Yes, Rose had been lucky. Rose had been protected. But no one would know if one of Vasiliev’s guests decided to avail himself of her. And it would be her word against his, the word of a woman absolutely no one cared about except Athena.
Rose stared at the dusty stone fireplace she’d just cleaned, everything inside her drawn tight. Her jaw ached. Yet still there was silence from behind her.
‘The zip,’ she said at last, impatient and wanting this to be over. ‘I can’t do it on my—’
‘Your body doesn’t interest me, little maid.’ The words were heavy as falling boulders and she was shocked to feel a small sting. As if she was disappointed, which surely couldn’t be true. She couldn’twanthim to touch her.
She turned around sharply. He was still sitting there in the chair, having not moved a muscle, his stare as unyielding as stone.
‘I will pay you,’ she said, desperation tightening in her gut. ‘I don’t have any money, but once I’m free, I’ll get a job and I can—’
‘I don’t require your money either.’ He tilted his head like a bird of prey, his gaze speculative in a way that made her shiver yet again. ‘But I also do not do anything for free.’
‘So, what do you want?’ Her tone was too sharp, the words too blunt, and she knew she was behaving in a way that would normally earn her a punishment. Servants were expected to be invisible, and she’d learned that lesson early on. But she didn’t take it back.
‘I will need to think on it.’ He glanced down at the chunky platinum watch that circled one strong wrist. ‘But we can discuss that later. I have an appointment that I am now late for.’
Rose took a silent, shaking breath, her hands clenched into unconscious fists. Hope was dangerous and yet hope was all she had, and she had to know now. ‘Does this mean you’ll help me?’
He looked up from his watch, his silvery-green gaze enigmatic in the fading evening light. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why not?’
CHAPTER TWO
ARESSTAREDDOWNat the vodka he was holding, the cut crystal tumbler beaded with condensation. It was good vodka, clean and sharp—Ivan always had good vodka—but Ares found he’d lost his taste for it.
Ivan had poured him a drink and had immediately started into a business discussion that Ares had tuned out. Lately, his father-in-law had started trying to impress him with details of various dealings that Ares had no interest in. Ivan was angling to be a Hercules client, Ares knew. He wanted the highly trained black ops soldiers for his own security staff and the technology that was a Hercules specialty. He’d also mentioned that he had ‘capital’ and was looking for somewhere to invest it, and maybe he could invest in Hercules.
Ares didn’t need any more investment and even if he did the last person he’d get it from was his father-in-law. He didn’t want his father-in-law as a client either.
They were in Ivan’s private study, and Ivan was standing at the huge fireplace, one elbow on the mantelpiece, his other hand holding a tumbler full of vodka.
He was a tall man and broad, and even in his early seventies, he still radiated the kind of cold power that was common in this part of the world. Power that came from money and the relentless selfishness that all men carried in their hearts.
Ivan was still talking about business opportunities, but Ares wasn’t listening. His thoughts kept drifting back to the little maid and what she’d told him back up in his room. About being bought and then sold and how she needed help.
Ares knew that something had broken in him the night he’d tried to save his wife and failed. The beam that had fallen on him, pinning him in place and scouring away a good many of the nerves in his face, had also burned away the ability to feel any kind of emotion. His facial expressions were frozen as was some core part of him, and while some feeling had returned to his face over the years, the part of him that was frozen had remained so.
So, it was strange to find himself...almost on the verge of anger by what the little maid had told him. That Ivan had not only bought her but sold her too. Not that he was particularly surprised about that—Ivan had always been extremely morally grey.
Naya would have been appalled that her own father had been involved in such a thing, and she’d probably demand that something must be done.
That was why Ares had set up Hercules, a security company that went into places governments couldn’t risk open involvement in, to fight for people who had no one to fight for them. To protect those who couldn’t protect themselves and to even the odds against tyrants. He also provided services to countries who needed help during times of natural disasters or other such catastrophes.
Hercules was Naya’s memorial and meant every contract he took on had to be something she would have approved of.
The little maid reminded him somewhat of Naya.
She’d stood in front of him, small and determined, every part of her lush figure set in stubborn lines, as if she’d fight the entire world for what she wanted.
She hadn’t been afraid of him—or if she had been, she’d hidden it well—meeting his gaze without hesitation. And when she’d offered herself as payment and he’d called her bluff, she’d turned around, clearly ready to pay up.
He’d been surprised by the kick of lust that had provoked too, though perhaps that had merely been the long years of celibacy speaking. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had a shortage of beautiful women all vying for his bed, and none of them had sparked anything inside him, not the way she had done.
Those women aren’t warriors. The little maid is.
It was true. Perhaps that was why he’d agreed to help her in the end. Because he’d seen the ember of a warrior in every fierce line of her and he respected that. There was something...admirable in people who were willing to risk everything to get what they wanted, even when they were afraid. Even when they were desperate, and she was; he’d heard it in her voice.
But also, he’d agreed to help her because it was something Naya would have wanted him to do. Most especially when it was Naya’s father who’d bought her in the first place.