Master's Flame (Cirque Masters 3)

But no. In her apartment, he’d been confronted with something he was helpless to stand against—soaring creative genius. Her brain didn’t work like everyone else’s, and neither, he suspected, did her heart. Her art was unsettling and original, and best of all, without preciousness or reflection. She simply did these things, in the same way she fucked every man she fancied and danced without fear on no greater surface than her partners’ upturned palms.

“Michel?”

He looked around the conference table into ten pairs of questioning eyes. He cleared his throat and scratched his forehead. “Let’s reconvene in a week,” he said. “My apologies. I’m scattered. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Is everything all right?” asked Genevieve in concern. Jason scowled at him.

“Everything’s fine,” he assured them. “If you have any specific questions, make an appointment to see me in my office.”

With that, he shut his laptop and escaped with most of his dignity intact. It was his company. They worked for him. If he wanted to blow off a meeting because greater problems were demanding his attention, he damn well could. He retreated to his office, determined to salvage at least part of the day for work. He put Valentina, her art, his kiss, all of it out of his mind and focused on an emailed spreadsheet.

Five minutes later, a knock interrupted him.

“See my goddamn secretary,” he yelled. “I’m busy.”

Another knock, and then Jason stuck his head in. Of course. At his dire glare, his future son-in-law shrugged. “You said if we had any specific questions, to come to your office.”

“I said to make an appointment.” He stood and crossed the room, intending to shut him out, but Jason put a hand on the door before he could close it.

“I heard you left the Citadel with Valentina last night.”

“You heard it from whom?” he asked with a sigh.

“Everyone. Do you have a minute?”

Against his better judgment, Michel admitted Jason and gestured him toward a chair, then sat behind the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “What, then? What is your question?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What ever happened to ‘My life is complicated enough’?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Valentina. You spent the night with her, didn’t you? You wouldn’t be acting this way otherwise.”

Michel stuck out his jaw, then heaved a frustrated sigh. “You’re like a woman. You have to know everything.”

“I wouldn’t normally care who you’re locking in chains, but this is Valentina Sancia. She’s not really your type.”

“I have a type?”

Jason snorted. “Yes, you do. Submissive, obedient, attractive. She’s only one of those things.”

“Perhaps I’ve grown bored with my usual type.”

“So you gave them a farewell check and relocated them to California. Who else are you playing with right now?”

“That’s none of your business.” That was what he said aloud, but the question jolted him, because the answer was no one. The past few weeks he hadn’t played with anyone, except...

“Is there a point to all this?” Michel asked in as bland a tone as he could muster. “If not, I have some gripping figures to look at from the set-design department. I’m sure you understand.”

“I heard she had a noose around her neck when you found her, and that she was too injured today to work.”

Jason wasn’t asking if these things were fact. He knew they were. He was asking what Michel intended to do about them. Jason was fiercely protective of his performers, which was one of the reasons Michel put up with him. The other reason was that his daughter adored the man.

“Okay,” Michel said, leaning forward. “Shall I tell you what I have planned for our little hellion? Will that put your mind at ease?”

“Probably not, but tell me anyway. I’m curious.”

“I’m going to take over her for thirty days. One month.”

“Take over her?” Jason sat up straighter.

“She agreed to it. She wants it. I’m going to keep her in the spare room at my house and attempt to train some of the craziness out of her.”

“You mean, train away that fire that attracted you to her in the first place?”

“It attracted me to her as a performer,” Michel clarified. “As a person, we both know she’s aggravating as hell. She needs...mellowing.”

Jason leaned back, considering. After a moment, he shook his head.

“No. This is bad.”

“What? There’s nothing bad about it.” Michel turned back to his laptop. He’d never been so anxious to return to the tedious crunching of numbers. “It’s consensual, and I have no intention of hurting her.”

“Said the man who unhooked her from a noose in one of the back rooms last night.”

“I didn’t do that to her.”

“Didn’t you? You don’t think you had anything to do with it?”

“No, I did not.” Michel’s pulse had risen with Jason’s aggressive line of questioning. He willed himself to calm, falling back on the basic truth of the matter. “I think this is a great solution for both of us.”

Jason arched a brow. “How so?”

“I help transform Valentina into a content, obedient slave, and you and Sara don’t have to worry about running into me at the Citadel.”

“Because you’ll be with Valentina at your house.”

“Exactly.”

“So you’re doing it for us, then.”

Michel scowled at his sarcastic tone. “And for me, damn you. You know I enjoy developing slaves. I like the power of it. I like that I’ve changed them by the time I’m finished with them. I suppose it’s my megalomania that makes me want to do it, but even so...I mean her no harm. I intend to make her better. As you know, it’s the whole point of the game.”

“Yeah. Just remember it’s a game, and that you’re toying with another human being’s life.”

“I never forget that. How can I, with you poking in my business?”

“I’m going to keep poking you as long as she’s with you. How long did you say? Thirty days?”

“Twenty-nine,” Michel answered smoothly. “One day down, and thus far, she’s survived. Give Sara my love, will you?”

It was a dismissal. Michel had work to do, and Valentina had occupied too many of his thoughts already. He didn’t want any more questioning, any more dire warnings from Jason or anyone else. He had to get his mind—and his thoughts—into proper order and get home to Valentina.

Not to kiss her or fuck her. No. The time for that romantic nonsense was over. It was time to start training up his slave.

Chapter Nine: On Track

Valentina sat on her bed in the white room, scuffing at a small drawing in the corner of her sketch pad. She worked in conservation mode, rationing the pages in case he didn’t allow her more when she ran out. She had the sketch pad and her phone, and that was all. No books, no computer, and no TV. His snippety houseboy-slash-minion wouldn’t let her go out, wouldn’t even let her take a walk around her Master’s picturesque neighborhood. He took her clothes away, for God’s sake.

“Your Master’s orders,” he’d said. The man’s name was Galvin. He had beautiful clear skin and large eyes, and a permanently placid expression. He was about her age, and his physique suggested a fellow athlete, but any attempts to get to know him petered out right away. Valentina prayed that Mr. Lemaitre would let her return to work the next day, or she might die of boredom.

She closed the sketch pad and flopped on her back. Michel Lemaitre was too hard to draw. It was impossible to capture his air of capability, and virility, his beautiful perfection, and any lesser likeness wasn’t good enough. How long had she been in this damn white room? Three, four hours? This slavery thing bored her. She did a few exercises to keep her muscles in order, a few handstands just to amuse herself, and then she considered masturbating...but...

H

er eyes flicked to the cameras. Did Mr. Lemaitre review the footage at the end of each day? Was Galvin watching right now? As if she had summoned the man with her thoughts, he stuck his head in the half-opened door.