For long moments, tension riddled her body, every muscle poised as though uncertain how to proceed.
He caressed her spine. Her shoulder and arm. The nape of her neck. Waiting. Comforting her the only way he knew how.
Slowly, she uncurled her fist resting high on his belly and hesitantly drew an indecipherable pattern against his skin. “I’m not making this up, am I? You really want this.”
More than he ever remembered wanting anything. More than was rational or reasonable. “Yes, Cassie. I want this. And when you’re not thinking of all the reasons why you shouldn’t, I think you want it, too.” He kissed the top of her head and tightened his arm around her. “Now, sleep. Let go of your worries. We’ll deal with tomorrow when it gets here. Tonight, we rest.”
She nodded. An almost childlike motion that made him want to hide her behind the highest walls where nothing and no one could ever hurt her. An odd and slightly perplexing response he acknowledged wasn’t at all logical and wasn’t entirely sure how to contend with.
He stared through the darkness toward the ceiling, wondering at the fierceness behind his unexpected surge of protectiveness and savoring the feel of her next to him. How her body slowly eased and softened against his, and the way their legs entwined. Only when her breathing deepened to that of a person drifting into sleep and her head was weightless against his chest did he close his own eyes.
And let the promise born between them carry him into dreams of tomorrow.
Chapter Eleven
A ding. A pleasant, yet out of place sound in the realm of Cassie’s dream-quiet mind that lifted her slowly upward. Not quite awake, but no longer asleep either.
Had she heard something? Or had she imagined it?
She shook the thoughts off. She felt too good to care. Relaxed. Content and warm. Safe and protected.
Kir.
It was his arms around her. The strength and warmth of his body blanketing her back, and the steady rise and fall of his breath creating an almost meditative cocoon. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to think about anything except this exact moment and everything about last night that had led them to it.
She was so in over her head. A baby lamb tottering on shaky legs alongside a full-grown lion. All she’d been able to hear on the drive home and while they’d talked was a cacophony in her parents’ voices.
Are you insane?
Why are you standing here listening to this man?
He admitted he was mafiya.
You don’t fraternize with dangerous people. You stay away from them.
This situation is dangerous.
Be smart.
Run.
Run.
Run.
But she didn’t want to run. Didn’t want to listen to the voices in her head anymore. Not even a little bit. She liked being with him. Had always felt a little more alive in his presence. More centered and aware. She’d marveled at the sensation even from the beginning. How easy everything from conversation to chemistry flowed with him. How even the simplest experience felt richer and more vibrant with him in the equation.
And then there was his family.
They’d been kind. Thoughtful. Inquisitive and accepting. Aside from that initial, piercing stare, even Sergei had seemed to lower his guard and allow her a glimpse into the man behind the stern exterior. Maybe it made her stupid or naive, but she wanted what they had. Wanted to be around people who didn’t judge. Who didn’t appear to give two figs about how successful she was, or offer incessant opinions on how she should or shouldn’t be.
You and I will be.
He’d said it clearly. Unflinchingly.
And something inside her had whispered back a single Yes.
The ding sounded again. Definitely not her imagination, but the low sound of a text message coming from the living room.
Kir stirred behind her, drew in a long, sexy inhalation and nuzzled the spot just behind her ear. His low, sleep-sexy voice stoked all the memories of last night and promised more on the horizon. “Someone wants to talk to you quite badly, vozlyublennaya.”
“They’ve only texted twice. That’s not urgent enough to make me move.”
His rumbling chuckle and the languid press of his lips at the back of her neck sent a shiver down her spine. “You must have been sleeping quite deeply then because you missed the three that came before the last two.”
No way. No one ever texted her that often. Not unless something major was going on at work, or Aunt Frieda was out with her girlfriends tying one on—the latter of which shouldn’t be happening this early on a Monday morning.
With a groan, she shoved the covers aside and scooted out from the comfort of Kir’s arms. “Figures. The one day I decide to sleep in and be lazy, something newsworthy decides to happen in New Orleans.”
She padded to the bathroom and grabbed her short-yet-cozy blue chenille robe off the back of the door.
Kir watched her every step with unabashed delight, his sleepy smile only dimming when she pulled the sides of her robe around her and cinched the belt around her waist. “You know, you don’t have to get out of bed. You could ignore your phone and stay here with me.”
She aimed what she hoped was a stern look at him on the way out the door. “I have to work.”
“But you’re off on Mondays.”
“Only if there’s not an emergency.” In the living room, she snatched her purse from the coffee table. “It’s taken me two years to get to the point they call me first for big stories. No way I can ignore my phone, no matter how cozy I am.”
“Ah, the life of a cutting-edge news reporter.” Bedcovers shuffled and the soft swoosh of movement against the mattress followed. “I guess I’ll have to save my next bout of seduction for after you’re done sharing the latest developments with our city’s fine citizens.”
The phone’s display lit up, and the device vibrated with another text just as she flipped it over for a look at the screen.
WHERE R U? I NEED DETAILS STAT.
Cassie reread the text from her Aunt Frieda then scanned the other equally urgent ones that had come in before it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Kir slipped his arms around her waist. “Is it the end of the world?”
“No. More like my aunt being nosey.” She thumbed through the messages once more and noted each of them had come in ten minutes apart starting at seven thirty.
“Excellent news.” Kir kissed the side of her neck, a lingering press of his lips that went a long way to wiping away Cassie’s irritation with her aunt. “Tell her you had two exceptional orgasms and that, if she’ll please excuse you, your man is going to give you more to start the day off right.”
The swirl and tightening in her belly flared in an instant, the combination of his deep voice, his mouth and the words he’d chosen making her completely forget her aunt’s demands for information.
Your man.
Her mother and father would say such words were childish. That they reeked of high school antics and spoke nothing of solid relationship values.
But wow they felt good. Possessive and primal.
“You’re not typing anything, milaya. I’ve met your aunt, and she doesn’t strike me as the type to give up easily. If you don’t answer soon, she’ll be at your door.” He gently scraped his teeth along the shell of her ear. “And if she’s here, I can’t see to those orgasms.”
Type, Cassie.
NOW.
Somehow, her fingers got in gear.
Have company. Will call later. MUCH later.
The swoosh of a sent text had barely sounded when Kir took the phone from her hand, tossed it to the couch and slung her over his shoulder.
And Lordy, did she get the fast and dirty tango she’d wanted the night before, because thirty minutes later, she was out of breath, thoroughly sated and spl
ayed on her back with a smugly smiling Russian stretched out on his side beside her. One who’d, thankfully, paused long enough to grab condoms this time around.
He coasted his fingers down her belly then teased the curls covering her sex, the languorous touch and the room’s cool air against her sweat-misted skin fanning goose bumps out in all directions.
“Two orgasms before nine in the morning,” he said, openly enjoying her naked body. “Will that be sufficient to satisfy your aunt’s expectations? Or do we need a break for coffee and another round to guarantee earning her approval?”
She laughed without censure, one of those embarrassing as hell guffaws she usually hated with a passion, but that felt totally acceptable with him beside her. Still chuckling, she rolled to her side and caressed the hard planes of his chest. “You caught that she wanted details, huh?”
“I might have stolen a peek.” His hand slid to the small of her back, and he pulled her flush against him. “But I was prepared to angle for more even if the entire world had been on fire.” He kissed the tip of her nose, a sweet and familiar gesture that warmed her clear to her toes. “Now, I’m going to forage through your meager kitchen and make us both coffee. How do you take it?”
“Black,” she said before she gave him her own playful kiss. She pushed away and rolled off the bed. “But I’m making coffee. Knowing you, you drink it stout enough to keep me awake for three days.”
She snatched her discarded robe from the floor and shrugged it on.
Propped on one arm, Kir watched her, that self-satisfied grin of his even bigger than usual. “Quite the contrary, actually. I take a good amount of cream and sugar in my coffee.”
“Really?” She cinched the belt around her waist and ambled to the kitchen. “You’ll drink vodka straight like it’s water, but you need all the extras for coffee?”
“I’m Russian. Vodka is water. Coffee requires sugar and cream to even it out.” He strolled into the kitchen clad only in his black boxer briefs just as she closed the refrigerator door.
Cassie paused with her coffee container in hand long enough to give every bit of his six-foot-two lean-muscled goodness a thorough once-over. “Well, there’s a view I could get used to.”
He hooked her around the waist and kissed the side of her neck. “A view you will get used to.” Rather than make himself at home at the dining room table as she’d anticipated, he sprawled long-wise on the sofa so he had a line of sight view of her at work.
Doing her best to ignore the intensity behind the way he watched her, she measured out the coffee and poured water into the reservoir.
“I’d like you to accept the offer,” he said matter of factly.
“What offer?”
“To photograph Lizzy and her band.”
She punched the brew button and meandered in his direction. “I told you guys, I’m not a professional. She needs someone with experience.”
Kir lifted his chin toward one of her favorite photographs mounted on the far wall—a cable car on Canal Street taken just before dusk. While the subject matter was popular tourist fodder, it was the coloring she’d most prided herself on capturing. The green of trees lining each side of the street. The soft glow of the old-fashioned streetlamps down the median and how the evening skies on one side blended into the sunset still lingering on the other. “From what I’ve seen, you’re quite experienced.”
“A few of my favorites doesn’t make a portfolio.”
He dipped his head, an acquiescent move typically reserved for polite negotiations. “You are correct. Show me more.”
Well, shit.
Talking about photography was one thing. Actually showing someone her work was something else. No matter how many appreciative comments she got from her aunt or coworkers, she’d never been able to shake that perplexed expression on her father’s face the first time she’d shown him an image she’d been excited about. “Seriously?”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Oh, all right. Fine.” She fished around the portfolio with her most recent work. “But remember—I’m more of a landscape and fixed image girl. Which is why I think I’d do horrible work for Lizzy.”
He sat up and accepted the leather-bound volume. “Have you ever worked with people?”
“A little.” She sat down next to him. “I’ve done okay with a few candid shots. I don’t have a clue what to do when it comes to posing people, though.”
He thumbed through the pages, lingering between each turn to fully assess what she’d captured. Halfway through, the picture she’d stashed of him slipped from between the pages and into his lap.
She tried to reach for it, but he beat her to it and held it well away from her. He studied it and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side. “What have we here?”
Her stomach clenched, and her lungs refused to do their job, the fear squeezing them too powerful to fight. “I...uh...”
What could she say? Not to give him a reason would only make him dig deeper, but to tell him the truth?
Be who you are and let Kir be him. The rest will take care of itself.
Evette’s words. Wisdom earned from someone who’d not only earned the attention of a powerful man like Kir, but seemed beyond happy on the other side. Maybe the truth was the right answer. And if it wasn’t, well wasn’t it better to find out how he reacted now rather than later?
He set the photo aside and faced her, his expression open and not at all suspicious.
She let out a long exhale and swallowed around a sizable knot in her throat. “I was following you.”
“Stalking me?” If the tone of his voice didn’t give away his surprise, the shock on his face did.
She shrugged and eased from beneath his arm. “The stories were slowing down, and my editor had just nudged me for something new a few days before I took that picture.”
Comprehension settled in his features. While there still didn’t seem to be any anger, a healthy amount of caution and consideration settled behind his eyes. “And you thought I’d be able to help you find more.”
“It was a lame move. I knew it when I saw you. Knew I’d treated you poorly.” She nodded to the photo. “I was glad I got the picture, though. Even if it wasn’t very good work.”
Kir’s gaze roamed her face, taking in every detail.
It was too much. Too painful to stomach such suspicious scrutiny after being the focus of his tenderness and appreciation for days.
She ducked her head and toyed with the plush chenille of her robe with her thumb. “I get it. I’d be mad, too. All I can tell you is, I’m sorry.”
She expected him to leave. To stand, quietly dress and walk out the door with the same purposeful determination he’d walked in with the night before.
Instead he cupped the side of her neck and dragged in a long, deep inhalation. A deeply masculine sound that was sexy even in the uncomfortably tense moment. “Look at me, malyshka.”
A command. One uttered in a low and patient voice, but a command, nonetheless.
She lifted her head, and her breath caught.
Never once had she seen such vehemence burning behind his blue eyes. Such unflinching force. This was the man her peers had warned her about. A man capable of as much violence as he was proficient at giving pleasure.
“You will not apologize again,” he said. “You shared your motive once. I accepted it. It is behind us and holds no bearing on where we go from here.”
Of all the things he could have said, those were the last words she’d expected. “But you were mad.”
“I was disappointed at the way you disparaged your work. The way you downplay and limit yourself on something that clearly is a passion.”
“No, even before I talked about the quality of the picture, you got a funny look on your face. Like you weren’t sure if you could trust me, or
something.”
As fast as his ferocious demeanor had dropped into place, it was gone again. Replaced with that wickedly charming grin that never failed to make her feel like a sixteen-year-old. “Or, perhaps, I was thinking to myself that, if it hadn’t been for your pushy boss, I wouldn’t have found myself sitting next to you this morning.” He pulled her close and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “Never assume with me, vozlyublennaya. I brood and get too deeply in my head from time to time for my expressions to be a reliable gauge. Trust my actions instead.”
She nodded, the warm lightness mushrooming up from her chest, no doubt making her look like a love-struck goon from his perspective.
“Promise me,” he prodded with an affectionate squeeze to the back of her neck.
“Promise.”
“Good.” He kissed her again, this time letting his mouth linger longer against hers before he lifted his head. “Now, since I’m the one who requires extra effort with my coffee, how about if I pour us each a cup while you gather more of your work for me to appreciate.”
She wrinkled her nose and stood. “Fine. But only if you allow me a certain amount of latitude on moaning and groaning while you look. Call it artistic flair or whatever, but letting people see my work is hard.”
“Fair enough.”
They took their time. Chatted over two cups of coffee and worked their way through all of her portfolios all the way back to high school. When they’d run out of those, he insisted on seeing the raw work from her most recent shoot. She nestled next to him on the sofa with her feet propped on the coffee table as he filed through the digital images one by one. “I think you should try working with Lizzy.”
He said it casually, but there was a bit of a dare behind it as well. A challenge that she’d have likely disregarded entirely at the beginning of the morning, but was hard-pressed to ignore after all the time he’d spent studying her work. “But you saw for yourself—I don’t normally work with people.”
Hers to Tame Page 15
