Mireille ignored Otto as she dragged her fingernails across Ronin’s scalp, inspiring a frisson of pleasure. His cock thickened, and he shifted away, didn’t want her to know howmuch her touch affected him. She’d likely use it against him, somehow.
Otto cleared his throat and Mireille finally deigned to address him. “Can I help you?”
Otto’s affronted frown had Ronin biting his cheek to keep from cackling. He didn’t know which was more entertaining: watching Mireille dance or watching her cut the self-important billionaire down to size.
“We see you received our flowers,” Otto said, his gaze lingering on the hand Mireille pressed against Ronin’s chest. Maintaining her bored, blasé perusal of the Deathstalker, she moved her hand lower, stroking over Ronin’s abs with an appreciative murmur. His wolf yipped with pride.
Playing along, Ronin lengthened his canines, nipping at Mireille’s earlobe as her fingertips reached the top of his zipper.
Otto observed the spectacle with barely concealed envy, his pupils dilating and his forked tongue darting past his lips.
Ronin struggled to maintain control, wondering how low, exactly, Mireille was going to dip her hand.
Sweet fucking Amatu, she was good at these games.
Taking pity on Otto—or determined to give Ronin a nasty case of blue balls for messing with her hairbrush—she pushed out of his lap.
She bent down to sniff a rose as Ronin adjusted himself in his pants. “Oh, these were from you? They’re beautiful. Thank you, Master…?”
Otto quickly smoothed over his outraged expression, and Ronin covered his mouth to hide a smile. “Otto. Jurgev Otto. You are quite an extraordinary dancer, Mistress Valette.” Mireille dipped her head, fluttering her long lashes. The picture of coquettish humility. “Though we did notice a little misstep tonight? During your final solo?”
Mireille cocked an eyebrow at Ronin before returning her attention to Otto. “You’re very perceptive, Master Otto. Only a male with an extraordinary attention to detail would have noticed such a thing.”
Otto pinched a strand of Mireille’s hair, running it over the sharp black points of his fingernails. To Mireille’s credit, she didn’t flinch. Though Ronin’s hands involuntarily fisted on the back of the couch and his wolf released a burbling growl.
“Too many distractions?” Otto’s pale yellow eyes slid to Ronin.
And even though Ronin knew it was fake, the incandescent smile Mireille aimed at him radiated through his chest. “Oh, he’s the best kind of distraction. Do you two know each other? This is?—”
“Ronin Matakos.” Otto spat his name, sneering at Ronin’s salt-crusted boots. “We doubt you’d find a single Fae on the continent who hasn’t heard of the Butcher of Aethalia. Though we would have said the same thing about ourselves.”
Ronin rose from the couch, unable to stomach Otto’s oily covetousness. He slung an arm around Mireille’s shoulder and she pressed a hand against his stomach again, Otto’s eyes flying to the contact.
“You’ll have to excuse her.” Ronin trailed his fingers through Mireille’s hair. It was just as soft as it looked, liquid silk flowing through his fingertips. “She’s a woman possessed these days. Only has time for her dancing and, well…me.” He gnashed his teeth on the final word.
“A pity.” Otto turned to Mireille. “Surely you don’t intend to keep up such a rigorous schedule now that your season has ended? We’re hosting a gathering up at our estate next week. You should join us.”
“Oh, that’s unnecessary.” Mireille pressed herself closer to Ronin. “We couldn’t possibly impose.”
“You’d be doing us a favor, honestly. The other guests will be thoroughly impressed that we were able to lure the glittering jewel of the Kheimos Company to our event.”
Mireille feigned indecision. “Are you sure?”
“We insist. Bring your Butcher as well, if you must. We’re sure at least a few of our guests might be curious to know how he managed to fall down so many rungs of life’s ladder from war hero to cage fighter.”
Asshole.
“I must.” Mireille cupped Ronin’s cheek, as if to soothe the sting of Otto’s jab. “What do you think, my love? Fancy a holiday at a snowy mountain estate?”
Ronin grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips. “As long as we’re together, I don’t care what we do.” The corners of her lips jumped at his sickeningly sweet smile.
Otto broke in. “Wonderful. It’s settled then. We will send a car to pick you up on Monday morning.”
Mireille broke out of Ronin’s hold and shook Otto’s pasty hand. “Thank you, Master Otto. We look forward to your hospitality.”
“Until then, Mistress Valette.” Otto pressed his lavender lips to Mireille’s knuckles before exiting the dressing room.
Ronin opened his mouth, but Mireille held up a hand, shushing him. She cocked her head, listening for Otto and Kosera’s footsteps to fade.
