Hers to Tame

by Rhenna Morgan

  “Good business, or bad business?”

  Cassie swung the door to the hallway open and cast Bonnie one last look. “I haven’t decided yet. Could have been the lottery, or the biggest wrong turn of my life.”

  Chapter Five

  The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

  It’d been two days since Roman had uttered those words to Kir. Two days, one murdered soldier and two perplexing encounters with Cassie to be precise, and Kir still couldn’t shake them.

  At close to eight on a Sunday, the streets around Cassie’s neighborhood weren’t nearly as busy as they would be on a weekend. A fact Kir appreciated given his drifting thoughts. Less foot traffic meant less need for concentration as he navigated Marigny’s neighborhood and more time to cement his plan of attack.

  He wasn’t lying to himself. He accepted his attraction to Cassie. Could allow himself to appreciate once more the exceptional chemistry between them now that he understood what had driven her to ignore his calls. It was also apparent her attraction to him hadn’t dimmed either.

  But that attraction wouldn’t rule him.

  His father had made that mistake with Kir’s mother and had not only paid with his honor and his life, but had left his son to bear the shame. The only thing that mattered now was protecting his family. Living up to the position and privilege he’d been given when he moved to American with Sergei.

  Kir steered his Audi into a prime spot on the street just across from Cassie’s address, the throaty purr of the A7’s engine one that never failed to soothe him. Reminded him how far he’d come from the frightened and disgraced nine-year-old his mother had essentially sold to save her own ass.

  Across the street, Cassie’s matchbox of a house sat waiting. One of many such tiny homes that lined this neighborhood’s streets and still went for two-hundred thousand and up merely because of their proximity to the Quarter. Most were charming despite their limited size, but Cassie’s was a ramshackle mess.

  He popped the door and unfolded himself from the driver’s seat. Only a minimal swath of sunset remained on the horizon, leaving the skies overhead a deepening blue. For the first time in days, the humidity had lifted, and a light breeze caressed his face, neck and forearms as he strode across the street.

  Her home was a break-in waiting to happen. The windows were thin enough they could shatter with little more than a tap, and he’d bet his prized album collection he could break the front door in with a halfhearted kick.

  A heaviness weighted his chest, and a chill out of place with the summer night danced along his shoulders. A woman like Cassie shouldn’t live alone in a neighborhood like this. At least not without proper protection. If she’d been smart, she’d have stayed at the house she’d lived at before. At least it was distanced from the drunks and trouble that plagued this part of town.

  He jogged up the stoop and lifted his hand to knock.

  Before his knuckles could make contact with the faded wood, it swung open and Cassie stepped across the threshold, crowding him out of her way as she closed the door behind her. “Hey. Sorry I didn’t see you sooner. I could have saved you the trip across the street.”

  While she’d been dressed conservatively the day before in a light blue suit that accented her beautiful eyes, today she’d gone casual. A stylish white linen button-down with rolled-up sleeves and fitted jeans that perfectly showcased her fit body. She’d cuffed the hems to midway up her shins and added tan heels that gave him all too many tempting, yet inappropriate thoughts.

  Most striking though were her flushed cheeks and overly bright eyes. Suspicious to be sure. But then, perhaps the inside of her house left even more to be desired than the exterior did. Either that, or she had something tucked away inside she didn’t want Kir to see.

  Or someone.

  The thought shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did, but the reaction prodded him like a dagger between his ribs. “For future reference, it’s not only unnecessary that you watch for me and meet me at my car, it’s undesired.”

  “Why?” She pulled her keys from her purse, slid one into the lock and threw the bolt. “It’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

  Another jab that took the dagger deeper. Whether she’d intended to was beside the point. “Dating or not, I find the idea of a man not calling on a woman at her door repulsive.”

  “Repulsive?” Spinning back to him, she dropped the keys into the black hole of her enormous purse and tucked her hair behind one ear. He couldn’t exactly call the expression on her face a frown. More that of a woman thoroughly confused. “That’s a bit strong, don’t you think?”

  “Failing to personally meet a woman at her door is lazy and ignoble, both of which are repulsive traits in my book. So, no. I don’t think it’s too strong at all.”

  Her instant smile was disarming. A bright moonbeam shining on an otherwise black velvet night. “Did you just say ignoble?”

  “Are you unfamiliar with the word?”

  “Are you kidding?” Not waiting for him, she flounced down the steps, but glanced back at him at the bottom of the stoop. “Impressed is more like it. I’d say more than half the men I know don’t have that word in their vocabulary and English is their native language.” She waited until he reached her on the street level then added, “Aunt Frieda says I’ve got a word fetish.”

  “Is that so?” He cupped her elbow and checked the street for oncoming traffic before he guided her across.

  His touch startled her for a moment, but she rebounded quickly and stayed in lock step the rest of the way. “Well, I do have a love for writing, and I come from a family full of people who require three-syllable words, minimum, for most conversations, so you can’t be too surprised.”

  Actually, he was. Pleasantly so since he found it disappointing how little most people availed themselves of the options available in the English language. But then, every time he’d been around her, she’d found some new and interesting way to leave him awestruck.

  He opened the passenger door and motioned her in. “An articulate woman who insists on frugal outings and strictly platonic relations.” He waited until she was seated and looked up at him. “You do keep me on my toes, Miss McClintock.” With that, he threw the door shut, got himself situated and pulled out of his parking spot.

  Cassie made it all of two blocks before she rubbed her palms against her jean-clad thighs and studied the neighborhood out her passenger window. “So, where are we going?”

  “Ever the seeking and curious mind.” He turned onto Rampart Street. “Nowhere extravagant, I assure you. How about you share how the remainder of your evening went yesterday and leave our destination as a surprise?”

  Her features pinched in a mix of dismay and consideration. “I’m not especially good with surprises.”

  “Ah, but I’m quite fond of the expressions you make when I keep you guessing, so I suspect this surprise won’t be the last. Besides, you’re a reporter. The vast majority of your job centers around new discoveries.”

  She hmmphed and faced forward again, but the look on her face said she couldn’t really argue his point.

  “So? How was the rest of your night?” he prodded.

  “Well, I didn’t mispronounce anyone’s name for the ten o’clock newscast and actually managed some decent banter with my colleagues between segues, so Lizbet won’t have any new ammunition to shoot me with on Tuesday.”

  “Your nemesis again?”

  “Mmm.” She might have meant the response to be matter of fact, but the tension in her mouth and the way her fingers tightened against her thighs made him wonder if she was imagining choking someone. “Dark hair that belongs in a Miss Clairol commercial. Five-three. Lots of curves and knows how to use ’em.”

  “You don’t sound like you care for this person.”

  Cassie shrugged and kept her gaze trained on the sho
ps sweeping past. “I don’t trust her. She flirts with the guys on our team to get ’em to help her with things and seems to get off on cutting people down just to undermine their confidence.”

  “She’s done this with you?”

  She scoffed. “It’s her favorite pastime.”

  “Does it work? In undermining your confidence, I mean.”

  Quiet filled the car’s interior, only the soft hum of the Audi’s engine breaking the silence. While her face was in profile, her mood seemed too dim. “It didn’t used to, but lately...yeah, she gets me every now and then.”

  “And the difference between now and before?”

  She let out a long, heavy sigh, then swiveled her head to meet his gaze. “She’s gunning for my weekend spot. I know it. She knows it. And unfortunately, she’s the one killing it with stories lately.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen this woman on your station. What’s her last name?”

  “Montlake. Lizbet Montlake.”

  An easy enough name to track down and research if a man were so inclined. Given the way the woman upset Cassie, Kir was suddenly very inclined. “Sounds like a soap opera character.”

  Cassie snickered at that. “Oh, drama is her middle name. Particularly, if she can use it to high-jump to the next rung on her career ladder.” She huffed out an I’m done with this topic breath and stared at Kir. “Enough about me. Tell me about your night. Have you recovered from your birthday weekend?”

  Considering his birthday weekend had been spent dealing with the death of one of his men, that answer was a resounding no. But she didn’t need to know that. Instead, he recounted of the uneventful hours he’d spent well after midnight running through the varied finances of the businesses he and his crew were responsible for.

  “Not at all the way I’d picture a man like you spending a Saturday night,” she said as he pulled up in front of the unpretentious establishment he’d chosen on Common Street. Located in the street level of a gray high-rise building, most people would walk right past Merchant coffee shop if not for the simple white sign hung above it. Their reputation, though, was solid and the destination remote enough on a Sunday that he wouldn’t have to worry about too many patrons to overhear. “Is this where we’re going?”

  “It is.” He nodded, exited the vehicle and rounded for her door.

  Not surprisingly, she already had it open and was halfway out before he could get there. “You are aware that custom dictates a man open a door for a woman, correct?”

  “I’m aware custom traditionally dictates such an action for a man on a date with a woman, but this isn’t a date.”

  “Perhaps it is a behavior relegated to dating for other men, but I think we’ve established I am not the average male.” He shut the door, palmed the inner crook of her elbow and gently steered her toward the entrance.

  “Well,” she murmured slightly under her breath, her gaze locked on his hand. She let out a slow and steadying exhale then lifted her gaze to him. “I don’t think I can argue with that one.”

  Inside, the air was comfortably cool and the red swivel stools that lined the bar at the front all thankfully empty. A few individuals manned the more casual chairs and sofas near the front, so he motioned her toward the contemporary white tables near the back. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, and I’ll order it. If I recall, you’re fond of sweets and theirs are exceptional.”

  She quickly scanned the menu overhead and shook her head. “No. No sweets. I’ve got plenty of those stashed away at home.” Her gaze narrowed on the coffee selections. She frowned a second later and started digging in her purse. “Just give me an espresso.”

  Stubborn woman. At some point he was going to have to break her of the notion he’d ever allow her to use her own money when she was with him, and as they said, there was no time like the present. “If you’re reaching for money, you can stop.”

  Her head snapped up. “But we talked about this.”

  “No, you intimated you would pay, and I ignored it. But it seems that I need to make my intentions for this and all future outings very clear. Paying for anything when I’m escorting you will not happen. Such a prospect is untenable to me.”

  “Untenable?”

  “Are you unfamiliar with the word, or have I struck on your word porn fetish?”

  Her grin was instant, and her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Word porn. I like it. Aunt Frieda will have a heyday with that one.” The smile slipped almost as fast as he’d earned it. “But it’s not fair for you to pay all the time.”

  He moved close enough she had no choice but to crane her head to hold his gaze. He lowered his voice. “It’s not about fair, milaya. Where I come from, a man with any semblance of honor will always look out for the woman he is with.”

  Her eyes were so wide. Filled with wonder. And her lips parted perfectly, ready for his kiss. That first night at Bacchanal he’d done just that. Even with her friends looking on, he’d been tempted to drown in her taste.

  But that wasn’t what she wanted.

  Wasn’t what he needed.

  “If it’s any help,” he added, “remember that I’m a very wealthy man, and the odds of anything you order here or anywhere else putting even a dent in my income are very small. Consider it a challenge to do your worst.”

  She swallowed hard and managed a dazed nod. “Fine.” The rasp in her voice moved over him like a soft caress, and her shy smile made him want to wrap her up and keep the rest of the world far away from her. “Then make it a mocha latte and add one of those almond croissants.”

  His hand was at her cheek before he could check the motion, his thumb tracing a path against her delicate skin. “Well done. There’s hope for you yet.”

  He placed the order, adding a macchiato and a lemon burrata cheesecake for himself. Rather than finding her waiting for him at a table, she stood near the farthest wall staring up at the many photos mounted in a haphazard pattern, her hands firmly planted on her hips.

  “I recall you mentioning a love of photography.” He slid the tray onto the tabletop and stood beside her. “What interests you about these?”

  Her gaze moved slowly from one to the other, a soft wonder he’d never seen before etched on her face. “They’re very evocative. Candid, but captured at a time that shows a depth of personality or emotion.” She faced him and, for a moment, that beautiful softness was aimed solely his way. Her wry grin crept in, though, and swept it away. “It’s harder to master than you’d think.”

  “I suspect you’ve got a knack for it.”

  She shook her head and pulled out a chair. “Not really. I wish it were, but composition and lighting are more my specialty.”

  He waited until she was seated before he followed suit. “I’d like to see your work.”

  “Oh, it’s just a hobby,” she said as she gathered her items from the tray. “Something I do to unwind or give my brain a chance to untangle something difficult.” Whether she realized it or not, her voice took on a melancholy tone and the smile on her face was disconcertingly sad.

  Neither sat well with him, but before he could find a way to dig into the reason for the change, she seemed to shrug the response off and lifted her head. “So, I know you want me to help you figure out who’s been the most impacted by Alfonsi no longer being around, but I need something from you before I can do that.”

  Interesting. Definitely not the direction he’d anticipated their conversation to go. “Is this a negotiation?”

  “More of an assurance so I can sleep at night.”

  Reasonable. And indicative that his feisty reporter had been thinking a lot about what he needed since yesterday. “Then by all means...tell me what you require.”

  She sipped her coffee, her gaze trained on the table. Even once she set the mug back on its saucer, it took her a handful of seconds to seem to find the words. Once she did, sh
e directed her attention squarely on him. “I need to know what you plan to do with the information I give you.”

  If it weren’t for years of dealing with powerful and sometimes hotheaded vors, he might have flinched at the request. Or at least shown some subtle surprise or concern that betrayed his hesitancy.

  Instead, he forked up a bite of his cheesecake. “I don’t believe I ever commented on the need to take a specific action. Only that I sought to learn the names of people significantly impacted by Alfonsi’s disappearance.”

  “And then you said, ‘Angry people tend to take rash actions. Rash actions aren’t good for my family.’”

  He had said that. Almost word for word. “You have a very good memory.” Setting aside his fork, he retrieved his phone from the interior pocket of his suit and pulled up a picture one of his men had taken at Sergei and Evette’s holiday wedding just six months ago. Much like the pictures Cassie had appreciated on the walls, the image was beautifully uncontrived and was one of the few photos he’d allowed himself to be captured in for years. He showed it to her. “These are the people I seek to protect.”

  Cassie leaned in, the softness he’d glimpsed returning as she zoomed in the screen to better absorb the details. Sergei and Evette stood in the middle with Emerson centered in front of them. Roman and Kir flanked the trio. As always, Evette was all class, done up in a form-fitting strapless ivory dress that hit just above her knees and heels that accented her legs in a way that left Sergei’s eyes hungry. The men were in classic black suits, but it was the smiles on their collective faces that made the image.

  A family.

  However oddly they’d come together, they were his base. His smiles. His peace. His escape from a world of shame and lack.

  She lifted her gaze to his, a silent question in her eyes.

  He answered it the best he could without giving her more than she needed to hear. “It’s better to prevent rash actions before they occur. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Sitting back in her chair, she peeled off a bite of croissant. “You won’t use the names I give you for anything bad?”