Hers to Tame

by Rhenna Morgan

  Okaaaaay.

  She slid onto the soft leather seat.

  He shut the door and rounded behind the car.

  Not a reason she should worry about? What did that mean? Typically, if a person needed better security there was every reason to worry.

  Folding himself into the driver’s seat, he quickly glanced in her direction and ensured her seat belt was in place. He must have noticed the death grip she had on her clutch, because the humor he’d sported at the front door made a comeback on his face. “Relax, Cassie. Everything is fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “See, but that statement alone makes me think there is something I should be concerned about.”

  He fired up the engine and pulled the car away from the curb. “You’re a very beautiful woman. One who spends much of her time in the public eye. Is it so shocking that a man would make your safety his concern?”

  Well, put like that, it sounded fine, but she still couldn’t shake the sense that something else was going on. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I have no doubt that you can.” He glanced her direction then refocused on the road in front of him. “That doesn’t mean that you will.”

  Her brain went completely silent. No counter questions. No clues as to what he was talking about. Just that stunned lack of cooperation that came when a person had been caught completely off guard. She finally opened her mouth to ask him point-blank what was going on.

  He cut her off. “How is work?”

  The about-face in topic rattled her rationalization skills a little more. “Um...it’s been fine. With the rash of robberies reported in the Seventh Ward this week, I haven’t really had time to work on any feature stories of my own, but the assigned gigs were good.”

  “Your newscasts yesterday and today seemed to go well also.”

  A fresh rush of adrenaline flared beneath her skin, and her cheeks warmed. “You watched me?”

  “Of course I watched you.”

  “Why?”

  While he didn’t take his eyes off the road, a small smile was still evident. His voice was low, but purposeful when he spoke. “Because I wanted to.”

  The flush beneath her skin turned to pure heat, and as short and shallow as her breathing was, she didn’t dare speak right away. She traced the latch on her clutch and scrambled for something neutral to talk about. Anything to get them back to some semblance of normal to keep her mind from dangerous thoughts. “I tried to do a little more research between newscasts this weekend. Went back through some old interviews to see if I could dig up any other ideas on who you might be concerned about.”

  “Did you?” He briefly looked her way then went back to navigating to wherever they were headed. “And how did that go?”

  She shrugged. “It didn’t, really. All the conversations and people were pretty much the way I remembered it. Although, there was a man I interviewed that seemed off to me. Both when I interviewed him the first time and again when I watched the recording this time.”

  “What man?”

  “One of Alfonsi’s bodyguards.”

  For a moment, Kir was silent, considering. “What bothered you about it?”

  Hmm. How to put into words something she still wasn’t sure made sense? “I guess I just always assumed that, if a person has a bodyguard, they have a guard all the time.”

  “And his guard said something to imply Alfonsi didn’t?”

  “More than implied. He said the day Alfonsi disappeared, he’d first seen him at his office that morning. When I clarified and asked if he’d been the one to drive Alfonsi to work, he said that sometimes Alfonsi drove himself. That sometimes he didn’t want a guard.”

  Kir nodded. “It’s true. Sergei nearly always has protection, but not always.”

  “Hmm.” She sighed and studied the tall brick buildings that lined North Peters Street. “I guess it’s not as big of a deal as I thought.”

  Kir cocked his head. “It might be. If Alfonsi had protection the majority of the time, but opted to forgo it, there could be something he was doing he didn’t want his men, or anyone else, to know of.”

  “Well, if he was smart enough to keep his own men in the dark, I’m not sure how we’d figure out what he was up to.”

  Rather than comment on her statement, Kir swept into a shallow circle drive that fronted a crowded restaurant.

  No, not just any restaurant.

  André’s Riverfront—the newest expansion to a longstanding New Orleans tradition. While she hadn’t done any stories on the Trahan family’s newest endeavor, there’d been no secret that Sergei had been a major player in the new and super posh development. While she’d never dreamed of stepping foot in the place, she’d heard people scrambled for months to get a reservation.

  She stared up through the passenger’s side window at the elegant lighted marquee overhead and the swank entry with its smoky windows and black carpet. “I wish you’d told me we were coming here. I’d have gone for something a little dressier.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, putting the gearshift in park. “You look exceptional.”

  He got out of the car just as a valet opened her door. To his credit, the valet tried to help her out, but Kir cut him off before the eager young man could fully extend his hand.

  As soon as he had her outside her door, Kir settled a possessive hand at her hip and guided her right through the lobby, tipping his head to the maître d’ as they passed.

  Where the exterior was everything bold and showy, the interior was pure midseventies class. More black carpet. Crimson velvet chairs and rounded corner booths. Gold detailing and crystal chandeliers. The people in the lobby and seated at the tables might have been wearing contemporary attire, but it was all too easy to imagine women wearing dresses with flared skirts and suit-clad men smoking cigarettes.

  “Wow,” she murmured low enough only Kir could hear. “No wonder everyone’s clamoring to eat here.”

  “Wait until you taste the food,” Kir said equally low. “The first time Sergei visited the original André’s was when he decided to enter the restaurant business.”

  Sergei.

  The main person she was here to meet.

  To come face to face with every dire or frightening scenario she’d played out in her head.

  A large rectangular table sat isolated from the rest of the crowd at the back of the room. Several people were already seated, but the person situated at the end of the table and already staring at her was unmistakable.

  Sergei Petrovyh.

  Pictures didn’t do him justice, either in looks or in intimidation. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark demeanor. And every ounce of his fierce attention was lasered on her.

  Her heart, already fatigued from the night’s unexpected thrills and highly visceral responses, stuttered as though it was tempted to stop altogether. Her throat constricted to the point she couldn’t breathe. She gripped Kir’s hand at her hip and her steps faltered. “Kir—”

  He spun her around before she could finish and moved in close, the warmth of his body coiling around her and melting the sudden chill against her skin.

  She braced her hand atop his sternum. Beneath her palm, the fine cotton of his button-down was cool, and his heart thrummed a steady rhythm unlike the riotous beat of her own. “I’m not sure my being here is a good idea.”

  “Look at me, vozlyublennaya.” Soft words. Comforting ones that matched the strength of Kir’s arms around her.

  She lifted her gaze.

  “You are exactly where I want you to be, and you are safe,” he said. “Never more safe than you are in this moment. You have my vow.”

  The particular wording was puzzling. Something she might have dug deeper to sort out if her mind hadn’t rerouted and coughed up a mental replay of her behavior. She shook her head and hung it on an ironic laugh. “Well, that had to have m
ade a particularly poor impression, didn’t it?”

  “Why? Because you showed you are anxious about meeting my family?” He gently nudged her head upright with his fingers at her chin. “Relax. Forget what you think you know. Forget what you’ve heard and what you’ve been told to believe. Spend the evening with me. Enjoy yourself and get to know the people I call my own.”

  The mysterious undercurrent that had woven through all of their interactions thus far blossomed larger. Bolder and sparking with an energy that fueled a sense of anticipation.

  “What’s going on?” The question came out as little more than a whisper.

  “We’re eating dinner, having drinks and hopefully laughing a fair amount before I take you home.”

  It felt like he’d edited a portion of his agenda from the tail end of his statement, but given the shaky emotional terrain she was already bumbling through, she opted to let it go. “You know what I meant.”

  He studied her for long moments, the message behind his warm, confident gaze one she wasn’t sure it was even wise to try and comprehend. “I do. But there is nothing for you to do tonight, save enjoy yourself. The rest will take care of itself.”

  Inhaling slowly, he inched back and raked her head to toe. “Now, are you steady enough to resume your grand entrance? Or do I need to do something more drastic to unplug your mind?”

  She cocked one eyebrow and shot him her best mock frown. “Oh, no you don’t. I know what methods you use to distract women, and I need my wits about me tonight.”

  He dipped his head, all gallant formality. “As you wish.” He turned her toward the table and slid his arm back around her waist. “Though, I can’t make any promises about what happens after dinner.”

  He couldn’t have timed the suggestive hint any better, the proximity of the table decreasing swiftly enough with each step that she had no choice but to brace for introductions rather than remind him of their platonic relationship.

  Thankfully, no one appeared to monitor the rest of their approach. Not even Sergei, whose sole attention was now focused on the young boy seated to the right of him, the one she’d seen in Kir’s picture days ago.

  The second they reached the far end of the table, though, all bets were off.

  The petite dark-haired woman with an amazing pixie haircut at Sergei’s left homed in on them first.

  Then the boy.

  Sergei was the last to turn his head, but the moment he pushed back in his chair and stood, every other man at the table stood as well.

  Kir led her directly to Sergei, the proprietorial weight of his arm around her back surprising for such a gathering, but one she appreciated all the same.

  Sergei glanced at Kir’s hand at her hip, and his mouth twitched. A string of complicated-sounding Russian words rolled from his tongue, every one of them aimed toward Kir, but the wry humor behind them was unmistakable.

  Across the table, Roman chuckled.

  Kir didn’t seem the least deterred by whatever was said. Merely cleared his throat and lifted his chin a notch. “Allow me to introduce Cassie McClintock. Cassie, this is Sergei Petrovyh.”

  Sergei extended his hand. “Miss McClintock. We’re very happy to have you join us.”

  Cassie took the hand he offered, his grip firm, yet not frighteningly so. “Please, just call me Cassie. Miss McClintock is way too formal for me.”

  “You sound like my bride. Though, I must confess, I enjoy the formality now that she carries my surname.” Sergei motioned to the woman beside him. “Cassie, my wife, Evette.”

  Before his introduction could fully die out, Evette was on her feet, her beautiful hazel eyes bright with excitement. “Girl, am I glad to meet you!” She wrapped Cassie up like she’d known her for years rather than seconds then stepped back and motioned to the open seats to her left. “I saved you both a spot so I can hear all about the girl that’s got Kir so kerfluffled.”

  Kir? Kerfluffled?

  Surely, they weren’t talking about the same guy. And what kind of mob wife used the word kerfluffled?

  Evette motioned to the other people around the table, starting with the big guy in the chair next to Kir. With loose auburn hair to his shoulders, a big build and attire to rival Kir’s, he looked like a Scottish warlord turned fashion model. “This is Axel McKee, and next to him is his wife, Lizzy Hemming.”

  “Oh my God!” She quickly shook hands with Axel and offered him an old-fashioned how-do-you-do, but the majority of her attention was on the brunette rockstar who rose to her feet beside him. For the last year, Lizzy Hemming had all but dominated the charts, her powerful voice and exceptional music casting a wide net for followers.

  Cassie held out her hand. “I’m thrilled to meet you! I’m a huge fan.”

  Lizzy accepted Cassie’s outstretched hand. “Glad to meet you, too. Always good to meet a fellow music lover.”

  Keeping the introductions moving, Evette motioned to an older lady across the table. “This is Dorothy. I’ve known her as long as I’ve been alive. My momma worked at her diner in Mid-City when I was little.”

  “Diner as in Dorothy’s Diner?” Cassie said. “That was one of the first places my aunt Frieda took me when I moved here. I had two helpings of blackberry cobbler and that was after I’d already gorged on pork chops and potato casserole.”

  A proud smile curved Dorothy’s thin lips. Despite her gray hair and wrinkled face, there was an undeniable strength in her demeanor. “That’s the one, child. You and your auntie come visit again, this time you ask for me. We’ll get ya fixed up with something extra special.”

  Evette waved at Roman next to Dorothy. “If you know Kir, I’m gonna guess you already know Roman.” Her gaze locked on the young boy next to Sergei and her smile deepened. “And this handsome boy is my son, Emerson.”

  Cassie tipped her head. “Nice to meet you, Emerson.”

  “Likewise.” His attention shifted to Kir, and an ornery smirk crept across his face. “She’s pretty, Uncle Kir. I think you did good.”

  The Uncle Kir hit her first.

  The next realization was the staggering fact that everyone apparently thought they were a thing.

  Well, duh, Cassie. His arm is still around you. What else would they think?

  Thankfully, Kir interjected to cover her fluster. “Of course, she’s pretty. And smart and funny, too. After all, I have exceptional taste.” With a knowing wink, he motioned Cassie to her seat. “I think you’d best have a seat, vozlyublennaya. They’ve been building their list of questions for you since Thursday, and the restaurant only stays open so long—even for their boss.”

  Cassie took her seat and the familiar comfort that had seemed to grip everyone before their arrival resumed, each person commenting on different options on the menu, or taking up their previous conversation. She leaned closer to Kir as soon as he’d settled and murmured, “What’s vozlyublennaya? You’ve said that a few times tonight.”

  Clearly, Evette wasn’t paying any attention to whatever Dorothy was saying to her son, because she chuckled and answered before Kir could. “It’s an endearment. Sweetheart, I think. Right, babe?” she said to Sergei.

  Sergei grinned. “Da.”

  Sweetheart?

  She twisted her head to Kir, a silent question and probably a healthy dose of surprise plastered all over her face.

  “All their endearments sound sexy, if you ask me,” Evette added. “Malyshka. Daragaya. Zolatka. Milaya. Russians don’t mess around with their sweet talk.”

  “That last one,” Cassie said, taking advantage Evette’s chattiness, “what’s it mean?”

  “Milaya?” Evette said.

  “Darling or dear,” Roman answered. “A term of affection I’m not certain I’ve ever heard cross my brother’s lips.”

  The glare Kir aimed at Roman wasn’t exactly one of irritation, but held a warning all the s
ame. “Perhaps there would be more opportunities for me to share endearments with my woman if my family didn’t give her cause to run after only one dinner with them.”

  My woman.

  Had he just said that?

  In front of everyone?

  Part of her wanted to duck under the table and shake herself until she woke up. Another part wanted to punch him in the arm and demand he fess up with whatever the heck was going on.

  Lizzy snickered and plucked a slice of sourdough bread from the napkin-covered basket between her and Roman. “And here I thought the Dallas branch of our peculiar family was the only one with meddlesome people in it.”

  “Are ye kiddin’ me?” Axel said. “The second my mother and Ninette got their hooks in Sergei, the New Orleans crew was done for.”

  Cassie scanned the table, for the first time since the introductions had started fully comprehending no one outside Sergei, Roman, or Kir looked even remotely like what she’d expected, and not a one of them looked like blood kin. “I’m confused. You’re all related? Really?”

  “Might as well be,” Evette said. “It started with Axel’s mom, Sylvie, and her best friend, Ninette. Axel and Ninette’s boy, Jace, ended up being best friends, too. They picked up a few brothers they claimed as their own over the years, and now the brothers all have wives. Imagine one huge family with a whole lot of big personalities and even more heart, and you’ll get the idea.”

  “And Sylvie and Ninette basically rule the roost.” Lizzy pointed the knife she’d used to slather some butter onto her bread at Dorothy. “Though, I gotta say, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen them defer to, so it could be there’s a new alpha in town.”

  Lizzie frowned at her husband a second later and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell your mom or Ninette I said that.”

  “My lips are sealed, pet,” Axel said with a wink.

  Cassie looked to Sergei. Then Roman. Then Kir. “How does that figure in with the three of you?”

  Kir dipped his head toward Sergei. “The mothers essentially adopted him when a woman he’s close to from Russia ended up married to one of their own. Darya and Knox Torren.”