by D. A. Young
“Looking good, Miss Jetsetter! How’ve you been? How was Europe?”
“Beautiful as always; however, I was strictly there for work.”
Kat had wandered the streets of Paris and Geneva, allowing herself to get lost in the cities and their rich history to clear her head of Sten’s murder and the altercation with his killer that followed. Tuck told her that the man suffered a heart attack and died instantly. Good riddance was all Kat thought about his death.
The lie she’d told her parents hadn’t sat well with Kat’s conscious. The relationship she and her parents cultivated was a solid one based on mutual trust, love, and respect. Consequently, Kat made a point of meeting with gemologists and suppliers that she’d established working relationships with, visiting the infamous jewelry shops on the Rue du Mont-Blanc and Rue des Paquis in Switzerland, the third Arrondissement for trendy and quirky pieces, and Saint-Germain-des-Prés and Canal Saint-Martin for luxe accessories in Paris. Kat’s creative brain was now overloaded with ideas that she planned to bring to fruition.
“I’m just happy to be home. Hopefully, it’s for a while and we can hang out. How’s nursing school?”
“Ugh! Can’t complain even though it’s kicking my butt!” Ameyo gave a quick peek over her shoulder and turned back to Kat, wrinkling her nose. “I have to get back to work. You know how busy lunchtime is around here. Let’s link up soon?”
Now that lunch had been mentioned, the tantalizing combined aroma of ginger, scallions, and garlic, suddenly assailed Kat’s senses. Her stomach rumbled hungrily, and she glanced in the direction of the back of the store. Per usual, Mr. Pang, Kyung’s father, was grilling Bulgogi at the takeout station.
Thinking about the barbequed Korean delicacy of thinly sliced, marinated beef had Kat’s mouth salivating. Her Papa loved it too, so she’d have to order a few skewers to go.
“Definitely, hon. Go do your thing.”
Kat continued toward the boba tea station where she was greeted by a cheerful Mrs. Pang.
“It’s good to see you, Katerina! Do you want your usual?”
She laughed lightly. “Yes, please. You know I couldn’t resist stopping here for the Fruity Pebble cereal shake before heading home.”
“Ah, so that means Mr. Alexei has not seen you yet.” Mrs. Pang worked efficiently on the order as she confided to Kat, “He and Darby speak so highly of you! They’re extremely proud of your accomplishments. The entire town is. When will Jackson be home? It’s very rare to see him since he moved away. I just saw Casey last month. It’d be good to see your entire family together again.”
Kat pushed the dark thoughts of Sten’s murder to the recesses of her mind where they belonged. “Thanks; I appreciate that. It has been a while since Jack’s been home, but I have a feeling that will change soon.”
“You’re levelheaded like Ameyo and my Kyung, a good decision-maker!”
A sense of melancholy swept over Kat. Always the good girl, never the one to break the rules. Other kids were staying out past curfew, skinny-dipping in the lake, and sneaking sips of moonshine swiped from an overly confident parent’s “locked up” stash. There’d been no kissing underneath the school bleachers or necking in the back of a car for her. She’d stuck to casual dating outside of Whiskey Row. Here, in town, there was Papa, his men and dogs, Darby, and two of her brothers’ childhood friends to intimidate the hell out of any man that laid eyes on Kat. To them, no one was or ever would be good enough for her.
Kat had been blessed with a loving family, great friends, and a passion that always kept her on her grind. To the outsiders looking in, she had it all: brains, wit, kindness, independent wealth, and success. Her life was a gratifying one. However, sometimes, it felt … empty, as if something was missing. Deep down, Kat knew what it was.
Love.
A secret, hopeless romantic, she yearned for a relationship built on passion, adventure, intimacy, spontaneity, loyalty, and respectability. Fireworks, not sparks. Her goal was to live an extraordinarily, glorious life with no stone left unturned. At the end of it, Kat wanted to be able to say, “Been there, done that, got the memories and t-shirt to prove it”, instead of wondering “If only I had…” A love like the one she coveted fell under her “goals” category, and she refused to settle for anything less.
Kat’s most recent date, Derek, who resembled actor Chadwick Boseman, was funny and intelligent, but the sparks she’d been hoping for weren’t there. At the end of the night, Derek hadn’t been amused by her clichéd “It’s not you; it’s me” speech. Considering Kat came from a family that was emotionally sufficient amongst them, the concept of finding love and keeping it seemed ludicrous. Especially when every male member or associate of Kat’s family was determined to drive potential suitors away. Not that she wanted a guy who was easily intimidated by them or her high standards.
The right man would rise to the occasion.
She had to believe that.
Giving the older woman a wan smile, Kat glumly accepted her favorite treat. “Thanks, Mrs. Pang. I’ll be seeing you soon.”
She turned her iPod back on as she browsed up and down the aisles. Kat grabbed a pack of mints and a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos as she sang along, a sucker for a catchy tune that made her feel slightly better.
“Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon
You come and go
You come and go…”
Kat had just taken a healthy slurp of her shake when her right earbud was yanked out and a baritone voice crooned into her ear.
“Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dreams
Red, gold, and green
Red, gold, and green…”
Startled, she whirled around and promptly spat her shake out.
Directly into the surprised face of one of her brothers’ childhood best friends.
***
“I-I am s-s-sorry about that! I wasn’t expecting…You took me by surprise!”
Kat’s face was scorched with embarrassment as she uncontrollably stammered the apology. She was horrified. No, make that completely-until-the-day-she-died-mortified at what she’d done. Meanwhile, Holton Brammer continued to stare unwaveringly at her with hawk-like intensity from those azure eyes. They didn’t miss a thing as milkshake dripped from his wheat-gold lashes, down his carved cheekbones and Roman nose, directly into his full beard.
“Gotta love the ‘80s, right?”
Without breaking eye contact, Holt reached into his denim jacket pocket and produced a red bandanna. Immediately, Kat snatched it from his hand and gently wiped his face. His campfire body heat and cinnamon-scented breath were cozy, luring her in. Notes of crisp linen, eucalyptus, and citrus seduced her senses, and Kat attempted to covertly inhale Holt’s fragrance without looking like a stalker as she worked. Maybe if Kat scrubbed hard enough, she could erase this catastrophe from his mind.
In the midst of her colossal humiliation, she found herself, not for the first time, appreciating Holt’s Nordic god appeal. He was effortlessly impressive and piquing her interest. With his towering height and muscular body, honed to perfection from years of strenuous labor as a carpenter, the man sizzled with virility and exuded raw power.
When Kat was younger, she’d been infatuated with Holt. Where his friends were loud and rowdy, he possessed a serious, quiet vibe that triggered her avid curiosity. Of course, it was unrequited, most likely due to their age difference and her brothers, but when she turned sixteen, any interaction between them simply became an unfailingly polite greeting and a blank stare that were so impersonal, she may as well not have existed. Feelings stung, Kat had chalked it up to she was and always would be just his friends’ kid sister and did her best to ignore him.
“No worries, Little Romankov, and yes to ‘80s pop. It’s all good. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that,” Holt chuckled, clearly enjoying her flustered state. He offered her a full-blown smile and Kat blinked at its no-holds-barred brilliance. “Welcome home.”
&
nbsp; Except, he hadn’t been able to resist approaching her.
Like Adam to the apple, he was drawn to her, the gravitational pull too formidable for resistance. Upon entering the convenience store, Holt’s radar, as if programmed specifically for her, sensed when Kat was in the vicinity. His adrenaline sizzled and his shaft turned pipe-hard reflexively. She painted a tempting image in the spaghetti-strap, crisscross, black jumpsuit with white polka-dots all over, which molded to her voluptuous silhouette like a familiar lover. Her strappy, black high-heeled sandals that displayed her sexy, French-pedicure toes wasn’t helping his situation.
Toe sucking wasn’t his thing, but Holt would suck and gnaw on hers like a plateful of honey-barbeque wings given the chance. He was mesmerized as she danced down the aisle without a care in the world, the continuous life of any party. Curls bouncing and hips dipping, she was oblivious to the effect she had on the opposite sex. God had unquestionably spent a little more time on her, and it showed. Supremely confident in her own skin, Kat was like the sun, shining vibrantly and exuding warmth and light and optimism wherever she went.
His voice was now officially added to Kat’s favorite playlist. The rumble of his southern timbre with the faintest underlying Swedish accent was cogent. Like moonshine, it flowed through her system, potent and intoxicating, slamming Kat’s heart into overdrive. His laugh, the perfect blend of dirty and humorous, reverberated like lightning from her fingertips brushing against his warm skin, and traveling all the way down to her toes, electrifying Kat’s senses. It was like rough silk brushing against her most intimate parts. Shaken, her hand fell away from Holt’s face. They were left, gazes clashing, in the center of the Git & Split, oblivious to the curious stares of other shoppers.
Little Romankov.
Normally, a title like that would have Kat fired up. It was a bone of contention between her family’s treatment of her that she found patronizing and irksome along with the babying. But Holt had made it sound like an endearment of sorts. As if Little Romankov was someone he wanted to get grimy with until Kat was fisting sheets and ripping them smooth off the bed corners into a twisted bundle on the floor. Nervously, she pressed a hand to her stomach, attempting to control the butterflies raging mosh pit-style.
Why was she so flustered???
She was a grown-ass woman, and this was Holt for goodness sake! The silent, unassuming member of the Fab Five, the tight-knit group consisting of her brothers and their other childhood friend, Guiles Keetowah-Marquez. The rugged, low-key carpenter who lived in Levis, thermals, hoodies, and plaid shirts and drove a Ford-350. The one who hadn’t given her the time of day. She wasn’t thirsty, so his drool-worthy looks shouldn’t have fazed her. Kat had grown up surrounded by some of the most handsome, charming men that most women had never encountered. Nonetheless, Holt was invoking reactions that derailed her train of thought, drawing her into him and making Kat long for a freezing shower. A discreet glance downward confirmed that her treacherous body had betrayed her. Kat’s fevered flesh was prickling with goosebumps, and her distended nipples pressed insistently against the cotton of her jumper.
“Thanks,” she replied breathlessly.
Unnerved by her visceral reaction and being the object of his concentrated scrutiny, Kat crossed her arms over her bosom. Heat engulfed her when Holt’s X-ray stare fell to her chest and lingered. The corner of his mouth kicking up wickedly as if he knew the effect he was having on her. The air between them thickened, swirling with an indescribable tension and awareness too intense to ignore.
“It’s nice to be missed. I didn’t think anyone would really notice.”
He was so busy enjoying the rapidly spreading blush rising from Kat’s chest to her neck. She was too damn cute for her own good. The blush was climbing toward her hairline and he almost missed what she’d said. Holt’s eyebrows slashed together, and he stared at Kat as if she’d grown a third eye.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’, darlin’. Just tryin’ to figure out how serious you are,” he mused with a shake of his head and an enigmatic smile. “You’re very hard not to miss.”
The movement drew Kat’s eyes to his man bun, which ranged in a woven ribbon medley of blonde ranging from ash to butterscotch. Her fingers itched to pull it loose and get tangled up in the thick waves that flowed past his shoulders.
“Oh, I’m dead-ass serious.” Kat crinkled her nose and not for the first time. Holt was enchanted by the smattering of freckles across them. “Family doesn’t count. Besides, when would they even have time to miss me? We Skyped practically every day that I was abroad!” She rolled her eyes playfully. “You know how your friends are!”
Holt stroked his beard thoughtfully, and Kat tracked the movement, suddenly fascinated by his strong, callused hands. Those long, broad fingers effortlessly carved masterpieces with the trusty Heritage pocket-knife that Holt always carried. She drew a deep, shuddering inhale, not doubting for a moment that they were more than capable of coaxing an orgasm from a woman. Or several.
“Yeah, I’m well aware of how they are,” he replied abruptly and changed the subject. “Congratulations on your new business venture. I haven’t had the chance to tell you personally. How are things goin’?”
She was a walking advertisement for herself, Holt thought. Around her neck, she had layered gold necklaces in varying lengths, each with a gold coin at the end. The slender fingers of her right hand displayed gold stacked rings that fanned out in geometric and abstract designs. On her left hand, she wore an impressive cocktail ring. It was oval-shaped and set in a modern yet futuristic-disc-like gold setting that was reminiscent of The Jetsons.
“Thanks!” Kat’s grin was full of pride. “I appreciate that. Business has been steadily growing. I recently met with some new suppliers to discuss their chain of custody protocol for their diamonds.”
Holt’s eyebrows rose with curiosity. “Custody protocol?”
“For conflict-free diamonds,” Kat explained. “Diamonds that don’t finance rebel movements or spark human rights violations. Ones sourced from suppliers that practice and maintain safe, responsible labor laws and minimize environmental degradation.”
“And how are they able to authenticate that?”
“Vixen will only work with suppliers that can track and segregate diamonds by origin and are committed to internationally regulated labor, trade, and environmental standards!” she adamantly declared. Her delicate chin thrust forward stubbornly, the passion for her business evident in her voice and face. “Casey set me up with a legal firm in Paris since he couldn’t personally make it due to a conference. We interviewed each supplier extensively. Those that met the standards signed contracts agreeing to ongoing evaluations and random third-party audits.”
Holt was filled with not only respect and pride for her beliefs but also a fierce wealth of protectiveness. The thought of Kat getting entangled with rebels disturbed him greatly. He’d dealt with them firsthand and knew they had no remorse and would show none. Not even for the stunning business owner. They would purposely make a heinous example of her if given the chance.
“Good for you. I’m glad that things are coming together. What made you decide to change your major?”
“Oh, I haven’t left fashion completely. I’m still designing occasionally.” Kat waved a hand down her body, indicating her outfit. Holt refused to allow his gaze to wander past her neck again and simply inclined his head. ““Create the things that you love and feed your soul with what makes it happiest” is my mantra. I’m an avid jewelry collector and completely understand that the jewelry business is an oversaturated market. Once I realized that I couldn’t find the pieces I loved and envisioned and had to repurpose pieces sporadically to achieve a look, my curiosity for jewelry design grew. Vixen was soon born.”
She fiddled with the rings on her right hand, beaming at them. “It would have been easy to ask one of my classmates to design something for me, but I realized that I was just as capable, so I picked
up some extra courses. It was challenging. I burned and jabbed my fingers more times than I care to count, but I was hooked on the process! I’m not interested in creating baubles that you can get everywhere. I’m invested in creating ready-to-wear, bold, sizeable statement pieces. Unique styles but also classics with a twist. Why settle for ordinary when you can work your ass off and have your own kind of extraordinary?”
Little Romankov was a one-woman show of designing, marketing, and selling her vision and her pieces, Holt thought.
“Congratulations, again. Your brothers stay braggin’ about you and for good reason, I see. Have you considered openin’ a showroom? Somewhere to entertain your growin’ clientele? Or do you prefer private showings?”
“Eventually,” she considered. “Right now, communicating via Skype, phone, and emails suits both parties.”
“Let me know if you reconsider. I’d be happy to create and install a showroom as original and eye-catching as your jewelry designs. Offer stands for any time.”
With Jack being in New York, Holt and Guy were up to their ears in orders at Americana Traditions, the wood furniture company the trio co-owned. But if Kat wanted a showroom, he would build it himself to her custom specifications. She deserved that and more.
Pussywhipped, his conscience taunted.
And didn’t Holt just know it?
Abruptly, he switched subjects. “How was Europe?”
“It was fine. I was too busy working to really enjoy it this time around. Maybe next time.”
“Aww, hell nah, darlin’.” Holt frowned disapprovingly. “How could you not take advantage of all the continent has to offer? It couldn’t have been all work. Where’d you go?”
“You sound just like my brothers. I went to…”
Holt listened but his amusement had dissipated with the mention of Jack, Darby, and Casey. They, along with Guy, were his brothers. They’d been there for each other through thick and thin and never fronted, lied, or played each other.
