“Tell me about his garden. The garden started fairly small although the room itself is huge.” He kept her talking to distract her, although he genuinely wanted to know.
“He wanted the garden to be really large but still allow everyone to see into the rooms on either side of it. I had to design the plants and trees to grow so that could be done. In keeping with his themes, I incorporate his apparatuses as much as possible for the plants to grow on. That lets me prune them back and tie them so they grow the way I need them to. I just had a smaller version of a wooden X brought in to plant some of the exotics to grow up and over. It should be quite lovely.”
Her voice held both intimate and enthusiastic notes when she spoke of her plants and the garden. It was a huge undertaking and very private between her and Cain, the owner of the club. For the first time in his life, Sevastyan felt the stirrings of jealousy and it was an ugly, demeaning emotion. He didn’t like to picture her in Cain’s office, close to him, leaning over the man’s desk, both poring over the papers she had drawn out, that sensual, intimate note in her voice as she talked about her plants and ideas and how to incorporate his various sexual apparatuses. He didn’t want Flambé talking to Cain about anything sexual, let alone an apparatus.
“Did Cain ever offer to show you how those apparatuses work?”
“Yes, but I declined. I wasn’t interested in anything but rope. That was beautiful and sensual.”
“Did he offer to tie you? He is a rigger. A very good one and a master in suspension.” They were coming up on Prune Lane. Ania had slowed the car as if she suspected another ambush.
Just the thought of Cain tying Flambé and suspending her in an erotic pose made him want to rip out Cain’s heart. He had never been that kind of man. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t possessive. He certainly didn’t care what other man a woman wanted after he tied her in a pose. If she wanted fifty other men, she was welcome to them. Not Flambé. She was his alone and hopefully he had made that very, very clear to her.
She nodded. “He did. By that time, I think I already was obsessed with you. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“Cain has many women to choose from, malen’koye plamya. You have no need to feel guilty or that you may have hurt his feelings. He owns a club and he’s very good at what he does. Women flock to him.”
He risked a quick glance at th
e setup. Everyone was in place. Once again, his eyes met Ania’s in the mirror and the car began to move forward with more confidence. Behind them the SUV pulled close, the Porsche behind it. The other two vehicles were nowhere in sight, which meant they’d taken the bait and rushed around to cut them off using the alleyway. His body stirred the way it always did in times of danger. He craved the rush. He needed it.
He caught Flambé’s chin and tipped her face up to his to take possession of her mouth. He loved her mouth. It was a hot haven of promised sin. She looked like an angel and kissed like she was Satan’s accomplice. Whiskey couldn’t burn that hot down his throat. Nothing could. She poured herself into him without reservation, without hesitation. He knew if he unbuttoned that prim little blouse she wore and put his mouth to her breast she would cradle his head to her and offer more.
Flambé tasted like hot cinnamon spiced with just the lightest hint of Moroccan rose and Egyptian jasmine. The moment he tasted that on his tongue, he wanted to rip off her panties, press his mouth between her legs and devour her to get at her unique flavor. He had to stop. He’d gone too long without her and he couldn’t start anything, not until this was over.
He had to send Franco Matherson a message. One very loud and clear. One that said not to fuck with him because the man would die if he did. Flambé was off-limits. She was safe and secure and never to be touched, frightened or intimidated again. It didn’t matter how much money the shifter had, he wasn’t going to win and he would never be safe. Sevastyan could get to him.
He lifted his head to push his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes. “I want you to stay in this car with Ania. Keep your head down and the doors locked. Don’t you dare defy me on this, Flambé. This is my business.” He kissed her forehead and then pushed her down on the seat. “Lock the doors after me, Ania.”
“You got it.” He waited until she allowed the SUV to trap her between the other two cars suddenly rushing at them from out of the alley and she brought their car to a complete stop. He opened the door and was out, rolling away from the car to draw fire away from the women and signal to his men they had open season on Franco’s men.
He came to his feet as his men opened covering fire and strode purposefully right up to the passenger side of the Porsche while they were still staring in triumph at the trapped car with Flambé in it. He yanked open the door, put a gun to the passenger’s head and pulled the trigger. He shot the driver twice between the eyes as the man turned toward him in a kind of dazed shock. Then he sprinted toward the SUV.
Two more vehicles tore onto the lane, trapping the SUV. Sevastyan barely glanced at the cars, not in the least surprised that Mitya would follow his wife. His own men had already sprung the trap and enclosed the other vehicles Franco had sent, exchanging gunfire but killing the occupants fairly quickly.
Sevastyan came up to the side of the SUV, but Zakhar was there first, giving him a look that said to back off. He smashed the rear window with a tool several times, ducking low as a barrage of bullets met the glass shattering inward. Tossing the tool to Sevastyan, Zakhar waited for Sevastyan to hit the back-passenger window and then duck before he threw the homemade bomb into the vehicle. Tackling Sevastyan, they both hit the ground hard as the SUV was lifted high, rocked and then set back onto the ground, flames coming out from under the doors and through blown-out windows.
“You fucking asshole,” Mitya greeted as Sevastyan climbed to his feet. He looked his cousin over carefully. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, no worries. Thanks, Zakhar. We’ve got to get these bodies out of here.”
“Cleaners are already here. Drivers will move the cars. We have an enclosed one for the SUV. Get out of here.” Zakhar’s voice was clipped.
Kirill and Matvei escorted Sevastyan back to the car with Mitya and his bodyguards striding right along with him.
Mitya knocked loudly on the driver’s door and all but yanked his wife from the car. He continued glaring at Sevastyan.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know you were up to something?”
“I wasn’t up to anything,” Sevastyan denied. “I was taking Flambé to see her supplier. Ania said she’d drive me. There was a five percent chance that something might go wrong. I told you that ahead of time.”
“When did you tell me that?”
“The other night. Do you ever listen to one damn thing I say to you? Maybe because Franco Matherson isn’t after your woman you don’t have to worry about him, but I did make it very clear that asshole was after mine. I also mentioned he was pissed as hell at me.”
“Because you challenged him deliberately, Sevastyan,” Mitya pointed out. “You thrive on confrontation.”
“That’s most likely true. Right now, I promised my woman that I would get her to her meeting on time.” He also had the hard-on from hell. “You can give your woman a lecture, one of your two billion that will never do any good, and I’ll take mine and go.”