Hers to Tame

by Rhenna Morgan

  “Family doesn’t have debts,” she said. “They just look out for one another.”

  He smiled at that. A soft one she suspected was usually reserved for only Emerson and Evette. He cupped the side of her face and shined the tenderness she’d heard in his voice down on her. “This is true. And you are family. In every way.”

  Releasing her, he stepped back, wrapped Evette close to his side and laid a hand on Emerson’s shoulder. His gaze shuttled to Kir and a string of Russian words flew past his lips, delivered on a low and somber pitch.

  Kir dipped his head in what looked like formal acknowledgment and blanketed Cassie’s back, his hand at her hip wrapping around her waist. “Spaseeba.”

  Sergei smirked, kissed Evette on her temple and steered his family toward the main house. “Come. It’s time to forget this day and plan for tomorrow.”

  The crowd dissipated quickly, the guards moving back to their stations, and Olga and Frieda hustling toward the kitchen well ahead of Sergei, Emerson and Evette.

  “You know,” Cassie said, “as tight as Frieda’s gotten with Olga the last few weeks, you might have a hard time moving her out of here.”

  Kir chuckled, kissed the top of her head and steered her toward the carriage house. He held the front door open for her. “It would not matter. Sergei would begrudge them nothing, and it is no hardship for her to live here.” He followed her inside and shut the door behind him. “Besides, you will be moving in with me.”

  “I will?”

  “Did you have any doubt?”

  No. She really hadn’t. But she’d been so preoccupied with all the ups and downs of late that the actual logistics hadn’t had enough priority in her head. “What about my lease?”

  Kir ambled to the living room window and casually shut the curtains. “It has been dealt with.”

  “When?”

  While she couldn’t see his face, there was a smile in his voice. “The day I moved you here. The rest of your things were carefully packed and moved to my house for safekeeping.”

  Sneaky man. “So, your plan the entire time was to move me to your place.”

  “Yes.” No hesitation. No pretense. Just the God’s honest truth.

  She could have given him a hard time. Probably should have just to keep his possessive tendencies in check. But the truth of it was, his certainty felt wonderful. Made her not only feel protected and cared for but wanted. “And this move to your place—when should I plan for it?”

  He turned and prowled toward her. “Tomorrow. Tonight, I believe I’ve been tasked with relieving you of unwanted tension and anxiety.” He smoothed his hands over her hips to her waist and skimmed his lips across the sensitive spot she loved just below her ear. His voice was pure velvet, his accent making his words that much more erotic. “And you know how I value my work.”

  A delicious shiver rippled through her, the warmth of his breath against her skin and the promise of feeling him against her heady enough to eradicate anything else.

  Until her phone on the coffee table let out a sharp ring.

  Kir pulled away enough to eyeball the device then cocked an eyebrow at her.

  Cassie sighed. “I know Frieda’s safe, but after the day we’ve had, I should check.”

  She answered on the third ring. “Cassie McClintock.”

  “Cassie, this is Ed. I don’t suppose you watched tonight’s newscast?”

  No way.

  Would the day’s surprises never end? She covered the phone’s microphone with her hand and whispered to Kir, “It’s my editor.”

  The same amazement and curiosity she’d felt upon hearing Ed’s voice reflected in his expression, but there was suspicion, too.

  She put the call on speaker, laid the phone on the coffee table and sat in the center of the couch. “You mean the story about Sergei’s wife and son? Yes, I saw it. I thought Lizbet did a good job.” Which was another thing she was going to have to ask her man about.

  “She did. But the story itself actually calls to attention how our executives were clearly fed information intended to result in your dismissal. When Lizbet came to us with the story this afternoon, she pointed out that Miss Ricci had likely taken the action she did to keep you from finding her connection to Alfonsi.”

  “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

  Beside her, Kir stood and listened, his face giving her no indication of his thoughts.

  “Yes, well...” Ed cleared his throat. “In light of this information, I feel like we owe you an apology.”

  Kir held completely still, his gaze anchored on the phone.

  Silly man. Their relationship would still be a point of contention with the station. And even if an apology turned into an offer to reinstate, she’d never been the type of person to retrace her steps. “I appreciate it, Ed. More than you know. But I’m also glad things happened like they did. It really made me think about what I want.”

  Kir shifted his gaze to hers, a silent question in his eyes.

  She lifted the phone, stood and wrapped her arm around Kir’s waist. “I’ve decided I’m going to move in with Kir and give some dreams I’ve put on hold a try. See if I can do something with my photography instead.”

  “No more reporting?”

  She shook her head, even if Ed couldn’t see it. “No. I’m good at working stories, but I’ve got a chance to make a living doing something I love instead. But I appreciate you calling. It means a lot knowing you don’t think I acted inappropriately with station resources and my work was solid.”

  While she couldn’t see her editor’s face, there was enough shuffling in the background to imagine his fluster at the mistake they’d made. “Yes, well. You’re a bright girl. Whatever it is you do, I’ve got a feeling you’ll nail it. If you need any personal help—connections getting your work out or references, just let me know.”

  “Will do. Thanks for calling, Ed.”

  Ending the call, she muted the phone and slid it back to the tabletop. “About Lizbet...” She straightened and smoothed her hands along his pecs. “You’re the one who called her, aren’t you?”

  “You made her a promise. I merely ensured it was fulfilled on your behalf.”

  Of course he had. And no doubt had done it despite the other chaos swirling around him. And how amazing was that? Not just to have a man who would do whatever it took to have a woman in his life, but would champion and help fulfill the things that were important to her.

  She pressed herself flush against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “And that other task you had to take care of...the one about ensuring I’m free from tension and worry...when do you plan to see to it?”

  His grin was delightfully wicked. The purpose behind his eyes and the confidence in his touch as he palmed the back of her head even more so. He brushed his lips against hers. “Right now. And every day that comes next.”

  Epilogue

  Cassie’s biggest freaking shoot since she’d struck out on her own, and she was going to be late. Fan-freaking-tastic.

  She hurried out of the over-the-top studio Kir had commissioned for her at the back of the shotgun-style house she now shared with her husband-to-be and jogged down the stairs. With every step, her equipment bags bounced against her legs and her shoulders protested that maybe she’d overdone it packing for Lizzy’s concert.

  Sun streamed from the living room’s two floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the house, the garnet velvet drapes that lined either side of them pooling against the oak floors. Beyond the windows, a riot of wildflowers and the fluffy plumes of pampas grass in the front flowerbeds danced on the late September breeze. From the first day Kir had brought her here, she’d been enchanted by his home. Every inch of it was brand-spanking new, but the builder had stayed true to the old homes that had inspired it. From the veranda with a porch swing, to the thick round pillars in wh
ite that accented the home’s carnelian siding, and wrought iron accents from the stair railing to the balcony outside the master suite, the place was vintage New Orleans.

  She grabbed her purse off the side table in the entryway, dug out her phone and tapped out a quick note to Kir.

  Just now leaving. Tell Lizzy I swear I’ll make it up to her for being late.

  She rushed out the front door, hit send on the text and scampered down the brick-laid sidewalk to Sam and Abel waiting by the Mercedes in the street.

  Abel met her before she made it to the iron fence lining the property and quickly divested her of her bags. “You should have called me, Mrs. Vasilek. I’d have hauled those out for you.”

  “Well, I just now finished packing, and I’m late already, so calling for help when I could carry them just fine didn’t make sense.” She slid into the back seat and aimed a playfully exaggerated look at her guard. “And PS—I’m not married yet.”

  Already behind the wheel, Sam chuckled and waited for Abel to take his place in the passenger’s seat. “Mr. Vasilek was very clear that an engagement was as good as married and we could use the practice.”

  “Did he now?” The words might have been suited for a woman warming up for a fight, but the truth was, she thought it was sweet.

  Her phone chirped and vibrated in her palm.

  Kir: Lizzy says fashionably late is a requirement in the music business. Take your time.

  The little bubbles that indicated another text was on the way rolled beneath Kir’s last message, then a new one popped up.

  Kir: I should probably warn you. There are some people here to meet you.

  Cassie: Who?

  Nothing happened for a long time. No bubbles. No text. No nothing. Then all of a sudden...

  Kir: The women from Dallas.

  Holy crap. All freaking day long she’d managed to keep her nerves in check, but all of a sudden, her body hummed like she’d firmly stuck her finger in a light socket. In the last three months, she’d heard all kinds of stories about Sylvie, Ninette and the rest of the women from Evette.

  Cassie: Which ones?

  Kir: All of them.

  Shit.

  Boyfriend jeans rolled up to her shins, a loose pink T-shirt and simple tan flats might’ve been a good choice for bending, stooping and kneeling to get the right shot, but they made a lame first impression.

  Cassie: The mothers, too?

  Kir: They were off the plane first.

  Eek! Seeing Lizzy perform live, her first real live action shoot and meeting a good chunk of her extended family all in one night. Kind of made her old reporting gig look tame in comparison. But then, every single day since she’d apologized to Kir at Bacchanal had been a sublime whirlwind. A life not just worth enjoying, but celebrating.

  Cassie: Is Frieda there yet?

  Kir: Already has on her all-access pass and is making eyes at the stage manager.

  Well now, that wasn’t exactly a shock. Though, her aunt better get her flirting in early, because as Cassie’s one and only employee, Frieda was going to have her work cut out for her juggling camera equipment and keeping up with Cassie once the show started.

  She typed out a quick response that she was twenty minutes out, tucked her phone back in the side pocket of her purse and rifled through the main compartment for her notes. Since moving into Kir’s house, she’d done a lot of experimenting with different types of photography. Mixing images with graphic alterations for a unique blend of modern art had proven to be unexpectedly gratifying. Especially when Evette had turned around and sold a few of her pieces at a charity event for an impressive sum.

  But the biggest surprise? She really did have a thing for live work. And hallelujah for having a family who not only supported her passion, but was patient while she’d honed her skills through weekend outings and too many rowdy dinners to count. Emerson, in particular, had proven to be quite the clown when there was a camera in close proximity.

  Last-minute cramming completed, she stuffed her notepad back where she’d stowed it earlier and eyed New Orleans’s Central Business District to one side of the Pontchartrain Expressway. Traffic on the highway wasn’t much, but wow, had the people congregated around the Smoothie King Center for the show. Not surprising, given how the arena could hold nearly 18,000 people, but watching the masses stream in to watch someone she not only knew, but had exclusive rights to photograph was a rush.

  Sam drove to the back of the arena, past at least a dozen matching semis with red cabs and gleaming silver trailers, to the iron gate where the die-hard fans were camped out in hopes of a Lizzy sighting.

  The gate trundled open, and the guards at either side crowded close to keep the fans well behind them. Up ahead, four pimped-out Prevost buses sat side by side, every one of them painted in glossy black with sweeping gold and silver swirls. Impressive as they were, they only held her gaze for a minute, because the sight of her man strolling from the loading area was far more appealing.

  And Lordy, was he a sight. He’d forgone his usual suit and donned jeans and a black Lizzy Hemming concert shirt that fit his torso perfectly. Seriously, if Lizzy needed a marketing vehicle to up concert T-shirt sales, having her guy stroll past the merchandise booths would be the way to do it.

  The Mercedes rolled to a stop, and Kir opened her door before Abel could even get one foot on the pavement. He held out his hand and helped her from the car.

  On the street side of the gate, the crowd let out a swell of cheers—right up until they realized it wasn’t Lizzy getting out, but some blonde chick in unremarkable attire.

  Cassie wrinkled her nose at Kir. “I think they’re disappointed.”

  “I’m not.” As was his penchant these days, he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a sweet, yet lingering kiss. “Are you ready?”

  Funny. All he’d done was give her a simple kiss, and all of the anxiousness that had built in the hours before this moment vanished. She smoothed her hands atop his pecs and practically purred. “I’m not sure. I might need a minute or two alone with you to appreciate this shift in attire.”

  His grin was pure mischief. “It seemed fitting to show my support. I take it you approve?”

  “I not only approve, but herby motion to make all Saturday nights casual wear.”

  He chuckled at that, stepped away enough to capture her hand in his and motioned the men toward the loading door. “Come. We’ll introduce you to everyone, then give you time to familiarize yourself with the stadium.”

  Her guards fell in on either side of them, each one carrying one of her equipment bags. Shadows surrounded them the minute the door banged shut, only laughter from somewhere beyond, shouts from the roadies hustling in all directions and the low murmur of the crowd in the arena filling the void.

  Kir unerringly found his way past stacks of black boxes meant for heavy traveling and down a long hallway with a closed door at the end. The light when he opened it was blinding, but the cheerful greetings that welcomed them even more overwhelming. Bit by bit, her eyes adjusted to the posh backstage lounge with its bold décor—gold walls, elegant black moldings, cougar print carpets and crushed velvet gold and black settees and sofas.

  The real eye-opener in the room, though, were all the people smiling at her with even more laughter in their eyes.

  Kir splayed his hand low on her back and addressed the group at large. “Everyone, my fiancée, Cassie McClintock.”

  Cassie wiped her suddenly sweaty hands on her hips. “Wow. Kir said I was going to get to meet more of the family. I didn’t think I’d get to meet all of them.”

  And by all, it appeared the women weren’t the only ones who’d made the trip, but their men as well.

  One of the women chuckled and strode her direction. She might have been older than the other women in attendance, but with glamorous silver hair halfway down
her back and a lithe, graceful body, Cassie bet she could still crook her finger and draw any number of willing men to her side. Rather than offer a handshake, she wrapped Cassie up and gave her a hug. “We don’t normally travel en masse, but it’s Lizzy’s last show until she drops another album, so we figured we’d all fly in for the event.”

  She backed away, but kept one hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “I’m Ninette.” She motioned to a man with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, a goatee and nearly black eyes in the corner. Unlike Kir, he seemed the type who’d been born wearing a T-shirt and jeans.

  “That’s my boy Jace.” She hooked her arm in Cassie’s and guided her toward him. “Next to him is his wife, Viv.”

  Cassie nodded and started to say hello, but Ninette kept going, introducing every couple in the room. Trevor, who seemed to be the down-home country boy type, his wife Natalie and their son, Levi. Knox and Darya, who she’d heard a ton about from Kir and Sergei. Beckett and Gia, who seemed to be equal parts gorgeous and badass. And finally, Zeke and Gabe, who looked like they could be the poster children for an all-American perfect couple.

  “You know,” Ninette said, “Gabe’s a photographer, too. Takes the pictures and then does all kinds of killer stuff to ’em after she’s done. You two should totally talk shop at the after-party.”

  “You do?” Cassie said to Gabe.

  Gabe blushed, but nodded. “Yeah. Nowhere near as advanced as the stuff you do, but I enjoy it.”

  Cassie glanced at Kir who’d meandered up beside her, but couldn’t glean any clarification from his smug expression. “You’ve seen my stuff?” she said to Gabe.

  A few of the women cleared their throats and avoided eye contact, but Darya beamed a huge smile. “Oh, yes,” she said, her Russian accent nowhere nearly as thick as Kir’s. “Evette told me she sold some of your work at a charity event, so I asked her to send us copies.” She motioned to Jace and Vivienne. “Jace has many connections in the art world, and Vivienne does a lot of their event planning, so they passed them on to a few contemporary galleries.”