with owlish eyes and smiled. “Are you the Roman Casta? From Sizzle?”

  Inwardly Lola groaned. The last thing they needed was to have their quickie fake wedding staked out. She still couldn’t believe this was of interest to the rest of the world—hadn’t anything actually important happened this week? Was a discreet high-end sex club really that big a deal?

  The little clerk was looking at Roman with a mixture of awe and lust, so apparently it was. Lola did not like it.

  “No,” Lola said coldly.

  Roman gave the clerk a charming, slow smile, and slipped some money over the desk. “Please, keep our secret. If you do, I will be very grateful.”

  Lola glared. She had seen Roman flirt before, and she’d even seen him in scenes with other women before. She’d never liked it, and she’d usually found an excuse to be in a different room so she didn’t have to see too much of it, but this time she didn’t have that luxury. And this time he was supposed to be her husband. Fiancé. Whatever.

  “Roman?” she said as he led her out of the stuffy little office. “We’re going to have to talk about how we act in public.”

  Abruptly he stopped and brought her to heel, her hand still in his. He looked down at her fiercely, obviously thinking hard about something.

  “Yes,” he said. “We will.”

  And he pulled her into a sudden, simmering kiss.

  Lola melted into him, helpless to do otherwise. His kiss was deep and ruthless, his tongue coaxing a low moan from her throat while his fingers weaved into her hair. Before she knew it her hands were on his chest, her fingers grabbing at his lapels, and her clit was throbbing, driving her to get more of the man in any way she could. He took her from controlled and classy to wanting and wanton in less than half a second.

  Roman pulled away, his eyes burning in satisfaction. “We will have to do that in public,” he said. “You will simply have to get used to it.”

  Oh God.

  Lola was in a daze as she walked down the broad marble stairs. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips and wondered what that kiss would feel like on other parts of her body. She sat in the cab at his side, eyes closed, sure he could tell that desire pulsed in her, that her clit was painfully swollen from just a kiss. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to talk to him. He would know.

  He led her in silence through the familiar lobby of the hotel and up the private elevator that led to his apartment, a duplex that was adjacent to and below Club Volare, which was on the top floor. Her mind was in overdrive—would it be so bad if he knew? Was that just the rationalization of an unbelievably horny mind?

  He’d done that to her with one kiss.

  One. Kiss. And she’d been willing to do anything he wanted. Anything at all. She would have offered her submission right there in the hallway of the city clerk’s office, in front of anyone and everyone, if only it meant that he’d fuck her.

  Her mind reeled at the thought. She’d been so hurt by Roman’s lies, equating them with Ben’s lies without thinking, but now she wondered if that was just the break up talking, if her anger at Roman had really been about her anger
at being betrayed. Discovering that Ben had been cheating on her with his ex-wife for months had been absolutely devastating, and the resulting break up had haunted her like a damn poltergeist. Just when she thought she was getting over it, the memory would rise up to totally fuck up her day. She’d thought she could never trust a man again, certainly not enough to submit, and then she’d found out that Roman had lied to her, too.

  But her body hadn’t gotten the message. Her body had just announced that she could most certainly still submit—to Roman.

  That she most certainly still trusted Roman, at least as far as BDSM went.

  She almost wanted to cry in relief, and then again in frustration. She’d begun to think she’d never trust a man again, that she’d just be broken for the rest of her life, and now, because of a kiss from Roman, she knew she wasn’t a lost cause. She wasn’t broken.

  Too bad Roman was the one man she knew who would never love her.

  But it didn’t matter—it was like a dam had broken. All of the old feelings that she’d resisted for all these years threatened to overwhelm her. Drown her. She could barely speak.

  Roman opened the door to his private apartment and pulled her inside, his shoulders relaxing now that she was finally in the safety of his home.

  ‘Home’ didn’t really do it justice. Lola had been here a few times before, but she would never get over the shock of the view. The city lay before her, the floor to ceiling windows facing south and west, revealing a beautiful view of the park and downtown with just a hint of blue in the hazy distance. This was only the public area, or semi-public. She knew there was another floor below.

  Not for the first time, Lola wondered what Roman felt when he looked at what he’d built here in New York. She didn’t know much about where he’d come from, just small snippets over the years, some things filled in by Chance. He’d been on his own as kid, an actual Dickensian sort of orphan, and had worked his way up picking through trash and cleaning gutters in Spain, eventually employing other kids in his business. Twenty hard-scrabbling, entrepreneurial years after that, he’d put himself through school and had the beginnings of a real estate empire, then had sold most of it just before the crash. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to talk about where he’d come from, but she never stopped wanting to hear about it.