Hers to Tame

by Rhenna Morgan

  “His wife, Darya, is the one I told you about from Russia,” Evette added. “She and Sergei knew each other, which is how our family ended up tied to them. They helped each other out when a loon from Russia was after Darya.”

  Cassie’s head snapped back, and she blurted, “Was after her for what?”

  “Unspeakable things that could not be allowed,” Sergei answered with a cold finality that said whoever the loon from Russia was, he probably wasn’t breathing anymore.

  Cassie sucked in a slow breath and opted to leave that story alone for the time being. “Okay, so this Knox guy is really good.”

  “Very good,” Kir said. “He used connections and found that the sender account was created only minutes before the email was sent from the same IP address.”

  “The library has security cameras,” Roman said. “We’ve pulled their footage and compiled snapshots of everyone using public computers during the timeframe the account was created and the email sent.”

  Kir opened the folder and slid it in front of her. “We pulled footage from André’s Saturday night as well. Any individual noted with a phone in their hand was captured in a still photo for you to review. Facial recognition did not compile any matches, but the camera angles from the library do not provide clean shots of all people in the computer area.”

  Cassie’s heart kicked to a higher pace, and whatever remnants from her early crying jag remained scattered on a wave of adrenaline. There were two stacks bound by clips—one with color pictures and a background that was unmistakably from the bar area at André’s, and another in grainy black and white in an office-type environment. She flipped through the library pictures first. A woman with two children in tow. A balding heavyset man. A person wearing sweats and a ball cap that she was pretty sure was a woman, but couldn’t be positive. A teenage boy toting a backpack that looked like it weighed a ton.

  She studied the next three behind it, then went back to the top of the stack. “There aren’t very many from the library.”

  “The library opened at 10 a.m. that morning,” Roman said. “The email was sent at 10:30 a.m. Those were the only people there during that time period.”

  Cassie hesitated at the picture of the woman in the ball cap. “I can’t make a face out on this one at all.”

  “They only have one camera in the computer room,” Kir said. “None of the other angles from other rooms gave us any more detail.”

  With a sigh, Cassie shifted to the pictures from André’s. “Well, you had a lot more to choose from here.”

  Frieda leaned in for a peek and chuckled. “That’s because people can’t do without their phones anymore. I remember refusing to go someplace with my mom and dad because I was waiting for a boy to call and didn’t want to miss it.”

  “No way,” Evette said.

  Cassie flipped to the last photo—a blurred profile image of the woman she’d seen at the bar that night tucking her phone into her purse.

  “Way,” Frieda said. “When call waiting became a thing and you could actually buy an answering machine, it was as revolutionary as a cordless phone.”

  The whole table, save Cassie, laughed.

  Kir must have noted her attention rooted on the photo in front of her, because his laughter died off and he leaned closer. “You know this person?”

  “No, but I remember seeing her at the restaurant when Evette and I were coming out of the bathroom.”

  Evette stood and came around to look over Cassie’s shoulder. “I don’t know her.”

  “I don’t think I do either, but she seemed familiar to me that night.” She went back to the top of the stack. “Any chance I could study the live videos? Maybe if I see them in motion it’ll trigger something?”

  Roman looked to Kir, a silent question on his face.

  Kir nodded. “Of course. I’ll upload them and provide you with a link so you can study them as you have time.”

  She tucked the pictures back inside the folder. The reporter in her wanted to ask questions. To dig and claw her way into every action Kir, Sergei and Roman had taken.

  But another, more quiet and gentle instinct urged her to relax. To let go and trust. An odd and foreign sensation to be sure, but also a huge relief. “So, does that mean we’re at a dead end?”

  “There is no such thing as a dead end,” Sergei said, pulling his wife closer to his side and wrapping his arm around her waist. “Whoever this is wants vengeance for a wrong they feel has been done to them. Enough to take another’s life. Motive and anger will win out over cleverness and patience, eventually. Until then, we remain vigilant and ready.”

  Kir covered Cassie’s hand on the table with his own and gave a gentle squeeze. “We will keep you safe, malyshka. This level of security will not always be necessary.”

  This level of security.

  Not that the security would go away after they found whoever they were after.

  A minor nuance to be sure, but one her mind latched onto. Much the same way her parents would have jumped in to add their own censure.

  We can’t change who our parents are, or what we like and dislike, but we can choose happiness.

  Did she really mind having someone watching over her? Evette dealt with it every day and didn’t seem to mind. Emerson, too. And Sam, Patrick and Abel had been anything but a burden the last several days. More of a security blanket than a hindrance. Who cared about details like that if it meant time with Kir? If it meant enjoying family dinners like tonight and trips to festivals with people who knew how to enjoy themselves?

  “I don’t mind the security,” she said. “I’m adjusting, even if it is a little weird.”

  “Good.” He palmed the back of her neck and pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Then, how about if we get you back to the carriage house so you can rest?”

  “Sure.” She stood, picked up her plate and reached for Kir’s. “I’ll just help Evette clean up first.”

  “Oh, no.” Frieda hopped up, hustled around the table and took both the plates from Cassie. “You two go and take a load off. I’ll help Evette, then I’m gonna hit Olga up about seeing a movie.”

  The comment earned her aunt more than one surprised look.

  Cassie opened her mouth to ask when those plans had come about, but her aunt shot her a don’t-even-think-about-it look.

  Ah.

  Ever the sneaky one, her aunt was either in matchmaker mode, or flat-out consorting with Kir to give them some alone time. Not that he’d let Aunt Frieda’s presence be a deterrent for sleeping in her bed the last four nights. He’d also proven himself adept at using hands-on sexual attention to ensure the recent changes in Cassie’s life didn’t impact how soundly she slept.

  “Well, okay then.” She stood and looked to Kir whose smirk clearly indicated he was aware of what her aunt was up to. “Looks like I’m all yours.”

  “That, vozlyublennaya, has never been in question.” He stood, kissed the back of her hand and offered the table at large a semi-bow. “If you’ll excuse us?”

  The walk along the meandering flagstone path was quiet, only a few cicadas filling the summer night with their songs and the dwindling hum of cars winding through the neighborhood. Kir ambled beside her, his gait unhurried. He covered her hand notched in the crook of his elbow with his free one as if he had all the time and patience in the world.

  Inside the carriage house, only a single lamp near the front window was lit. Rather than turn on any others, Kir led her straight to the stairs and up to the master bedroom.

  She stopped at the foot of the bed and faced him. “You’re quiet tonight.”

  Kir flipped on the bedside lamp, then emptied his pockets of his cell phone and wallet and set them on the nightstand. “One could say the same of you.” He padded to the oversized chair in the corner, shrugged off his suit jacket and toed off his shoes.

  �
��The heat zapped me.”

  “Is that so?” His belt went next. Then his button-down. “I’ll have to talk to the men about paying more attention to you in the heat.”

  Well, shit. “There’s no need to talk to them. It’s on me to pay attention to my health, not them. And besides, it didn’t really hit me until I got home. Probably doesn’t help that Frieda keeps it like a refrigerator in here.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Clad only in black boxer briefs, he strolled toward her, his demeanor as relaxed and unthreatening as it had been on the walk over. Only this time she had the added benefit of the dim lights and shadows playing across each defined muscle on his body. A body she could no more pretend not to notice than she could hide her own body’s shivering response. He knew how his touch impacted her. Seemed to mirror the same soul-rattling sensation anytime they were skin to skin. And while a part of her acknowledged he was likely leveraging their connection to bind her closer to him, she couldn’t quite find the will to fight it. Didn’t want to deny herself the pleasure any more than she wanted to stop breathing.

  He halted right in front of her. “Shoes off, Cassie.”

  “We don’t normally go straight to bed. You like to Netflix a little after dinner.”

  “I like to Netflix when your aunt is here and I’m trying not to make it blatantly obvious I want you in our bed.”

  Our bed.

  Not her bed.

  Or his bed.

  “Your aunt isn’t here tonight,” he said, “so I don’t have to wait. Except for you to take off your shoes so that I can undress you at my leisure.”

  Oh, boy.

  It was bad enough that he had a way with words, but paired with his accent and the sexy rumble of his voice, physical foreplay was a bonus more than a necessity.

  Who are you kidding, Cassie? All the man has to do is look at you and crook one of those grins, and you’re hot, bothered and ready to go.

  She shook off the mental byplay that was suspiciously carried on her aunt’s voice and stepped out of her sandals. “You’re telling me I’m not going to see the end of Mad Men season three tonight?”

  He slid one of the straps from the pretty gold sundress she’d put on before dinner over her shoulder, then repeated the move with the other. “I’m telling you the likelihood of you having the energy or desire to do anything but fall asleep naked next to me once I’m done is negligible at best.” One tug of the cotton fabric and the dress slid to her waist, barely clinging to her hips.

  His eyes locked on her exposed breasts, and a low, appreciative rumble rolled up his throat. “You weren’t wearing a bra at dinner, milaya.”

  “I’m barely a 34C, Kir, and the jump from a B to a C cup is more wishful thinking than anything. Unless I’m sporting a fitted T-shirt, planning on vigorous exercise, or hanging out in Antarctica, I can get away without wearing bras just about anywhere.”

  “Perhaps.” He slipped his fingers beneath the fabric at her hips and pushed her dress to the floor. “But now that I know the possibility exists, I’ll be wondering if other men notice and will have to fight the urge to murder anyone who so much as glances at your chest.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Slowly sinking to his heels in front of her, he teased his fingers over the silky surface of her boy shorts. His breath when he spoke whispered against her inner thighs. “Perhaps I wouldn’t murder them.” He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, languidly pulled them toward her ankles, then looked up. “But I assure you, they would never again dare to covet what’s mine.”

  Lost.

  Found.

  Possessed.

  He was crouched before her. An undeniably submissive pose on anyone else, but there was no mistaking who was in charge in that moment. Who was the hunter, and who was the hunted.

  She gloried in it. Let what was left of her worries and the need for control slip like an invisible cloak from her shoulders and embraced the promise behind his eyes as he stood. Surrendered to the magic of his touch against her exposed skin. Luxuriated in his kiss until the only thing that existed was the press of his body against hers and their connection.

  From the very beginning, it had been this way with them. A unique bond her mind struggled to understand, but that a deeper, more instinctual part of herself not only accepted, but craved. A natural flow. A grounding the same as electricity seeking contact with the earth. Her energy rooted itself in him. Found indescribable silence, peace and pleasure within his arms.

  He maneuvered them both to the bed. Leisurely tossed aside pillows and peeled the silky comforter from beneath her until they lay beside each other in a tangle of arms and legs. Sensation was all she knew. All she needed. The cool crisp sheets. Kir’s taut hot skin. The taste of him. The scent of him. The brush of his fingertips along the curve of her hip, and the teasing path he drew along the top and lower swells of her breasts.

  It was heaven. An indulgence she was content to ride as he slowly built her pleasure. Trusted and let him guide her at the pace he’d chosen.

  She stroked his upper arms. His shoulders. His chest and each defined indentation along his belly, savoring the strength of him and the way his muscles moved beneath her palms. So lost in her exploration and the demand of his lips, the brush of his boxer briefs against her fingertips was a shock. She pulled away from his mouth only enough to meet his gaze and hooked her fingers in the waistband. “Why are these on?”

  Before she could gain any ground at pulling the briefs off, he caught her wrist, rolled her to her back and pinned her hands on either side of her head. “Because I want to talk to you before I love you, and my cock gets greedy and overrides good sense when you’re naked and next to me.”

  She grinned up at him and rolled her hips against his, his shaft a delicious press against her aching center. “On this issue, I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with your cock. Now is not the time for conversation.”

  His groan and the frustration glimpsed before his eyelids slipped shut was supremely gratifying. But the stern press of his lips when he opened them again and his tightened grip on her wrists dampened her hope for goading him into action. “Now is exactly the time for conversation.”

  “Why?”

  He held her gaze for a moment, studying her features intently. “Because we’re alone. Because you’re naked beneath me where I can hold you the way you need to be held when you tell me what happened today.”

  “Nothing happened today.”

  “Ah, malyshka.” He relinquished one of her wrists and cupped the side of her face. “You and I both know the days since you moved here have been a struggle for you. You’ve been tense. Withdrawn, but watchful.

  “But today was different. I knew it the minute I saw you. Felt it at dinner and after as we walked together.”

  The rising passion and need he’d built collided with the vulnerable moment. Left her exposed and trembling despite the heat radiating off him.

  His voice softened. Shifted to a subtle croon as reverent as his touch. “I understand the fear in sharing. Meeting you has forced me to face my own in many ways and will no doubt bring more to light. But how can I help you face yours if you do not share them with me?”

  Not a demand for information.

  Not censure, or a lecture on what she should or shouldn’t do.

  But a desire to help. A partner demonstrating awareness and a willingness to stand beside her.

  And the truth of it was—he was right. If she wanted to choose happiness, the first step was owning her truth. No matter how foolish or childlike it sounded inside her own head.

  She splayed her hands against his pecs. Centered herself in the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her palm and pulled in a deep, stabilizing breath. “Your family is big. Loud. Expressive and funny.”

  He nodded, his focus solely on the words she said.

  �
�Mine wasn’t like that at all. Dinners were...awkward. So quiet it was almost oppressive. And when there was conversation, it was stilted and bland.”

  “And you are having a hard time adjusting?”

  She couldn’t stop the sharp bark of laughter. “No. Quite the opposite.”

  His frown was subtle, one geared toward trying to comprehend more than anger.

  She swallowed. Or at least tried to. No easy feat considering how defenseless she felt in that moment. “I like it.”

  A spark of comprehension settled behind his eyes, but he held his silence.

  “Being with your family—seeing how they interact and how open and supportive they are to each other—I wanted to be a part of it, but at the same time, I feel like I’m giving up on my own family.”

  “And if you give up the family you were born to and the struggles that come with it, then what are you left with?” he finished for her.

  “Exactly,” she said. “It’s like being an office worker and waking up one day to find someone’s replaced all your staplers and file folders for camping gear, toys and surfing equipment. It’s all shiny, fascinating stuff with lots of potential to enjoy, but you don’t have a clue what to do with it all. And more than that, you’re afraid whoever it was that owned the office stuff is going to walk in at any moment and bust you for goofing off.”

  He smiled down at her. “That’s an unusual analogy, but a very effective one.” He traced the line of her cheek, the tenderness in his gaze beyond anything she’d thought possible from a man as hard and unyielding as Kir. “Thank you for sharing with me, malyshka.”

  “You don’t think it’s stupid?”

  Something behind his gaze shifted, pain peeking out from behind his sky-blue eyes then disappearing behind a soft smile. “No. My family was not like yours, but they left their mark on me as well. It took me many years before I trusted Sergei. Even more before I trusted Roman. That you faced your past in a matter of days is something to be proud of.”