Her Rogue Russian (Karev Brothers Book 2)

by Leslie North

  She flipped him a wave, and Maxim watched her stride off into the night. Reconvene had to be the least sexy word he had ever heard in his life, and he was positive she had intended it that way.

  Still, the platonic terms she insisted on using to shape their relationship had less of an effect on him than she might have hoped. As Maxim mounted his bike, he entertained the idea of mounting something else—that is, someone else—in his imagination. He had a mind to mix his business with pleasure, and he was starting to think Savannah might not be as impervious to his charms as she hoped. A little tumble between the sheets might help clear up a few things between them, and help them move forward without all this unresolved sexual tension getting in the way.

  After all, Maxim mused as the night wind rushed by him—the woman was only responsible for investigating the murder of his father.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  4

  Savannah

  "How are you healing up?" Rebecca asked her.

  It had already been a week since she got her new ink, and Savannah figured it was now or never. She reached behind her head and began to slowly peel the bandage away from her tattoo. Rebecca leaned across the reception desk to get a better look. "Ohhh," Rebecca breathed reverently as Savannah stripped the last of the tape from her tender skin, "that's really beautiful, I like it. Clean, simple. Adrian does great work, doesn't he?"

  "You tell me," Savannah said with some amusement. "I'm not going to be able to see this thing for myself. I'll have to trust in the opinions of others."

  "I'll do you one better," Rebecca offered. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and snapped a photo as Savannah modeled the back of her neck. The two women then crowded around the screen to get a good look.

  Savannah had to admit that the black-and-white sword looked pretty badass. Few people would know about its existence at first glance, and she was certain even fewer would find occasion to remark on it. It suited her, certainly better than the butterfly tramp stamp she had kept a secret for the last several years. She wondered how that particular trip to Daytona Beach might have turned out differently, had Maxim been there with her in the parlor to advise her then…

  "What does Max think about it?" Rebecca asked.

  Savannah shook her head, trying to dispel thoughts of spring breaks long past. "He chose it for me, actually."

  "So you got this to… oh." Rebecca's cheerful face folded suddenly in somber contemplation. Savannah blinked at the sudden change. She had yet to see the happy-go-lucky secretary wear such an expression.

  "To what?" she prompted. She found herself suddenly realizing just how much Rebecca knew about Maxim outside of what he looked like naked and his inability to see color. Had Maxim told her about their operation? If so, it would be a huge blow to their cover. Even if Savannah suspected she could trust the Hammersmiths, having her true identity compromised—and the nature of her real relationship with Maxim out in the open—spelled the end of the mission before it had even begun in earnest.

  "I know you're falling in love with Maxim," Rebecca said finally, surprising her. "It's so obvious to me. When I look at the two of you together… even Travis can't help but notice it, and he didn't even know I was flirting with him until I was standing topless in his bedroom."

  Rebecca reached across the desk to lay her hand on Savannah's supportively. "I know everything is new and exciting, but just… be careful, okay? If you ever want out, you can tell him. You can tell me," the other woman continued. "I know we don't know each other that well yet, but trust me when I say I'm good for this sort of thing."

  After a measured moment passed between them, Savannah nodded. She had no idea where this was coming from, and the lack of transparency bothered her. Rebecca looked as if she genuinely wanted to help, but with what? How much did the woman know, and how much did she think Savannah knew?

  There were too many layers at work here. She needed to resume what she had come here to do. She needed to locate Maxim and inform him of their next step—in addition to that, she now had another puzzle to solve, and she was certain the Russian held her missing piece.

  I know you're falling in love with Maxim.

  Rebecca had only seen them together a few times. How could she confidently make such a statement? Then again, Savannah mused, Rebecca had likely been in love with Maxim herself at one point or another—maybe there was some projection going on here.

  Still, she wished it wasn't that phrase in particular that kept cycling through her mind. It was like having some sappy song, totally not her style, stuck in her head. Maybe some fresh air would help her clear it out again. "I'll check back in with you before I leave," Savannah promised, flipping the receptionist a friendly wave. The front desk phone rang, and Rebecca grinned in agreement as she took the call.

  Savannah exited the shop and looped around back. Rebecca had told her she would find Maxim in the yard working, and she wasn't disappointed with the intel. She saw him sprawled out beneath a half-completed custom cycle, turning a wrench with rhythmic, competent twists of his hand. Most of the frame of the machine was missing, so she had a clear view of the man at work: the broad-shouldered naked torso, sans shirt, and the bulging muscles that collaborated beneath the sheen of sweat to power his body. Not a single movement was wasted; every motion was tightly controlled, working in tandem at the behest of the Russian's analytical mind. The thought of what he could do with that body filled Savannah with mixed feelings of awe and appreciation. There was no man in her department built like Maxim Karev, and she doubted if any agent could win against him in a fair fight. It wasn't that hard to imagine just how intimidating he must have been working as head of security for the Russian Mafia.

  It wasn't hard, either, to imagine how a man like that might operate in the bedroom. In fact, it was a scenario that was becoming increasingly easy for Savannah to visualize the more she got to know him. What was all that muscle, all that sweat and ink and motor oil, really capable of? Did he work his women like he worked on his machines in the shop, probing and polishing and tightening them to peak performance, or did he engage in sex as rough and dirty as his looks? She imagined it must be a constant battle for dominance, for supremacy, going up against him in an arena where he clearly considered himself the sure victor.

  What if she was the woman to finally challenge that assumption? Gazing at him sprawled provocatively on his back, it was hard to ignore the tension in her shoulders, the heat in her core. So, she was attracted to Maxim, and she thought about sex with him—she was a hot-blooded woman, and it was only natural. There was an enormous difference between having fantasies about someone and manifesting them, and she wasn't about to risk her badge by embarking on a forbidden affair with a Russian thug.

  Maybe in another life, she thought wistfully. A life imagined for the two of us by Rebecca, anyway.

  "Please, don't get up," she said as she drew closer. Maxim's eyes flickered as he noticed her for the first time, his mouth twisting in a rueful smile. He kept turning the wrench.

  "Don't worry, I won't."

  "I just had an interesting conversation with Rebecca." Savannah crossed her arms, leaning one hip slightly against the side of the bike. The frame was propped up between two sturdy-looking sawhorses, so she wasn't overly concerned with tipping it over and squashing her mafia contact. "She thinks I'm falling in love with you."

  Maxim glanced up from his work. She wished she could better discern his expression, but his dark eyes were as unreadable and fathomless as ever to her.

  "Guess our cover's working out, then," was all he said.

  "Yeah. Guess so."

  Savannah chewed her lower lip. She had come by the garage with one purpose and one only—or so she told herself—and that was to talk shop with the shop boy, as it were. She needed to get the conversation back on track, but she couldn't help her next question, which was only tangentially related to her investigation: "She knew about you. Rebecca. She knew what you were, and what you're prob
ably about to get yourself into again. Is your connection with the mob the only reason you guys broke up?"

  "It's more complicated than that." Maxim had gone back to work. Savannah was no expert, but even she could see he had already tightened the same screw probably beyond what was strictly necessary. "Rebecca may have known what I was, but that's only because we were running in the same circle. She's from a mob family, too. Hell, you might say she was my inspiration for getting out myself, or at least responsible for planting the idea in my head. Even after we'd broken up, she's the one who introduced me to Travis and got me my job here."

  Savannah figured trying to master her surprise was useless at this point. Maxim was eyeing her again and had definitely already seen her slack-jawed disbelief. She snapped her mouth closed with a click of teeth as she tried to wrap her head around this latest string of revelations.

  "Sweet little Rebecca is from a mob family? I didn't… I had no idea…"

  "No idea? Of course you didn't." Maxim shrugged his shoulders horizontally. "See, that's where you lawful types always fuck up. After a while, you start to think people amount to the paperwork sandwiched between two sides of a manila folder. You didn't think much of me when we first met."

  "That isn't true," Savannah snapped. "I thought… and I still think… a good deal of you, Max. It can't have been easy turning your life around the way you did—and then having to deal with your father's death…"

  "Yeah?" Maxim cocked one of his thick, dark eyebrows at her in disbelief. Maybe she had let herself fall into a trap with that one, but she took the bait willingly enough. Their cover was good, but if they wanted to improve their rapport with one another, and their public image of being a couple by proxy, then maybe it was important to get some things straight between them.

  "Yeah," Savannah echoed. "Yeah, I mean it. Even if the paperwork was right about you being a promiscuous ladies’ man. Rebecca won't dish on that front, but I'm not sure she needs to. The way you talk to women speaks volumes."

  "The way I speak to you, you mean," Maxim corrected. "Did you really come by to investigate my relationship history today, Savannah? Or is it possible you came by to investigate something else?"

  "I came by to discuss the next step in the mission with you," she said, keeping her gaze trained resolutely on his face and not allowing it to stray once to the sculpted body that extended beneath it. "And you're going to strip that screw if you aren't careful, buddy."

  "Yeah?" he challenged. "Why don't you get down here and show me how it's done… buddy?"

  Savannah had no idea how motorcycles worked, but she damn well wasn't going to back down now—besides, she had a feeling this was a test of some sort. Maybe Maxim was waiting to see how dirty she was willing to get. After a beat, she snorted in answer and uncrossed her arms, peeling her T-shirt off and tossing it to the side. She then slid beneath the bike to join him, careless of the dirt and oil that seemed to immediately find its way onto her. Her bare shoulder brushed against Maxim's. Either he had been out here in the sun a while, or his core body temperature was naturally fever-hot, because just touching skin-on-skin felt like enough to burn her. She wasn't just imagining it, was she?

  "Try not to get titillated or anything. It's just a sports bra," she said. She squirmed her hips a little to make more room for herself beneath the bike, conscious of his eyes on her naked abdomen, and not exactly hating it.

  "Don't flatter yourself," Maxim fired back. "Why don't you show me what you can do?"

  "Fine," Savannah said. "Tell me what tools you need, and I'll grab them for you. Unless that single screw really is all you planned on working on today?"

  They worked on the undercarriage of the bike together in silence, with Maxim occasionally murmuring the name of something he needed from his toolbox, and Savannah using her long arms and closer proximity to pass them over to him. I think I can see the appeal of this line of work. It's meditative. Simple. I bet it makes for a nice change from smashing skulls together, or worse.

  She watched Maxim's hands. She was certain those hands had killed men in the past. Hell, Savannah wasn't green; she had put a bullet through a few perps, all of them terrible people. It never got easier, but she’d learned to stop hesitating after a while and trust in her instincts. Everything in her world was black and white—figuratively speaking, and not literally, like the world Maxim perceived—so she didn't lose a lot of sleep most nights.

  Most nights.

  She turned her head in toward Maxim, studying his profile as he worked. "Tom's not going to pay for the taillight, by the way," she mentioned. "He says getting to pretend-date a smoke show like me is payment enough."

  "That guy is a pain in my ass. I see him driving by here all the time—he thinks he's incognito, but I had to stop Travis from calling the cops on him." Maxim drew the back of his wrist across the crease in his forehead, banishing beads of sweat and tracking a smear of grease near his temple. It reminded Savannah of their first date, and the way she had transferred paint onto him when she had—

  "And also, you did not just fucking call yourself a 'smoke show'?" Maxim said.

  "I didn't. Tom did. I'm just relaying what other people tell me," she protested.

  "Nobody calls you that to your face," Maxim stated. "Especially not someone you work with professionally."

  "You might be surprised," Savannah muttered.

  "Yeah? Is this where I get the 'woman-in-a-man's-world' spiel?"

  "This is where you get bent, Karev," she said. "I didn't come by to hold your hand and kiss away your tears while you cry about your broken taillight."

  "You still haven't told me why you came by. Not anything specific," he reminded her. He shifted himself closer—intentionally, Savannah suspected—and she tried to move away. Unfortunately, her shoulder knocked one of the horses, striking a sweet spot that made the entire carriage tilt. Maxim swore in the same instant that Savannah's heart lodged in her throat; she could see the hulking frame tipping toward them both as if in slow motion. She raised her forearms up and braced herself for impact, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

  She heard the metal thunk heavily against a human body, but she never felt the bike come crashing down. Savannah squinted one eye open, before they both widened in astonishment. In the split second it had taken the bike to come crashing down to earth, Maxim had rolled over on top of her, using his wider body to shield her from harm. He strained visibly beneath the weight of the frame, bracing himself with both arms on either side of her. His own eyes were clenched closed, his teeth bared with the effort it took to keep her out of harm's way.

  She couldn't spare a moment to think about what he had done. Savannah reached around him and, with a grunt, managed to combine her strength with his and hurl the bike off his back. She wasn't in a position to immediately worry about whether or not she had damaged the bike. Nothing Maxim can't fix, she assumed. There were more important matters to address at the moment.

  "Are you all right?" she demanded. Her voice shook with adrenaline. A bead of sweat rolled off Maxim's left shoulder and splashed onto her skin. She tracked the rise and fall of his chest until it had slowed below the rhythm of her pulse. She was out of danger, so why did her heart race faster than before?

  "I'm all right." Maxim let out a ragged breath, before cracking one eye open at her. "Just remind me to never let you near one of my bikes again."

  Savannah craned herself upward, snaking one hand behind Maxim's neck, drawing him down to her before he could punctuate his thought. Her lips had already met his before she knew that she was kissing him—she didn't know how. She barely knew why, only that she craved something different than their usual back-and-forth. Maybe this was her way of thanking him.

  Maybe this was the real reason she had come all the way out here today.

  She felt his arm slip beneath her, finding the natural curve in her spine, forcing an arch in her back. His chest brushed against hers; she felt every lean line of him, all the way down to their joined
pelvises. She felt the button on the crotch of his pants dig a half-moon into her skin as he forced his swelling need between her jean-clad legs.

  She couldn't navigate this, couldn't think. His lips were on hers, and her mouth was moving, desperate to taste all of him, to incite more of the man's ready response. She had taken him by surprise before, in that moment stolen in the back hallway of Paint and Pint. She knew Maxim was an intuitive kisser, but his full prowess still eluded her. If only he'd give her a taste now…

  The Russian seemed all too willing to oblige her. He rolled his body once against her, hugging her so close that her breasts flattened between them. They ached to be touched, to be freed from the bondage of the sports bra, but Maxim's other hand was occupied with cradling the back of her head, pulling her to him even as he pushed back with his mouth. A single, unguarded moment, and he plunged his tongue inside her, invading her with a certainty that hadn't been there before.

  Too close. They were too close, and this was too much. Every domineering inch of Maxim's frame, and the way her own body gave itself over eagerly to moving in time with his, struck an alarm bell in her head. He was the beast her first impression had warned her he was—he was a wolf in monochrome clothing, and he was more than willing to take full advantage of any opening she gave him. She wouldn't be surprised if he had a mind to take her right here, right now, without a care for clocking out or the fact that only a wall separated the two of them from his ex…

  "That's two now," Maxim murmured against her lips.

  "What?" she asked breathlessly. For a wild moment, she thought the man had actually read her thoughts—he certainly felt close enough to. She couldn't comprehend what he was talking about. She couldn't even fully comprehend why they were talking, when they could be doing other things with their—

  "Two times now that you've kissed me." Maxim eased back a little, but he didn't go far. He reclined on top of her like a sphinx guarding a riddle. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you’re abusing your position of power over me, Agent Casillero."