“Grape.”
“Ah, good choice.” He winked at Natalya and her purple ball of flavored ice.
He needed to call Aaron and make sure he’d taken the samples in. Maybe they could find some answers there. Although, in Brandon’s heart, he knew his father’s hired guns weren’t stupid enough to leave a trail behind.
No, the best thing he could do right now was enlist Mayer’s help. Two pairs of eyes could watch over Natalya better than one. But before Mayer would agree, Brandon had to clear her name. To accomplish that, he had to get her talking.
Not easy when the only way he knew how to open her up made it near impossible to focus on conversation.
“You okay?” Natalya whispered at his shoulder.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
Denying her the opportunity to say anything further, he stepped to the window. “One grape snow cone please.”
A
re you going to tell me what happened at the park, or keep pretending you didn’t shoot off the bench like a bottle rocket?” Natalya slid onto Brandon’s island stool, set her elbows on the counter, and rested her chin in her hands. They’d danced around the incident for an hour. Each time the silence fell too heavily, Brandon found a way to fill it with the mundane. They’d talked about a lot of nothing since they left the park.
Standing in front of the open refrigerator, Brandon’s hand tightened on the door. His lack of immediate response left her wondering if he’d heard her. Then, as he leaned in to pull out a Corona, he replied, “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me about Nikolai.”
Like someone had shoved a rod down her spine, Natalya sat upright. Nikolai again. How the hell had he picked up on Nikolai from the little bit he’d overheard at Kate’s?
“There’s not much to say.”
“Then nothing happened at the park.”
She gritted her teeth against the desire to scream. Their gazes clashed, a stalemate of wills. This time, he wasn’t going to win. Pushing away from the island, she scooted off the stool. “I’m going to take that shower now. Why don’t you think about what we’re going to do for dinner. Unless…” She stopped between the kitchen and the front room and glanced over her shoulder. “Unless you want to take me back to Kate’s so you can go on into the club.”
“Not a chance.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Determined not to let him get under her skin, she headed for his bathroom and the shower. No longer concerned about his association with Dmitri, her reasons for keeping the secrets dwindled to one. One very poignant justification—his life. The less Brandon knew, the better his chance for survival. Dmitri might be after him now, but if she and Sergei succeeded, that threat would end tomorrow. If they failed however, there still remained a chance that if she disappeared, she could protect Brandon by keeping him ignorant of the Bratva.
All of which meant, no matter how she might want to confide in him, she couldn’t answer his questions.
The water splashed against closed glass doors, and she peeled out of her clothes. Her wrist brushed against her knee, reminding her she hadn’t shaved in three days. Wrinkling her nose, she pulled open a drawer near the sink in search of a disposable razor. Toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, hairbrush—no razor.
She tried the drawer on the opposite side of the sink, finding aftershave, deodorant, condoms, and an electric razor still in a sealed box. The man had to shave—where in the world was his razor?
Natalya pulled open the mirrored medicine cabinet above the toilet. Neatly stacked bottles of aspirin, Tylenol, and Aleve sat amongst an expired prescription for Amoxicillin and a couple of Band-Aid boxes. She stuck her head out the door. “Brandon?”
Over the fall of running water, his footsteps echoed down the hall. “Yeah?” Stopping abruptly in the middle of his bedroom, he looked over her head at something behind her. In one passing heartbeat, the light in his tawny eyes turned to molten gold.
Curious, Natalya peeked over her shoulder to find her backside fully exposed in the mirror. His gaze riveted there, taking her in from shoulder to mid thigh, the shifting color of his eyes a change she’d become all too familiar with. A thrill shot all the way down to her toes.
“Where’s your razor? All I can find is this electric one.”
He blinked, as if her question jarred him. Though his gaze still burned hot, his dark eyebrows furrowed. “It’s in the shower.”
“Oh. Okay.” Turning around, she padded across the cool tile floor and pushed open the shower stall door.
Behind her, the bathroom door opened wider. Brandon leaned inside, his gaze holding hers through the mirror’s reflection. “You were in my drawers?”
Natalya couldn’t help herself—she laughed. Batting her eyelashes, she answered in the most serious voice she could find, “Yes, baby, I’ve been in your drawers.”
Annoyance flicked over his features. He dragged his eyes from her hips back up to her face. “That’s not what—” His stare slipped downward again, resting on the reflection of her bare breasts. Under the heat of his gaze, her nipples pebbled.
She loved the way he looked at her. Appreciative. Admirable. And though his stark desire was evident, a degree of respect lingered in those beautiful eyes.
“Aw, hell,” Brandon muttered. He entered the bathroom fully and pushed the door shut. “Why not? You were heading there anyway.”
Natalya blinked. “What?”
With a shake of his head, he pulled his shirt over his head. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.” He took three steps forward and looped his arms around her waist. “Mind if I join you?”
As the warmth of his skin met hers, Natalya’s insides turned to liquid. She flattened her palms over the tight planes of muscle across his back and arched into his embrace. Their bodies merged from collarbone to abdomen. Pure heaven.
She turned her face into his shoulder and inhaled the cinnamon-spice of his cologne. “I don’t know how much showering we’ll get accomplished.” Sliding her hands around the broad expanse of his ribs, she ran the back of her knuckles across his abdomen. Washboard muscles jumped in time with the sudden catch of his breath.
“I think we can manage.” Brandon leaned forward to drop his mouth onto her shoulder and one large palm covered her breast.
Natalya dipped her fingers lower, slipping beneath the tight waistband of his jeans. Her middle finger touched the erect, smooth head of his cock and Brandon’s body jerked. He let out a hiss. The sound scalded through her skin, spreading heat through her veins and crackling through her pussy. One small, insignificant—maybe not so insignificant—reaction from him, and she was wet and ready.
Good Lord, she should be ashamed at how easily her body responded to Brandon Moretti.
Instead, she felt utterly at ease. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. However, while the act itself might be, all the things Brandon did to her insides, the parts he couldn’t physically touch, were as unnatural as snow in the Sahara. But it was this freakish feeling that made everything so innate.
She popped the solitary brass button on his jeans and lowered his zipper. His cock jutted forth arrogantly. Just like the man. All dominance. Yet nothing like the control-freak Dmitri had been.
Brandon moved away from her inquisitive fingers before she could savor the heat of his cock against her palms. Smiling that sensual smile that always made her heart trip, he peeled off his jeans and gestured
at the open shower door. “We’re getting water all over my floor.”
With a laugh, she stepped under the hot spray. He joined her, shutting the door behind him. Water ran in rivulets over his hard chest and trickled down his abdomen. She traced a nail along the path of one roaming droplet, over a defined pectoral, around a puckered nipple, lower to the trail of dark hair beneath his navel. Lower still to the base of his erection.
Brandon’s body tightened visibly. Natalya took full advantage of his anticipation and slowly closed her fingers around the swollen length of his c
ock. She gave him a firm squeeze.
He slapped an open palm on the slick tile wall and sucked in a sharp breath.
“You like that?” she whispered thickly.
“Do you have to ask?”
His voice was low and hoarse, and it scraped pleasantly over the aroused nerve endings on her skin. She shivered, despite the steady stream of hot water. No, she didn’t have to ask. The tight bunch of his buttocks and the rigid nature of his muscular thighs revealed more than words. She released her fingers just enough to slide her palm down the hard length of him. His hips followed the retreat of her hand, his erection pushing through her fingers as he closed his eyes and exhaled long and slow.
“You took care of me last night.” Her hand worked a steady rhythm as she spoke. “But you didn’t give me much chance to do the same.”
“Ah, sweetheart, you have no idea—” A low groan rumbled in his throat as she slipped her free hand between his thighs to gently cup his balls. “Shit, Natalya, this isn’t…” He sucked in another harsh breath, his jaw tightening. “Showering.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Wanting to give him the same ecstasy he’d so willingly given her in the wee hours of morning, she eased to her knees and swirled the tip of her tongue around the smooth head in her hand. His hips jerked, and a bead of salty moisture touched her tongue. Her womb constricted instinctively. The tingling between her legs became a gnawing ache. Emboldened by his primitive reaction, she closed her lips around his cock’s wide head.
“Natalya.” Brandon ground out with difficulty. His fingers pushed her wet hair out of her face, then curled into her scalp. None too gently, he tugged on her hair, urging her to stand. “Not… a good… idea.”
Ignoring his protests, she suckled at the tip, lapped with her tongue. Guided him with the push and slide of her hand. She wouldn’t take him all the way, but she wanted him like he’d been in the kitchen the night before. Lacking control. Reservations abandoned. Not the gentle, consummate lover he’d been the many times after.
Her wish came true as she increased the pressure of her fingers and ran her tongue across the sensitive ridge on the underside of his swollen tip. She felt his desire begin to rise. His hand tightened painfully on her hair, forcing her to either stand up or loose a thick fistful. The instant her feet touched the floor, Brandon slid an arm around her waist and backed her to the wall. His other hand curved around her thigh, lifting it, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist.
Natalya obliged. Hot and hard, his cock pressed against her inner thigh, making it impossible to resist the urge to wiggle against him. Her body throbbed with want of him.
He hoisted her higher and thrust in deep. Their combined groans echoed off the walls. Feet braced wide to keep from slipping, he held her with ease. She caught his mouth, as hungry for her kiss as she was for the rest of him. He gave it to her, but only for an instant before he withdrew, his body retreating as well.
“No,” he murmured as he bent forward to catch a droplet of water with his lips. “Look at me. No barriers. Let me in, Natalya.” His scalding gaze latched onto hers as he thrust in high.
He filled her to perfection. His body, slickened with water, heated from desire, merged with hers. The innumerable pressure points of contact overwhelmed her. He was there. Everywhere. Forcing her to be right there with him, and dear God, she didn’t want to resist. She couldn’t imagine making love to Brandon any other way but with every portion of her being. Pleasure pulsed through her veins, and her vagina clamped around his thick length.
She angled her hips and fastened her hands on his shoulders to stop the sudden dizzying pitch of the shower floor. He pushed in again, rolled his hips to stroke her clitoris, and a pleasured cry slipped off her lips. She blinked, only for an instant, unable to stop the reflexive action, then locked onto his soulful stare once more. In those tawny eyes, emotion glinted bright, and she knew instinctively, he’d managed to unveil the same unfettered feeling in hers. How could he not? She was completely, devastatingly susceptible to this man.
“Brandon,” she exhaled as a tidal wave of bliss built to a slow rise.
“I’m here,” he whispered. He hit her hard and deep, his breathing matching the velocity of hers. “Always.” For one brief moment, he broke their spellbinding eye contact to plant a firm kiss on her mouth. “Always.”
Natalya curled her nails into his shoulders as he increased the tempo. His promise, something she was certain he hadn’t intended to say, combined with the staggering intimacy of looking into his eyes when they were as close as two people could be, sent her crashing over the edge. Ecstasy stormed through her body. She cried out with the force of it, dimly aware of his hoarse shout.
Thirty-six
B
randon gathered the long thick lengths of Natalya’s hair in a fluffy towel and squeezed the water out. He held it there, admiring the gentle slope to her creamy shoulder before flicking his gaze to the mirror and meeting her turbulent green eyes. Something had happened to him, to them, in the shower. He couldn’t put a name to it, wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he knew he had changed the moment he’d surged into orgasm while staring into the depths of her soul. Stepping away, he tossed the towel onto the toilet and gave her a smile that disguised his internal quaking. “How about Chinese for dinner?”
“That sounds good.” Her fingertips dragged down his arm, as if she too shared the need to maintain contact.
Right now, though, Brandon needed distance to digest how easily and unexpectedly a man could fall in love. Even when he’d sworn never to do so. When he didn’t want to.
Only, as he left the bathroom and tugged on clean clothes, he realized it was no longer a question of want, or intentions. It was damn well happening, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to cut off this flowing channel of emotion.
No. No, he didn’t. It was the most frightening experience he’d ever known—worse than any narcotics sting gone bad. Yet thrilling all the same.
The sensible thing would be to take her back to her condo, drop off her car, walk to Fantasia, and let her go before he couldn’t. He’d fired her; they’d identify the killer, and he’d have no cause to see Natalya again. Further, he didn’t need any more reminders of the danger he’d dragged her into. If he walked away now, the mafia couldn’t use her as a tool to get to him.
Yet, he couldn’t. He could tell himself day and night all the reasons that he should, but he couldn’t shake the instinctive awareness that cutting her out meant carving off a piece of him he wasn’t ready to sacrifice.
“Holy shit,” he exhaled as he stepped into the hall and pulled the bedroom door shut behind him. “This isn’t real.”
Any minute, he’d wake up on the couch, Natalya still in his arms, and discover everything that had happened today was all just part of a wicked nightmare. His ability to love had died with his family. Fifteen years of cold, unfeeling existence didn’t just change in a mere four days. Unlike Rory, he couldn’t see himself behind a desk, taking the safe approach and settling into a family man. While he couldn’t see himself doing undercover work the rest of his life, either, desk jobs were just too boring and the department had made it clear he wasn’t likely to make it into organized crime in this lifetime.
Maybe homicide. Yeah. If he solved this chain of murders and dragged in a serial killer, he might well convince Joe to let him stay on homicide. That’d keep him out of the station and relatively clear of bullets. Long hours, but still enough time in the day to come home and—
Shit! He squeezed his temples with the base of his palms. No. He was not going to start down those paths. Allowing her to rummage through his bathroom drawers did not equivocate to giving her one of her own.
Though a second razor was a necessity. No way in hell would he allow her to use his. He’d seen what could happen to an unsuspecting man’s face. Vaguely he remembered carving up his own when his twelve-year-old sister had gotten her hands on his razor the summer between his freshman and sopho
more years at college. Hell, he’d prided himself on his ability to outsmart that female instinct by keeping them out of his bathroom. He refused to join the ranks of men who jumped into their cars with tiny pieces of toilet paper stuck to their chins.
A wry smirk twisted the corner of his mouth as his unease settled, and he began to find humor in his predicament. On the positive side of things, he’d definitely found a way to dissuade her from stealing his razor, and it hadn’t even provoked an argument.
A thump drifted through the walls as she rummaged around in his bathroom, doing God only knew what. He liked her there. Really, truly, liked her there.
“You about ready to go? I’m starving,” he hollered.
“Coming. Just finishing up.”
His blissful little reverie shattered at the sound of an engine’s roar. He glanced up, looking out the window as a car rushed by. Like snapshot images, the warnings of danger flashed in his memory: the Peeping Tom, smashed chocolates, vandalized car, massacred bird, and one little boy used as a message bearer. Chills invaded his blood. Natalya was in very real danger. He didn’t dare leave her at Kate’s or her condo or anywhere alone tonight. And he didn’t want her at the club where she could get herself into more trouble.
He fished his phone off the island and dialed Aaron.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to handle the club tonight.”
“What the fuck? I’m stuck in California, man. I’m going to be late myself.”
“Stuck?”
Aaron’s harassed sigh drifted through the line. “Blame it on Rory. I told him to meet me, and I sat around and waited on his ass. He didn’t show. I’m just now getting to Newberry. I’ll be another three hours, easy. If I can catch up with him when I get back, he’s evidently got something from Russia for us.”
From Russia? Who the fuck did Rory know in Russia? Brandon dismissed the oddity and glanced at the clock above his couch. “It’s just shy of five now. Give Jill a call, have her handle the back of the house. Have Sergei handle the front till you get in.”
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