Ania nodded, and patted Sevastyan’s arm as she passed him, waving at Flambé as she rounded the corner to go to the staircase leading to the master bedroom.
“Everything’s in place, Mitya, stick close to the house,” Sevastyan reiterated. “Call me if anything
is out of the ordinary.”
A dozen strobes flashed and then went off abruptly. Instantly everyone went quiet. He stepped in front of Mitya, and Kirill and Matvei did the same with Flambé and Sevastyan.
“Someone came up the front drive, Zinoviy,” Sevastyan said softly into his radio.
“Cops. Two of them.”
Sevastyan exchanged a long look with Mitya, who cursed. There was another long silence while they all waited.
Vikenti came down the hall toward them. “The cops are here to talk to Sevastyan,” he announced. “Ray Harding and Jeff Myers. I’ve got them in the front room. Zinoviy is watching them, making certain they don’t try to plant any bugs.”
Flambé frowned. “Why would the police want to talk to you, Sevastyan?”
“They always want to talk to us about something, malen’koye plamya.” Sevastyan gave her his most casual smile and started down the hall.
Mitya went with him, Kirill and Matvei followed along with Vikenti. Flambé trailed after them. Mitya stopped abruptly, which meant all of them did, including Sevastyan. Mitya whirled around and shook his head at her.
“There’s no need for you to come, Flambé,” Mitya stated. “I’m sure you have plenty of work to do.”
She went very still and for the first time every man in the room felt her leopard rise. It was fast and the little female was furious. The mood of a female leopard was palpable. Impossible to ignore. Edgy. Dangerous.
Flambé’s skin glowed. “You aren’t my leopard’s mate.” Each word was very distinctive. Her gaze swept past Mitya to meet Sevastyan’s. She was all cat in that moment. Her eyes pure green. It was a challenge. She was forcing a choice in front of the men.
Sevastyan fucking hated what he knew he had to do. This was going to cost him and he was already on shaky ground with her. He hadn’t sealed her to him, but he couldn’t afford for Flambé to overhear anything the cops asked him about the night he’d left Mitya’s to go hunting Franco Matherson.
“Baby, go to your office.” He spoke softly but it was a command, nothing less. “You can wait for me there.”
Flambé looked at him for one long moment and then she was gone. Her leopard was gone as well. He felt the retreat. The suppression. They all did. She turned and walked away from him, straight toward the back of the house, which could mean anything. He was fairly certain she wasn’t heading to her office, more likely straight to the back door.
He had no idea where Rolan was. He had no idea where Franco Matherson was. He swore under his breath. His sins seemed to be piling up. He stood for a long moment staring down at the floor before turning his icy gaze on his cousin. “You can fucking burn in hell, Mitya. I won’t be forgiving that shit anytime soon. When this is over, you can find yourself a new head of security. Kirill, I need you to watch over her for me. If I lose her, I lose everything.”
He turned his back on his cousin, not waiting for his response, and stalked down the hall to the cops, knowing they were there to ask him about Franco Matherson and the feud they supposedly had. Matherson could burn in hell as well.
Stalking down the hall straight into the sitting room where the cops waited for him, he entered, letting his rage fill the air, blasting hot, violent red. He knew they felt the feral emotion. The walls could barely contain the predator in him. Shturm raged with him, a cruel, deadly leopard, furious and determined to break free, to kill anyone in his way so he could get to his mate.
“Gentlemen. Make this fast and to the point. I’m busy and you’ve come at a very bad time for me, so this had better not be a fucking bullshit harassment visit.” He didn’t bother to take one of the chairs as Mitya did, but remained standing as the other bodyguards had done. “Let’s get started.”
14
KIRILL and Matvei had conveyed to Sevastyan that there had been a very brief argument at the back door with Flambé the night before. Flambé wanted to leave Mitya’s house, just as Sevastyan had known she would, and they had refused to allow it. She’d asked if she was a prisoner, and they had tried to be as gentle as possible with her, reminding her there could be danger. He knew they genuinely liked her. Who wouldn’t—other than Mitya. Mitya seemed to really dislike her. And she disliked him.
Mitya. Sevastyan knew he wasn’t being fair to his cousin. Mitya was trying to protect him, just as he’d tried for years, when he was a child. Looking at it from his perspective, Flambé appeared as cold as ice to Sevastyan. She wouldn’t so much as hold his hand. If one compared Ania, with her loving, adoring looks at her husband, touching him every chance she got, to Flambé, who wouldn’t go near Sevastyan, who could blame Mitya for thinking Flambé had no feelings for him? Sevastyan didn’t really believe she did either. He hoped for it, but he didn’t believe it. Still, his leopard was mated to hers.
Sevastyan sighed and paced back and forth across the kitchen floor. He was barefoot, wearing only a pair of soft pants riding low on his hips, wondering if he should try to use a tie to get Flambé to talk to him. She had refused all night. He didn’t blame her. She was silent on the ride home in the car, but the bodyguards were with them. He hadn’t tried to talk to her either.
The moment they arrived in the house, she’d gone straight upstairs and was in the shower. She’d spent a great deal of time there. He knew she was crying. He fucking hated that with every breath he drew, but he wasn’t certain how to handle her tears. She was completely closed off from him. She’d shut him out. He felt the distance between them. He didn’t just feel it, Shturm felt it as well. His cat prowled and snarled, pacing back and forth as if afraid she might bolt, taking his mate with her.
No matter how many ways he’d opened the conversation, trying to explain, she had shut it down, turning away from him, acting indifferent, uncaring, curling into the smallest ball he’d ever seen in the middle of their bed while he was so restless, his body raging at him for relief, desperate to rid itself of the buildup of aggression that was worsening by the moment. He didn’t want to use the ropes. He wanted to talk to Flambé, to try to sort out what was between them, to come to terms together and commit to each other.
Her leopard had to emerge soon. The few glimpses he’d manage to catch, the female had been potent, bordering on desperate. She was so close. Heaven help him, but she needed to make her appearance before Rolan made his. Somehow, and he wasn’t certain how, he had to make this right with Flambé.
The fragrance with little hints of freesia, Moroccan rose and Egyptian jasmine spiced with cinnamon, cloves and coriander drifted to him. He inhaled deeply, taking her into his lungs. She smelled like heaven to him. The moment he scented her, he tasted her on his tongue. That set up a craving. He was addicted to that taste, the combination.
He turned to greet her. She looked pale, dark circles under her eyes. She’d slept restlessly. “Good morning.” He didn’t have a great opening line and he needed one. Desperately. They had to talk things out.