Claim

She stepped across the hall and poked her head into the room that used to be the back office. “Good morning, Tom!”

“Morning, beautiful,” a deep voice boomed beyond Lyon’s line of sight.

She laughed. “I should have warned you my husband is here. You’re such a rogue.”

An old man with a gray beard appeared a moment later, hands wrinkled but obviously strong. There was something familiar about the man, but Lyon couldn’t place it.

“Lyon, meet Tom. He’s Ryan’s father,” Kira said.

Lyon shook the other man’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ryan?”

“The mule-headed muscle you saw working in the front,” Tom clarified good-naturedly. “Family businesses are double-edged swords."

Now Lyon understood. The man hanging the mirror, the one with the beard, was Tom’s son.

“Thank you for your work,” Lyon said. “The place is shaping up.”

“Well, that’s due to this one here,” he said, looking at Kira fondly. “She’s got vision.”

Lyon glanced into the office behind Tom and took note of the retro mirrored wallpaper on one wall, the deep aubergine wall next to it. A new fixture hung overhead, Russian, from the looks of the ornate metalwork and colored glass.

“I don’t disagree,” he said.

Kira looked up at him. “I’ll show you the lounge.”

Lyon followed her down the hall, unable to keep his eyes from the curve of her hips under her white skirt, the strap of her bra barely visible through the semi-sheer fabric of her green silk blouse.

He knew exactly what it would feel like to slide the strap off her shoulder, what she would taste like when he pressed his lips to her skin. His cock thickened as he followed her into a large room at the back of the club.

He was immediately struck with shock.

“What is this?” he asked, taking in the wallpaper, a slightly different complement to the one in the office, the deep teal walls, almost black, more of the Russian fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

To one side of the room, a series of sofas, still wrapped in plastic, rested against the wall.

She grinned her pleasure at his reaction. “It’s a new room actually.”

“But how did you…?”

“The old storeroom was massive once we took out the shelving and all the junk that had accumulated there. I was able to carve out this space for you, for the men. So you could gather,” she said. “But don’t worry, I checked with Misha to make sure there was enough storage room left over.”

Misha Veselov was the gregarious old man who owned Ludis. He’d kicked a portion of the club’s earnings to Borya before Kira had gifted it to Lyon, income that was more than made up by Borya’s new position with the Spies.

Misha would have no complaint about the transfer to Lyon. He would make far more money now that the club was considered the unofficial headquarters of the bratva’s pakhan. It would be overflowing with people day and night, many of whom would be there in the hopes of interacting with Lyon, of swaying him on one deal or another, of drawing attention to themselves as someone with ambition.

Lyon walked farther into the room. “It’s huge.”

Kira laughed, and the sound of it traveled from his ears to his chest, warming him in a way that wasn’t at all comfortable. “I wanted you and the men to have plenty of space to relax.” She walked to one side of the room. “There will be a full bar here. And over there,” she pointed to the other side of the room, “will be a custom billiards table. It’s being made as we speak.”

She walked to the sofas wrapped in plastic. “And I’ve included plenty of seating, so the men will be comfortable.”

He stared at her across the room, felt the pull of her mossy eyes. His brain was screaming a warning, but his body didn’t want to listen.

He walked slowly toward her, his gaze trained on hers. He didn’t stop when he should have, a foot away, where he usually stopped, careful to keep some distance between them.

This time he kept advancing on her, his feet moving as if having a mind of their own. She backed up a few inches until she came up against the deep teal wall.

There was only an inch between them now. He could feel the heat emanating from her body, could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“It’s perfect,” he said, staring into her eyes.

You’re perfect.

She licked her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, his cock throbbing as he remembered how it felt to be enveloped in it when she sucked him off, the way her pussy got wetter while she held him in her mouth.

They were things he wished he didn’t know about her. Things he couldn’t forget.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said.

A long pause stretched between them, and he reached up, dragged his knuckles down her cheek. He cupped her slender throat in his hands and ran his thumb over the pillowy cushion of her lower lip.

“I like it.” He hated that his voice was hoarse.