Unmeasured (Unmatched Book 1) Read online

  “No, I don’t think that’s my problem.” She chewed on her bottom lip, working an idea through an intricate assembly line of reason. “People make assumptions. I want to be more than what people expect of me.”

  “You succeed in that, little lion.”

  She smiled softly. “What about you? What do you want to be?”

  Oleg frowned at her. Any answer to that question didn’t dare make an appearance on his lips. It grated on him to know that his silence was a defense. What did he need to be defensive about? To be on the defense was to acknowledge potential danger, and therefore act based on fear. He was eternally on the offense, acting only from a place of power. And yet the question held him speechless.

  But he knew. He wanted to be free. Free of obligation and the nightmares at the root of that obligation.

  “I want you to be quiet and go to sleep.”

  “Liar,” she whispered as her eyes twinkled.

  “You’re too bold.”

  “Should I be afraid of being bold?”

  Oleg knew it wasn’t her being afraid that made his cock hard when she was near. He didn’t want her to cower in his towering shadow or grovel for mercy on her knees. It was her regal strength that made him want to rule her in every way that mattered. He didn’t want to settle for a well-mannered pet, perfectly schooled and pliable. That kind of domination seemed suddenly like splashing in ankle-high seawater, safely on the shore. Oleg had been for a swim in the depth of her irrevocable power, and to master this roiling ocean in his arms was an intoxicating quest. His cock was hard for capturing the feral beauty curved against his side while still letting her run wild in every other way. He didn’t want to see her broken, he realized. He wanted to see her shine as bright as the diamond collar he could already imagine on her neck.

  “Be as bold as you like. It suits you.” He tugged on the band of metal around her waist. “So does your chastity belt.”

  She did pout then. “How long do I have to wear this thing anyway?”

  Oleg shook his head. “You already know the answer to that.”

  “Until you decide I can take it off?”

  “Until I decide you deserve an orgasm. Now, enough questions.”

  “Why don’t you ask me a question?” she said.

  “Have you ever been flogged?”

  “No.”

  He smirked. “Keep it up.”

  *

  Oleg awoke with her arm draped over his chest, a subconscious move in her sleep placing it there. He’d held her close to his body all through the night, but she had found a way to hold him too. It was unsettling to say the least.

  He tossed her arm away, not thinking of her feelings, but reacting to the sudden claustrophobic sensation raining down on him. She stirred and finally awoke once he’d left the warm nest of their covers.

  Her smile watered something inside him that he’d tried so hard to kill. What was happening here? Why had he slept the night with her?

  “You stayed,” she said simply.

  “I did,” he answered, reaching for his pants. “It was a long day.”

  She stared at his erection as it fought with the fly of his suit trousers. “Are you coming back to me?” she asked, her voice cracking just the slightest.

  “Paolo will be here all day.” He reached for his phone, still tucked into the pocket, and found it deadened with neglect.

  Cursing, he shoved it back. The key to her chastity belt pricked at the tip of his finger.

  “Oleg?”

  If he didn’t leave right then, he’d be back in that bed, freeing her for all the wrong reasons. Or were they the right reasons? He scrubbed his dry morning eyes. “Yes?”

  “Last night was so amazing. Thank you.”

  He frowned. “You are still in bondage.”

  “I know. But it doesn’t matter. Because I…” She stopped, studying her fingers. Then looking up again, she seemed to decide she wanted to continue. “Because I know that you hold the key.”

  His cock leaped into his heart. He ordered it to obey. “Samantha, this is just—”

  “A game, an escape from reality, I know.”

  “It can be more than that. It can be a chance to safely access a part of yourself that you didn’t understand before.”

  She let out an ironic laugh. “Yes, definitely that.”

  “But it is not a relationship. I shouldn’t have slept here last night.”

  Her expression dug a hole in his chest, and his beating heart bled out in a single second.

  “I’m not stupid, okay?” she said, defiant of the way her chest had caved.

  He gathered his shirt and headed for the door. “I’ll send up your breakfast, but the door will be unlocked. If you want to explore the house, you may.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and the sentiment was the exact opposite of the sincerity he’d heard a moment ago. It angered him.

  “You’re welcome,” he barked and walked out. The moment the door nipped closed behind him, he wanted to start over. The idea of her being upset with him thumped at the base of his head, and a migraine started to claim its territory there. He placed his hand on the door and had even begun to turn the knob when Marjorie called his name, approaching from the steps.

  “Ah, Monsieur Balashov, I’ve been looking all over for you. Your uncle has asked that you call him.”

  He sighed heavily and took the cordless landline phone from her slender, aged fingers. “Thank you, Marjorie.”

  “Breakfast is awaiting you in the kitchen. Monsieur Gérard has already left for the hospital.” She dipped her head. “He said to tell you to turn on your phone.”

  “Did he?” Oleg shook his head in annoyance.

  “Shall I retrieve a robe for your house guest?”

  He nodded, thanking her. Marjorie was a woman of little emotion and maximum efficiency. Her discretion and practical sensibilities had kept her on his staff for the past five years. “And Samantha will have run of the house today, so please make sure she is attended to with whatever she needs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He took long steps in the other direction toward his bedroom and mashed a single speed-dial button.

  “My apologies, Uncle, for missing your calls.”

  “I’ve just finished speaking to Michal.” Viktor’s voice rumbled low on the other end.

  Oleg paused for a beat. “Yes. I’m sure he was not pleased.”

  “I do not appreciate surprises, Oleg. I’m confused about why you didn’t call me last night to let me know what happened.”

  There was more than disappointment in his voice. “I’m very sorry, Uncle. It was disrespectful not to call you right away. I was…” He was what? Distracted didn’t even come close. “What did Michal say?”

  “He has questions about our alliance. Come. I want to speak to you.”

  Oleg sighed. “Yes. I can be there in an hour. Goodbye.” He ended the call with dread weighing like a boulder in his stomach, not for the explanation he’d have to give, but for the fact that it had to come at all.

  Chapter 21

  With the glow of a softly crackling fire on his face and a forgotten newspaper draped over the arm of his favorite chair, Viktor stared off into the flames. He could easily be mistaken for a gentle old man caught up in contemplation. At times throughout Oleg’s life, his uncle had been a caring father figure, and in those moments, he’d meant everything to a young, parentless boy. Oleg had never been fooled to take those glimmers of gentility for granted, because they weren’t the norm.

  “Sit down,” Viktor said with a calm but even tone.

  Oleg took the matching chair next to him. The warmth of the fire betrayed the chilled tension in the air.

  Viktor inhaled deeply and turned to him. “Okay then, tell me everything.”

  “Have you spoken to Dimitri?” Oleg was aware of his cousin’s absence in the house.

  “I am not speaking to Dimitri now. I am speaking to you.”

  Oleg swallowed. “T
he Harakians are trafficking girls.”

  “What does that have to do with what happened yesterday?”

  Oleg was surprised by his dismissal of that news. “Uncle, we have never—”

  “We have never been this close to eradicating those locusts, the Durchenkos.”

  Oleg stood up. “How can you approve of that?”

  “I didn’t say that I approve.” He removed the newspaper from the chair and folded it, placing it on the table between them. “I want to know what happened.”

  Oleg swallowed. He didn’t like this feeling of being called to the headmaster’s office. “When I got to the office yesterday morning, Dimitri was there with the Harakian brothers. They had a man, some guy who didn’t pay his loan.”

  “Yes…”

  “They were going to take his daughter.” Oleg sneered in disgust. “Uncle, the man wasn’t holding out, he had nothing to give them. They were going to take her for the sport of it.”

  “Dimitri was part of this?”

  Oleg didn’t care for snitching on his cousin. He’d taken control of the situation, and that was as far as he meant it to go. But he also didn’t lie. Not to his uncle, not to anyone. “He didn’t argue.”

  Viktor nodded. “I see.”

  “You know that I can’t be a part of that,” Oleg said. Even as the words broke free on harsh breath, the plea in his voice was unwelcome. “Don’t ask it of me.”

  Viktor reached out and touched his hand. His leathered face held so many common features of his younger brother. The framed picture of Oleg’s father on the mantel in front of them was like a youthful version of the man in front of him, frozen in time. “What Luka Durchenko did to your mother will never be forgotten. I promise you.” His jaw stiffened. “My brother died for her honor, and yet she still couldn’t be saved from the shame that stained her.”

  “It didn’t stain her!” Oleg spat through his clenched teeth, the image of her glassy eyes suddenly erupting in his mind. “It killed her.”

  “He killed her,” Viktor said. “As sure as he killed your father.”

  Oleg could only look at the floor. The rage inside him was a furnace, lit with an easy flip of a switch. “I will not be part of a family that sells innocent women to demons.”

  Viktor’s eyes shone with the light of the fire. He pressed thin lips into a weary seam and then he sighed. “You are old enough now to know the entire story about your mother’s death.” He paused, looking into the depths of swirling oranges and reds dancing before them. “I do not say these things to hurt you. I want you to know that.”

  Oleg raised his gaze to him. He wanted to know.

  “My brother Vlad was a dreamer. He told me he would marry your mother after the very first act of Swan Lake. Ah, she was a sight, like an angel floating across the stage. Everyone wanted a piece of her for himself. The whole country was in love. I told him he was crazy, that she was being courted by Luka himself. You know at that time we were not enemies of the Durchenkos. On the contrary, we had many partnerships.” Viktor shook his head. “Their cocaine in the center of our cement imports was your father’s idea. Pretty ingenious. But no matter the consequences, in less than five months, he had eloped with Emily.”

  “I know all of this, Uncle.”

  Viktor waved his hand, signaling for him not to interrupt. “Luka was not amused. He sent a box of horseshit as a wedding gift.”

  Oleg didn’t miss the way Viktor’s eyes narrowed at the memory of the offense.

  “Your father became obsessed with keeping her safe,” he continued. “He locked her away, forbid her to dance anymore in public. He designed a custom dance studio in the turret of your home. But what he didn’t understand was that Emily was a wild bird, and a cage was no place for her.”

  His parent’s marriage had always been a dark fairytale. Forbidden romance held wistful appeal, even for a young boy. But this new angle of the story he had heard more times than he could count sharpened his ears. He leaned forward.

  “She tried, Oleg. She was a good mother, a dutiful wife. He moved her out to the country, and she seemed happy enough. Vlad was actually convinced she didn’t miss the spotlight at all.” Viktor paused and licked his bottom lip, as if he was deciding whether or not to go on. In the end, he blinked slowly and looked Oleg in the eye. “We say that your mother was kidnapped, but it isn’t true. She went to Luka on her own.”

  “No!” Oleg said, jumping up.

  “She was invited to perform at his birthday party. The message was smuggled in by a gardener.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.”

  “He sold her for ten minutes at a time, watched his guests have their piece of her all night long. By the time Vlad and I figured out where she was, it was practically dawn. He died in my arms, because Emily couldn’t bring herself to look at him. I will never know what happened at that house that night. She never spoke a word of it, but the rumors…” He swallowed hard. “All these years, he’s been like a cockroach, impossible to kill. I’ve given up trying to breach the fortress he’s built around him. One way or another, that man must pay, if not with his life, then with his fucking wallet. If we need the help of the Harakians to bring him to his knees, so be it.” He paused to swallow and calm himself. “And now, that brings me to why I have called you here.”

  Oleg’s head was still spinning. He shook it as if it would dislodge the images in his mind.

  Viktor pressed his finger to the table next to him. “My brother was killed because of one American girl too pretty for her own good. I’ll be damned if I let another one rob me of my chance to avenge his death. You will not make any more trouble for the Harakians, yes? They are our allies, soon to be our family. You will remember that, yes? And you will get rid of this distraction of yours…the blonde. I forbid you to see her again. Do you understand?”

  Oleg stood. “You tell me that my mother was sold and raped for the amusement of a man, and you want me to marry into a family who does the same thing?”

  “Your father risked everything for Emily, and she betrayed him.”

  Oleg felt his eyes grow wild. “Don’t say another word!” He grabbed the doorknob and swung open the door. “You can trust that I will find another way to hurt the Durchenkos, and also to repay you for all you have done for me, but no disrespect, Uncle. You will not forbid me to do anything.”

  Chapter 22

  Sweet porridge and warm apples warmed Samantha’s belly, though her mood remained sour. She should apologize for being so rude to Marjorie by snatching up the robe and shoving it on with a terse mutter. Marjorie had only placed the tray of food and a cup of coffee on the small bistro table without a word.

  The door opened again a short time later, and Samantha jumped off the window seat with a contrite smile.

  “Good morning, Samantha.” It was not the no-nonsense yet almost operatic voice of the middle-aged woman. The voice was male, rich with expectancy.

  She didn’t know why the sight of Paolo stepping well into her room surprised her. Oleg had mentioned he would remain home with her while the others attended to their daily activities.

  “Morning,” she replied, not wanting to shake off her sour mood so quickly but unable to remain chilled in the warmth of his smile. “So it’s just you and me today?”

  “It is,” he said with a glint in his eye. Pointing to the glorious sky on display through her leaded glass windows, he continued, “And the light is perfect to finish your portrait.” He held out his hand to her. “Are you ready?”

  She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, thinking how nice it would be to get reacquainted with it. He noticed, swiping his thumb along the shadow of his full bottom lip. “Give me a moment.” She gestured toward the bathroom.

  Once inside, she opened her robe and inspected the contraption guarding her pussy. How had she not thought of this little problem before? A physical investigation revealed what seemed like a kind of trap door over her channel. She tried the tiny latch but couldn’t seem
to get it aligned correctly to allow the slender cover to open.

  “Fuck, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbled. With a bruised ego, she stepped back into the room to find Paolo placing her messenger bag on the bed.

  “My stuff!” she exclaimed, overjoyed at the sight of the Luis Viton logo.

  “Including your phone,” he said. “Your mother has called more than once.” Her gaze captured his, looking for a sign that he understood the reach of the woman simply labeled “mom” in her contacts. “You’d better call her before she thinks you’ve gone missing.”

  And causes an international event.

  The ugly part of her, the attention craving devil in her secretly wished it would turn into a media circus with days on end of camera flashes and exclusive exposés. Senator Hunter’s scandalous daughter at the center of it all, telling tales of bondage and—

  Stop. Just stop.

  She started to cry. Shame leaped from the shadows of her mind and tackled her without warning. What was wrong with her that she invited bad things to happen? What kind of sick person wanted to test the limits of every single godawful situation? Who seeks attention, no matter the cost?

  You know who.

  “What is it?” He cradled her in an instant, and his thigh came in contact with something hard. With a swift motion, he parted the robe to reveal her captivity. “Ah, merde,” he cursed. “You don’t know how to open this do you?”

  She shook her head, exchanging the truth about her tears for a convenient substitute.

  He lowered to his knees in front of her, pushing at the white terry cloth of her robe. She was prompted to hold it back and away for him, and she did.

  “Poor Lionceau,” he whispered. “Let me help you.”

  Her emotions shifted as his mouth aligned at her sex and turned her guilt into greed.

  He sprung the latch with an easy flick of his finger. “There you are. Free to pee,” he said smiling up at her. Standing, he turned her toward the bathroom and slapped her ass cheek with a playful tap of encouragement.

  Samantha closed the door behind her and was winded with the violent sway of emotions thrashing to and fro like a dingy in a hurricane. She wanted to tell him to leave, to arrange a car to take her home and prove that she could walk away from this insanity as easily as Oleg had left the warm cocoon of their embrace without so much as a kiss. She wanted him to find a way to remove the chastity belt and beg Paolo to finish what he’d started last night, because his mouth was truly imprinted on her sensitive skin now. She also wanted to be good and patient for the nod from her Master, which he didn’t even claim to be anymore. Marielle was so right. She didn’t know what she wanted.