"I'll be living right there on that sweet farm with you," Viktor said, his gaze suddenly sharp. Piercing. On Lissa.
Casimir glanced at his woman, saw her eyebrows shoot up again, and this time she dug her nails into his palm.
"How lovely." Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Gavriil's dog just had puppies. I'm certain there's room in the doghouse for you to stay."
Viktor's green eyes glittered with menace for a long moment and then he burst out laughing. "Your woman has a bad attitude, Casimir. You aware of all that sass before you married her?"
"Yes," Casimir admitted. "And that makes me either the smartest man in the world or the dumbest."
What in the hell is wrong with you? he demanded.
Her chin went up. He'd forgotten she could also be the most stubborn. Someone ought to kick him very hard in the shins. And when I say hard, I mean hard enough so he carries a big fat bruise for a month. He needs to wake up.
"I'll take the doghouse until I get things straightened out," Viktor said. "And trust me, little sister, when I decide to straighten things out, they get that way fast."
14
"What was that?" Casimir asked as he opened the door to the villa overlooking the turquoise sea. He stepped back to allow her to precede him, his jaw set, eyes hard. Lissa lifted her gaze to his face. He could see the answering anger, the one smoldering in his belly, glittering in her eyes. That just brought that fire roaring to life. "Viktor is my brother. He came all this way to be with us. I can't believe you would talk with such open hostility to him."
"Your brother is a Neanderthal and he belongs in a cave somewhere."
She stalked past him into the wide-open room. He followed her. Close. The fire inside of him growing with every step he took. He hadn't seen Viktor since he was a little boy when the soldiers came and ripped his family apart. The tortures they'd all endured were indescribable. He'd never talk to her about his childhood, especially not when that door had been cracked open and he was close to losing control.
The villa was beautiful. One wall, on the far side, was all glass, the view spectacular. He forced himself to stare down into the sea, to try to calm the flames and shut the door on his memories.
"Your brother has the mentality of a biker. Clearly, to him women are nothing but second-class citizens."
He spun around to face her. "How the hell did you get that from our conversation?"
She stalked over to the long bank of windows, stopping beside him, looking beautiful in her dress, more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. The sun shone through the glass, turning her hair into a fiery mass of silk spilling down her back and around her head, like a crown of flames. Her skin appeared luminous, petal soft, inviting touch and that defiant, stubborn lift to her chin brought his body a sudden urgent ache.
"It's Blythe."
Her eyes met his, hers suddenly liquid, framed by long, thick lashes darkened into submission with mascara, but he knew beneath that color were fiery tips of red and gold to match the flame of her hair. Her voice had gone low, quivered even, and his body went still and the surge of intense lust immediately mixed with his need to protect her.
"Blythe?" he echoed, trying to understand.
"Yes, Blythe," she hissed. "My Blythe. My sister Blythe. She's the one he's talking about. He left her five years ago without a word. Not one single word. She doesn't know she's married to him. She would have told us. She's... haunted. She runs every day to escape demons. I've seen that look on her face and he put it there."
"Viktor somehow did something to your sister?" He struggled to understand. "Malyshka." He tried to soothe her. "Viktor has been in deep cover for five years. What could he have possibly done to your Blythe?"
She glared at him. "Your brother hurt my sister. He devastated her."
She paced across the floor in her wedding dress, needing the action. He could see the fire in her belly roaring to life, matching the burning in his. The room took on a golden glow. She glowed. His woman. Lissa. No, Giacinta. He had married Giacinta Abbracciabene, and she deserved to be her father's daughter. She shouldn't have to hide who she was any more than he should have to be anyone but Casimir Prakenskii.
His other brothers, with the exception of Viktor but - even Gavriil - had managed to leave their lives behind, to get out of the shadows. Giacinta and he deserved that as well. They'd paid their dues in that hellhole they'd been forced into. They'd nearly clawed their way out, and if they made it, neither of them was ever going back. His woman could finally be in the sun where she belonged.
"That whole thing about Evan Shackler-Gratsos, Viktor telling us who his target was, that wasn't about you and Gavriil and the others taking over if something happens to him. That was making certain I couldn't tell my sister about him. He's a dick."
She was beautiful in her anger. A fiery princess dressed in a jeweled silk and lace gown that he couldn't wait to take off of her.
"Woman, when you're pissed, you have a mouth on you." And he knew exactly where he wanted that mouth. His cock was harder than a rock and needed attention immediately.
He hooked her around her sweet little waist and pulled her into him, his front to her back. His fingers found the small jeweled buttons, sliding them from their loops. She tried to turn to face him, her anger radiating off of her. He didn't mind. He wanted to taste that fiery passion. Drink it down his throat. He tightened his hold on her, pinning her against him. Bending his head, he nuzzled her neck and then sank his teeth there.
Shocked, she stilled. He held her in place, his hands moving up from her waist to that alluring plunging vee of a neckline, the one revealing the full curve of her breasts. Every time she'd moved and more satin-soft skin had been revealed and then hidden, temptation had skittered through his body. A long trail of molten fire burned through every vein and artery, leading straight to his heart and then back to his cock. That force centered there, pooled until his balls became deep magma chambers and his erection was fiery hot and so hard with need that he knew he could explode any moment.
He slid his hands inside that jeweled bodice, claiming her lush mounds. Her hard little nipples poked into the palm of his hands. He cupped the sweet flesh for a moment, savoring the feel of her. He turned his head, his lips against her ear. "That wasn't a nice thing to do, golubushka, calling my brother names. Do you really think I'm going to let you get away with that?"
Her outraged breath hissed out of her, just like he knew it would. Her breasts rose and fell as she drew in air and exhaled. His fingers and thumb found her nipples and tugged and rolled, pinching and then brushing caressing strokes while his teeth went to her earlobe. She made a sound, a moan and involuntarily pushed her bottom against him.
"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, malyshka, and you're going to come for me over and over until I say enough. Do you understand?" He whispered the declaration in her ear. Thought about taking her, right over the couch by the window with the sun shining on the sea below and sending rays to turn her red hair into pure fire. "Say you understand." His hands kept moving, kneading and tugging, sending tiny pinpoints of pain to sharpen the pleasure sweeping through her.
"This is for me. Right now. Here. Then it will be all you, golubushka, I promise, but when you give your man a raging hard-on, then you take care of it."
He felt the shiver go through her body. Her nipples hardened even more and she squirmed, her hips pushing into him. Deep. Needy. Hungry. He used his tongue to ease the sting on her earlobe. "Right now," he whispered, his lips brushing against her sensitive ear, "in this beautiful gown, I want you to turn around and open my trousers, take out my cock and wrap your lips around it."
His heart pounded hard in his chest. The moment his anger had surfaced, the moment hers had risen to meet
his, their passion colliding, he could barely think of anything else. Her, in that exquisite gown, looking like a princess, so beautiful she took his breath away, the hint of her breasts tempting him. Every movement of her body in that figure-hugging jeweled sheath fed the fire in him. The red of her full lips - hell, he had to see them wrapped around his cock. Feel her hot mouth surrounding him.
She turned to him, right there in front of the bank of windows, the turquoise sea surrounding them, tilting her face up to his. She was so beautiful his heart actually ached. Her tongue touched her lips and then she sank to her knees on the Persian rug right in front of him, her hands reaching for his zipper. Fingers brushed his cock so that he felt it jerk. Hard. So much anticipation. He took a breath. Let it out.
"Giacinta, first, push the material of that gown off your breasts. I want to see them while you suck me off." Deliberately he kept giving orders. Stark. Raw. Watching her face. Watching her hunger grow.
Her lashes fluttered. She swallowed. Her breasts heaved. Her hands left his trousers and settled on the bodice of her dress.
"Look at me, malyshka. I want to see your eyes while you take your breasts from where they're hiding from me. Ease them out."