Free Master's Flame by Annabel Joseph

if we’re mere acquaintances, when once you called me
mignonne
, just like a caress, and knelt between my legs?”
    “Enough.” That bark, that command was generally enough to bring any disorderly person to heel. But Valentina was not any disorderly person. She batted his hand away.
    “No, it’s not enough,” she yelled. “I thought you were different. I thought you were brave and that your heart was open to everything in the world. You disappoint me, Mr. Lemaitre. No, disappointment is not a good enough word. You devastate me with your manipulations and lies. I’ve tried to please you but you won’t be pleased.”
    He looked over at Jason as if he could save him, but no one could save him, not now. The entire room—fifty people or more—stood still as statues, watching and listening to every word that passed between them.
    He tuned them out and fixed his eyes on his dream and his nightmare. Knelt between her legs, had he? How novel of her to throw it in his face. “You have no concept of professionalism, do you,
Miss Sancia
?” he asked in a cutting tone. “Or discretion, for that matter.” He took her arm, pulling her right against him, and lowered his voice so no one else could hear. “If you have private things to say to me, you’ll make an appointment and meet me in my office like any sane person would.”
    “Why not your back room?” she sneered.
    He squeezed her arm, unforgivably hard, but this insubordination couldn’t continue. “My office,
mademoiselle
,” he said, giving her a little shake. “There, and only there, will we discuss the personal issues between us. You will never air them publicly again or you will find yourself on the first flight back to
Napoli
. Do you understand?” His tone had gone from cutting to vicious. She nodded without comment, going white about her lips.
    He released her and pointed to the center of the practice space, where her partners stood waiting. “Now, you will go and repeat your act, and this time you will perform it with the spirit and artistry of which you are capable. Go.”
    He stalked to stand just on the perimeter of the performance space, his arms crossed over his chest. Her partners regrouped and took their positions and Valentina straightened her slouched shoulders. If she hadn’t, he would have gone and done it himself, and added a great whack to her backside for good measure. How could she imagine he’d be pleased with her lackluster, robotic performance?
My apologies, monsieur. I thought uncontrolled dramatics were not to your taste.
    Little hellion. He could not allow a battle of wills between them. He couldn’t allow her to win. He watched her repeat her performance with the same accuracy and control, but this time she let her flame burn. My God, she was incomparable in her artistry.
    He ought to have congratulated the five of them on an improved performance, but his temper burned too brightly. Instead he returned to his place at the table and called for the next act, not sparing Valentina a look.

Chapter Six: Mastery
     
    Michel leaned back in his chair. His private dungeon was busy, filled with friends and a selection of his past and present slaves. None of them appealed, but he had to be here to reassert his authority after Valentina had publicly dressed him down.
Was Lemaitre going soft?
everyone wondered.
Losing control of the company?
    No. Just control of one crazy girl.
    He stared across the dungeon at the delightful brunette waiting in chains against a St. Andrews cross. Why didn’t Kaiya’s beautiful body stir him? Why did her hair, which he’d long admired, suddenly seem a drab, dark shade?
    He pushed out of his chair and approached her, willing himself to find excitement in her bondage, her submission. She pulled at the chains, putting on a lovely show. Male slaves were good for enduring his darker impulses, but for connection, for beauty, women possessed a softness men couldn’t match. Their bodies were, by default,