Hers to Tame Page 10

  “And you paid for those repairs as well.”

  “The better we take care of people, the better they take care of us.”

  Sergei’s attention drifted from Roman to Kir. “This business connection—are we referring to family endeavors? Or is this a side venture I’m not aware of?”

  Evette giggled, the evil glee behind it the type reserved for women everywhere who’d just uncovered a deliciously decadent secret. “Oh Sergei, quit giving him grief. Anyone can see the guy’s got it bad. If he wants to lie to himself and call hitting on a girl business, then let him.” Her smile got bigger. “I personally like the idea of seein’ New Orleans’s most eligible player swimming toward the deep end.”

  All of a sudden, her eyes widened, and she splayed her hands on the dining room table. “Oh my God!” Her gaze bounced from one man to another. “Do you guys realize what this might mean?”

  The men each cast clueless looks from one to another.

  “Gah!” Evette said to the ceiling. She righted her attention and threw her hands up in the air. “It means I won’t have to fly to Dallas to be with my posse, or fly one of them here to have another female at dinner anymore.” She zeroed in on Kir and leaned in. “When can I meet her?”

  Silence stretched long and uncomfortable between the five of them.

  The opportunity was right there.

  So easy to take.

  And yet closing the loop felt tantamount to self-inflicting a fire brand on his flesh.

  He swallowed hard, wishing like hell he had a glass of Stoli to ease his parched throat instead of watered-down tea or coffee. “As a matter of fact, I invited her to dinner on Sunday.” He met Sergei’s stare head-on. “It was presumptuous of me to do so without asking you first. If you’d rather, I can rescind the invitation.”

  “No!” Evette spun to Sergei and planted an urgent hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want him to take it back, do you, babe?” She faced Roman and Kir. “We want to meet her.”

  While Sergei’s stare never once wavered from Kir’s face, his features did soften, just a hint of the deep amusement he often wore in Evette or Emerson’s presence lifting to the surface. Finally, he took his napkin from his lap and set it on the table beside his plate. “Well, moy brat, it appears we want very much to meet her.” He stood, leaned over and gave his bride a kiss, then stepped away from the table. “I would, however, like to hear more about this reporter. Why don’t you join me on the patio for a cigar, and you can tell me what you know.”

  Evette grinned huge, the apples of her cheeks practically on fire with excitement.

  Emerson snickered. “Sounds like you’re gonna get a lot of questions.”

  It did sound that way, and with how the initial introduction had gone down, Kir wasn’t altogether sure they were going to be the type of questions he was up for answering.

  “Good luck, my brother,” Roman said in Russian. He stood, slid his chair under the table and grabbed his plate. Before he headed to the kitchen, he added, “For what it’s worth. I think this one’s worth it.”

  Kir stood as well and reached for his plate.

  Evette waved him off. “I’ll get it. You go talk to the man.”

  Funny. He’d had countless conversations with Sergei over the years and not one of them had left him feeling like a school boy waiting outside the principal’s office.

  But this one did.

  He nodded to Evette and Emerson and strode toward the back door and the patio overlooking the pool and gardens beyond.

  Evette’s voice halted him just before he stepped outside. “Hey, Kir.” Where her expression had been full of glee and orneriness before, now soft compassion and understanding swam behind her warm hazel eyes. “It’s okay, you know. To want someone, I mean. Sergei, of all people, will understand that. You just need to tell him the truth.”

  Such a good woman. Honest. Kind and loving. Full of fire and strength that had greatly augmented Sergei’s leadership and vision. Kir couldn’t even fathom what it would be like to have such support. His brothers, yes. They were always there. But to have the gentle, unwavering solace of a woman like Evette was beyond his comprehension. “My pakhan will always have the truth from me.”

  Her smile deepened. “Well then...maybe you could let yourself in on it while you’re at it.”

  Emerson peeked over the back of his chair, the mirth in his gaze a mirror image of his mother’s.

  On the bright side, their amusement had done much to ease his trepidation. Now that he’d had the benefit of having them in his life, he wouldn’t trade them for anything. “You’re meddlers. Both of you.”

  Their laughter followed him out into the darkening evening. The rich bite of his pakhan’s cigar already hung on the night air, mixed with the crisp scent of freshly mowed grass and soft touch of magnolias.

  Not waiting for direction, Kir pulled the padded patio chair next to Sergei out from under the glass-topped table and settled in. Since Sergei had moved into the restored historic home in the heart of New Orleans’s Garden District, Kir had spent many evenings with Roman and Sergei just like this. Quietly enjoying the night, the stars if the clouds allowed it and the soft reflection of the heavens on the majestic pool’s reflection.

  Sergei drew from his cigar then leisurely expelled the smoke overhead.

  Quiet settled between them.

  Under normal circumstances, Kir would have either enjoyed it, or filled it with business observations from the day. As it was, he was clueless on how to proceed.

  Dipping his head toward the leather cigar case on the table, Sergei made the decision for him. “Help yourself.”

  It felt wrong. Too casual and familiar of an action for a topic that felt quite formal riding between them. “I’ll pass tonight. Spaseeba.”

  Sergei smirked at that, though his peaceful focus on the pool beyond never wavered. “Tension rides your shoulders and you’ve never once sat so straight in that chair.” He swiveled his head toward Kir, a trace of mischief moving behind his dark eyes. “You can relax, moy brat. There is no gun pressed behind your head, nor have you done anything to earn my anger.”

  The muscles in his belly eased a fraction, but he kept his posture upright and respectful. “I should have asked your permission before I included an outsider in one of our affairs.”

  With a chuckle, Sergei resumed his perusal of the manicured landscape. “It’s a Father’s Day dinner. Hardly anything where I expect we’ll discuss real business. And if she belongs to you, then you need no permission to bring her.”

  “She doesn’t belong to me.”

  The comment earned Kir a quick look and a raised eyebrow from Sergei. He decided to let it go, though, and took another drag from his cigar. “Cassie McClintock. Sounds a bit like a gun-toting barmaid from an old western movie.” He exhaled hard and reclined farther into his chair as though preparing for a good tale. “Tell me about her.”

  Kir cleared his throat. “You already know what she looks like from the stories she did on Alfonsi—tall, graceful, blonde. A model’s figure, similar to Darya’s. Her personality is bright, her intellect quick. She has keen observation skills I can’t help but respect, and she has a tirelessness about her. I sometimes wonder where she gets her energy.”

  “Mmm,” Sergei said, nodding his head. “This I understand. Evette can be the same.” He aimed a conspiratorial grin at Kir. “Unless, of course, I’ve given her good reason to be relaxed.”

  Kir shifted his attention to his hand resting on the chair’s arm. Talking with Roman, or even Sergei, about women in general was one thing. Talking about his pakhan’s bride was a barrier he wasn’t comfortable breaching.

  Sergei must have sensed his hesitancy because he kept going. “I’ve decided it’s an American thing. They have a harder time sitting still and simply enjoying the world around them.”

  “Perh
aps. But for Cassie, I suspect it’s driven more by her family.”

  “How so?”

  Kir shrugged. “Cassie tells me her family is quite learned. All scientists of one kind or another. They consider her to be a black sheep of sorts.”

  “Unfortunate.”

  “It is. She’s very driven and talented. Why they don’t see that, regardless of her career, I don’t understand.”

  Sergei nodded and tapped the ashes from his cigar into the standing ashtray between their chairs. “And how is she helping you?”

  And that right there was why Sergei was their vor. His stealthy ability to loosen the tongues of those he dealt with and then slide seamlessly to the heart of a topic was a gift he’d honed over many years. “She interviewed many people after we dealt with Alfonsi.”

  “So?”

  The memory of Kevin’s death-shrouded body leapt to mind, the same stinging outrage he’d felt that night igniting right behind it. “She has insights to those who might have a grudge against us. Have some clue we might be aware of as to who might want revenge for our actions.”

  “And does Miss McClintock know the extent of what she’s helping you with?”

  “Nyet.”

  “Why not?”

  The question caught him off guard. “Because she’s a reporter. I wouldn’t risk her reporting on what’s happened at this juncture. It’s better we keep that information to ourselves. More than that, I wouldn’t want her drawn into anyone’s line of fire.”

  Sergei’s mouth twitched. “And what would you do if someone were to act against Miss McClintock?”

  A white-hot fury blasted through him, stealing his breath and locking all of his muscles tight. He knew he needed to speak. To say something—anything—rational or logical.

  But the words wouldn’t come. Couldn’t get past the fist-sized knot in his throat.

  Twisting his head, Sergei smiled. Not a smug action, so much as one of abiding patience and understanding. “Tell me again, moy brat, that she is not your woman.”

  Fuck.

  His muscles ached to move. A violent roar that desperately needed release seemed to swell and ricochet behind his sternum. He didn’t want a woman. Didn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to. Not now. Not when he finally had the respect and opportunity he’d craved and been denied his whole life.

  “Our pasts do not define us,” Sergei said as though reading his thoughts. “Nor do our parents. If that were the case, I’d be a drunken sot eking out a meager existence on the docks in Russia.”

  “Your situation was different.”

  “How? My father was a wastrel. Your father betrayed his vor trying to satisfy the needs of a woman he loved and paid for his actions with his life. How are they not the same?”

  “Because your mother didn’t sell you to save her own ass and buy a new life!” The raw and painful admission ripped up his throat with the tenderness of multithreaded barbed wire. His breath sawed in and out in the aftermath, and his grip on the armrests left his knuckles straining and white.

  Sergei waited, somehow knowing Kir needed the time to reconcile the violence coursing through him. When he finally found his voice, it was ragged and broken. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You needed that.”

  Bit by bit, Kir’s muscles relaxed.

  Sergei went back to his silent study of the stars and the crescent moon overhead. By the time he spoke again, a good minute or two had passed and, from the pondering in his tone, he’d spent it revisiting his own past. “I never thought I would keep to only one woman. Never thought I would enter any type of relationship, let alone marry. Not with what we do for a living. There was too much risk. Too much to lose.” He paused a moment and his gaze narrowed on the sky. “But Evette made the risk worth it. Showed me I was worth another’s love and trust.”

  It was the last statement he’d expected from Sergei. They’d navigated countless treacherous situations together. Faced down hardened enemies with all manner of weapons and borne the scars to go with them. But never once had he shared something so personal. So vulnerable. Even if he demonstrated how much he loved his new bride and son on a daily basis.

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  Sergei lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug, stubbed out his cigar and stood. “There is nothing to tell. Just sharing the benefit of what I have learned. What you do with it is up to you.” He stood, nodded to Kir and strolled toward the back door. “I look forward to meeting your woman Sunday night.”

  Your woman.

  If Kir hadn’t already been shaken to his core, he’d have likely scoffed out loud at the parting remark.

  Behind him, the door opened.

  “Kir?”

  Kir lifted his head and stared back at his pakhan. His brother in arms. One of two friends in the world he knew he could always count on.

  “You are worth another’s love and trust as well. Don’t let your parents’ past rob you of it.” With that, he closed the door, leaving Kir alone with the darkness and his jumbled thoughts.

  Chapter Nine

  It was official. Aunt Frieda was a veritable genius when it came to wardrobe selections for tricky situations.

  Cassie turned from one side to the other in front of the full-length mirror, appreciating the cherry-red romper her aunt had suggested at their impromptu get-together Thursday night. The spaghetti straps and gathered waist gave the outfit a playful look, while the flowing pant legs paired with taupe heels added an elegant flair. A perfect compromise for either a casual or more elegant venue.

  She grabbed the matching tan clutch with the delicate shoulder strap that Frieda had loaned her and double-checked for her license, phone, keys, money and lipstick. At least Kir had finally texted her this morning with a reminder of the time he’d pick her up along with a note to expect a big meal. Up to that point, she hadn’t heard a word from him since he’d last walked out her front door, which had made her wonder more than once if she’d just imagined his invitation.

  A powerful knock on her front door at exactly 7:30 p.m. nearly startled her heart from the confines of her chest.

  It was no big deal.

  Just a dinner.

  She’d interviewed several powerful and influential people. Dangerous ones, too. This was just a meal with people important to Kir. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sister. You never spent nearly an hour soaking in a tub and another hour afterward dolling yourself up for an interview.

  She made her way to the door on shaking legs, let out a slow, steadying breath and opened it.

  Wow.

  Of all the suits she’d seen Kir in, this one was the finest. A rarely seen double-breasted affair that was perfectly tailored and paired with a light blue shirt. He’d forgone a tie, as usual, but rather than make the overall feel more casual, it gave him a dangerous appearance. A modern-day rogue dressed to conquer whatever or whoever crossed his path.

  His gaze traveled the length of her, a slow and deliberate assessment that left tingles in its wake. He stepped closer, slowly took her hand and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to the back of it. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.” With her lungs struggling to function properly and her heart off for a healthy jog, getting that much out was a miracle. Especially, when he retained his grip on her hand and crowded closer than was appropriate for colleagues. “You look pretty awesome yourself.”

  Ugh.

  So lame.

  Juvenile and uninventive.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, his mouth crooked in a lopsided grin. “Thank you, milaya.” He lowered their joined hands and fanned his thumb along her knuckles. “Do you have everything you need?”

  Oxygen would be good, and maybe a time-out for a quick shot of leftover tequila.

  She nodded and used he
r free hand to adjust her purse’s strap on her shoulder. “Yes. All good.”

  “Excellent.” He held out his hands. “Your keys, please.”

  “My keys?”

  “Yes, to lock the door.”

  Oh.

  Right.

  For the door.

  She jerked into motion and snatched them from her clutch. “I’ve got it.”

  He tugged her forward before she could reach for the door’s handle and easily slipped the keys from her fingers. “Allow me.” He pulled the door shut, threw the bolt, then tested it to ensure it was locked. Considering his demeanor thus far, his frown when he faced her was unexpected. “You need a more secure entrance.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s insufficient as a means to keep a determined person out of your house.” Rather than guide her gallantly down the stairs with a hand at her elbow as he had before, his arm slipped easily around her waist, and his hand rested on one hip. “At a minimum, your door should be made out of something stronger and your bolt more difficult to pick or break completely.”

  “Well, even changing those two things isn’t foolproof. If someone really wanted in, they could break a window.”

  “Which is why I’d ideally like to see a security system installed.” He opened the Audi’s passenger door. “We’ll discuss options later.”

  “Options?”

  “Indeed.”

  “For what?”

  “Security.” He dipped his head toward the car’s interior, but otherwise refused further elaboration.

  She was missing something. What it was, she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but there was definitely a different air to him tonight. A subtle sub-context or missing plot point that had slipped by her between last Thursday and now. “Is there a reason I should have stronger security?”

  His expression shifted. Still as determined and intense as ever, but also somehow vulnerable. “Yes, vozlyublennaya. There is a reason, but not one you should worry about.” He motioned to the seat. “Please, let me take you to dinner.”