by Shara Azod
Zinoviy had planned to be a school teacher. However, after his two-year mandatory conscription in the Russian army, he’d seen the world so differently that he learned the value of taking his own risks versus those imposed upon him.
He’d thrown his few belongings into a backpack and traveled to warmer climes, including resort towns in Italy, Greece, Spain, Turkey, and Egypt. Zinoviy had stayed in Spain, because he enjoyed the weather, Spaniards didn’t seem to mind Russians, and jobs were a bit easier to find. Though university-educated, Zinoviy didn’t turn his nose up at driving cabs, toting bags, or waiting tables. It was honest work, and he was an honest man, and Málaga, Spain was beautiful country.
He was also a big man who had an ear for languages, an easy laugh, and made friends easily—that is, if he chose to. Someone had spotted him playing basketball, and the next thing he knew, he was playing for a Tier 3 team in the Spanish Basketball League System. A year later, he was playing for a Tier 1 team in the men’s professional basketball league in Spain.
Two years later, he was living in Atlanta, taking sugar in his tea, and marveling at the host of drive-thru services available in America, including drive-thru convenience stores, emergency rooms, strip clubs, and liquor stores.
Zinoviy wasn’t sure how he came to have Cayenne Creighton as an agent, and the Slayer sisters as back-up agents, in the event that Cayenne and her sidekick, Revelry, had to flee the country. In fact, he wasn’t sure as to the whys and hows of ninety percent of the happenings since arriving in America five years ago. What he did know was that his life had changed. Not only could he afford to dream, he could actually attain most of what he dreamed.
He hadn’t coveted houses and cars; he’d craved comfort for his family. The knowledge that his Mamasha didn’t have to go without, his Papasha didn’t have to work himself to death, and his little brother and sister could have the same dreams as their peers, was all of the reward he needed.
He played ball, but he wasn’t a baller. He had an eighty dollar watch, a used SUV, and five decent suits. Despite the monster contract Cayenne had negotiated, he only owned one home and it was in Málaga, Spain. Since his parents spent nine months of the year there, Zinoviy suspected he’d never get the chance to live in it, which was why he was glad he’d purchased the lot next to it. One day, he’d build a house there. However, while in Atlanta, he shared a home with his best friend, Timber Archean, professional baseball player.
Between Timber and Cayenne’s families and friends, Zinoviy didn’t get a chance to feel lonely. He also didn’t get a chance to hear his Christian name spoken, since everyone called him Drago. What he did get a chance to experience was American’s off-the-chart patriotism, Black College Homecoming, the frenzy that came along with the start of football (American) season, and Thanksgiving. Because his American family didn’t know any strangers, that meant his family got to experience those things, too.
That was one of the primary reasons he’d always have a soft spot for Cayenne. She wasn’t just his agent; she was his family. Just as she’d stolen Revelry as a best friend, she’d stolen his family and made sure they were invited to everything and included once they came to America. They’d tried—once and only once—to turn down her hospitality, but after Cayenne and Revelry loaded up a fleet of SUVs and brought the party to them, his Mamasha and Papasha made sure to heed her invites. His awkward brother and shy sister now had close to a hundred first cousins and negative two trillion chances to ever again feel lonely.
Yes, he loved that crazy, brilliant agent of his, but that didn’t mean Zinoviy was going to allow her to kill him, which was why he was currently in hiding. Well, as much as one could hide whilst playing professional sports in America. A homebody, for once he was grateful for the string of road games.
Though he’d talked to Merc and had arranged for a new kitchen for Cayenne, Zinoviy had known the feisty Texan long enough to know a new kitchen wouldn’t cut it. She’d want revenge…and she’d recruit Revelry to help her.
If he hadn’t served in the army infantry, the thought of those two plotting against him would cause him to shit his pants. Luckily, he had served in the infantry, so he only shuddered a bit.
Also, equally as lucky, Merc had hooked him up with a real estate agent who showed him the perfect property. Ten minutes after the walk-through, he was a property owner in the U.S.
He couldn’t wait to invite Cayenne over…after she’d stopped wanting to kill him.
Chapter Seven: Surely, You Fest
“Rennes, I cannot stay with you.” It was the tenth time Cayenne had raised that point in the thirty-minute drive to his place. He wondered how many more times she’d repeat it before they crossed the threshold. And they would be crossing the threshold, even if he had to carry her over it kicking and screaming.
Of course, he’d prefer to carry her over the threshold moaning and coming, but first things first. He had to get her settled in before arranging for food. Not for the first time was Rennes damn glad for the amenities, especially the full-service valet, and the full-time concierge services.
As soon as he pulled up, a valet was there to take his keys and a bellhop was there to take Cayenne’s bags. And being Cayenne, she had a lot of them, including three large uprights, a garment bag, wheeled duffle, a carryon, two hatboxes, her laptop bag, and her handbag.
While other men might be annoyed at the sheer amount of luggage, Rennes was glad she’d packed heavy. In fact, he was the one to encourage her to pack more. He did, after all have one hundred thirty-one cubic feet of space behind the first row of his SUV; eighty-six cubic feet of space behind the second row; and, forty-three inches of space behind the third row. The more stuff Cayenne had, the longer she could stay. And she would be staying, just as he would be taking himself to the jewelers and giving her a million reasons to never want to leave.
First, however, he had to feed her. Her fatigue was obvious…just like her beauty. Cayenne always looked good, but in his opinion, the woman looked even better wearing things that belonged to him…his jacket, his body, his ring.
Not giving her a chance to protest, he picked her up when they exited the elevator and carried her to the door and over the threshold.
“Rennes,” she moaned.
Yes. Say my name…just like that. He looked directly in her eyes and then responded. “Cayenne.”
Rennes could tell that Cayenne had a lot to say. However, she settled for two words. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
**JandJ**
Cayenne sunk down into the bubbles of the bathtub of what had to be the most boss guest suite in all of Dallas. She could live in this tub, Cayenne thought, as she lay back against the pillow and sipped her wine and marveled at the play of candlelight against the silver mosaic tile work. She’d been in the tub for an hour, and could probably stay in there another hour without the temperature decreasing, thanks to Rennes’ obsession with technology. If her stomach walls weren’t touching, Cayenne might’ve done just that.
Reluctantly climbing out of the tub, she stepped into the shower and rinsed off before pulling on her robe. Normally, she would’ve pulled on some sweats, sans underwear, and a T-shirt, sans bra. But she was in Rennes’ home, and Rennes was the man she’d wanted to impress since she was a junior in college.
Slathering on her honeysuckle-scented lotion, Cayenne slid into some lace panties and a bra that was completely impractical for anything save reminding the person seeing her in it that she had breasts. Since she was already being impractical, Cayenne amped it up.
Instead of her usual sweats and T-shirt, she shimmied into some leggings, ignoring the leggings-shouldn’t-be-worn-as-pants rule. She also ignored the wear-a-tunic-length-shirt-if-you’re-going-to-wear-leggings rule, and pulled on a wide-necked T-shirt that slipped off of one shoulder and exposed her throat, collarbone, and tops of her breasts.
She looked good. She smelled good. She felt good.
Rennes didn’t stand
a chance.
Chapter Eight: Feast and Desist
Cayenne woke refreshed, renewed and recommitted, which was ironic being her dreams had been filled with a montage of erotic scenes featuring her and Rennes.
She figured he wasn’t the type of man who wore anything to bed but his skin after seeing what he threw on after his shower. While he had the decency to pull on some bottoms, they were tight around his ass and thighs, and rode low on his hips. Fuck. Cayenne didn’t know what his shirt was made of, but the three-quarter-sleeved shirt was so see-through that she could make out all six of his abs. Fuck some more.
He’d arranged for food from her favorite steakhouse, wine from her favorite vintner, and dessert from a world-class pastry chef. Yet, all she wanted to taste was his skin beneath her tongue. All she wanted to drink were his sighs…directly from his mouth. All she wanted to savor was the feel of his hardness covering her softness.
And what did he do? Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. He just sat there looking fine, smelling good, and being tempting.
Obviously, her outfits were going to have to get sexier. Or she was going to have to get bolder. Despite the 3500-square-feet of living space, she was going to sit right up on him tonight after dinner. And if he was going to strut around half naked, she was going to lose the bra and the panties.
Game on, Rennes Sabine. Game on.
Now that she had her love life squared away, she had a clear head to come up with a plan for getting even with Drago. Oh, she knew his sense of honor would have him arranging for a new dishwasher. However, it was the dicks more so than the dishwasher. She couldn’t let that pass, otherwise everyone would think they could use her dishwasher for washing their dicks.
How do you trump dicks in a dishwasher? She could put dicks in his dishwasher, as word on the street was that he’d purchased a house. And by word, she meant Drago himself, who’d informed her that the realtor would be delivering the keys to her later this week.
So what—he’d also texted a beautiful apology and explained how the dicks got there in the first place. Irrelevant. She’d spent two hours in a state of WTF. Knowing Merc, he had video of the aftermath of her pseudo wild-out, and knowing Revelry, she’d use that shit against her for the rest of their lives.
She had to top Drago’s shenanigans.
Looking around Rennes’ apartment that didn’t have hide nor hair of anything Christmas-y, she also had to shop for a tree. Luckily, Rennes had left his platinum card in case she decided to go shopping. Smart man; there would definitely be some shopping. He’d also driven his sports car to work, leaving the SUV for her use. There was plenty of room in that monstrosity for a tree and decorations.
Once that was seen to, there’d be plenty of time to drop by the lingerie shop since her goal was to blow Rennes’ mind. Considering that Drago was on an extended road trip, and wouldn’t return until next Thursday, she had ample time to plan.
Plus, Revelry was in town, which meant a lunch at Red Headed Step Child was in order. She always did her best plotting over steak.
**JandJ**
Rennes had spent all damn night thinking about Cayenne. It was hard not to, considering what she’d been wearing. That outfit was deceptively seductive. That T-shirt kept falling down one arm, exposing her bra and the fact that her breasts seemed to want to escape.
Those legging outlined her shapely ass. If he hadn’t known that Cayenne had a shapely ass, he would’ve definitely known after last night. She bent over more times than the starting centers for all pro football teams combined. It’d taken everything he had not to bend her over something, yank down her leggings and bury himself balls deep in her.
He’d had to wake early and sneak out, because if he’d spent one more moment in the house that now smelled like her, neither one of them would make it to work for the remainder of the week. His clients might thank him for his dedication, but his cock did not. His body clamored for Cayenne.
Rennes knew he’d been an asshole all day. Fortunately, his staff was made up of battle-hardened warriors, so he didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings. Of course, even if he did hurt anyone’s feelings, Rennes wasn’t the sort of man to worry over it in the first place. They could simply go to Human Resources, aka Merc, and then get their shit and get the fuck out.
Tessa’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, if not out of his funk. “So the city’s still standing, but since it was Revelry calling, I’m guessing there’s a city somewhere that’s not. Tell me, what did she destroy? Who did she kill?”
Rennes smiled at her anticipation. Only Tessa would be amped about destruction, which is why he and Merc had sought her out when they started Stevshark-Sabine Security. She was a damned good soldier, a damned good friend, and damned good at everything she decided to do, and she had the accolades to prove it. Not only was Tessa the First Captain of their corps, she was also a sought-after consultant, and a doctoral student at Penn. That didn’t stop them from wanting her.
He must have taken too long to answer because she snapped her fingers at him. “Hey, stop daydreaming about getting your freak on with Cayenne, and tell me what or who got destroyed.”
“Who says I’m daydreaming about Cayenne?” he asked, just to fuck with her.
“The hard dick you’re hiding behind the desk. So stop fronting like you haven’t been panting after that chick for years. If I did chicks, I’d be all over that,” Tessa shot at him, as she made herself comfortable on the edge of his desk. Despite having two quality chairs for guests, Tessa’s ass had been on his desk more times than it had a chair.
“Whatever,” he said. “As far as what was destroyed, one dishwasher, part of a quartz countertop, the cabinets on either side of the dishwasher, the sink, part of the travertine floor tiles, two of the steps leading to the porch, and a few of the cobblestones on Cayenne’s driveway. And an assortment of adult products…mostly dildos.”
“Dammmmn,” Tessa said, with what was clearly appreciation. “So you know Cayenne’s going to exact revenge, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. I was going to fly back to Philadelphia this week to meet with my advisor about my thesis, but that was before I knew destruction was on the menu. Because if there’s destruction, that means Revelry is here. Revelry and Cayenne in Dallas equates to multiple trips to Red Headed Step Child, which will be billed as a company expense, which means I’m so there. Saying such, I need to text the human Destructicons® and swing by my apartment to change out of my came-to-kick-someone’s-ass boots, and into my check-out-my-ass-in-these-jeans boots.”
“Remind me again why I pay you?”
“Because if you didn’t, any number of rogue nations would. I’m an expert, you know.”
“Oh yeah, that.”
“Don’t be a douche, Rennes. It gives you wrinkles. Now if I were you—which would be like five steps down on the awesome chart—I’d step up my game. From that fuck-the-world look you’re wearing, you didn’t score last night. Cayenne might have a thing for you, but she’s not the type of woman to wait around forever. Too many fish in the sea,” she said, before slamming the door.
Rennes didn’t know why the woman couldn’t simply close a door like a normal human being, but after the first thousand times he’d asked and she ignored him, he learned to let it go.
What he wasn’t going to let go, however, was Cayenne. Tonight he’d make sure his game was on. He’d been a gentleman last night since Cayenne was exhausted.
Tonight, if she gave him those come-hither vibes, they’d both be coming.
Chapter Nine: Punishment will be Gift
Steak made everything better. What made steak even better was enjoying it from the comfort of a private dining room in your favorite restaurant. What made steak exceptional, however was another piece of steak. There wasn’t a vegetable to be found anywhere on her plate, and that’s the way she preferred it. She ate vegetables, just not with steak. Steak was the kind of food that didn’t need anything else.
<
br /> Fortunately, the proprietors of Red Headed Step Child knew and understood this. And voila! She had a whole dining experience named for her. Red Hot featured two twelve-ounce pieces of New York strip, one glass of ALIBI—the red wine created by Ozella Crown, and one piece of red velvet cake.
Both Revelry and Tessa ordered it, and from their sounds of not-saying-a-fucking-thing while they enjoyed their food, they were suitably impressed. That’s why she loved them. They knew when to shut up and just eat meat. There wasn’t a hint of green anywhere on their table. Only after the last bite of steak had been savored did anyone speak.
“I’m not driving so I need more wine,” Revelry said as she poured herself another glass.”
Tessa gave a soft chuckle. “I am driving, but I believe I’ll order a bottle to take home.”
“Was that Rennes’ truck you were driving and did it have a wreath on the front grill?” Tessa asked.
“Yep.”
It didn’t seem possible, but Tessa’s smile got even bigger. “You know Rennes’ going to hate that.”
“Which is ninety percent of the reason why I got it.”
“I’m so glad I got to know you! Since I can’t be there when he first spies it, video it, and send it to me so I can be all gleeful over his absolute disgust.”
“Of course,” Cayenne said.
Totally unconcerned about what they were doing to her brother, Revelry asked. “Why don’t they have a special named after me?”
“Possibly because A) you live in California, and B) I don’t envision a lot of diners ordering something called RAVING FUCKING LUNATIC.”
“I didn’t have a dishwasher full of dicks. Just putting that out there.”
