by Eve Langlais
“It is what married people do.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I never actually thought about it.”
“Not even with Simon?” He did his best not to sneer. To think she’d thought to replace him with that milksop.
“We agreed ahead of time that we could continue to live as we chose. With, of course, open invitation to visit each other. With notice.”
“Sounds less like a marriage and more like a business arrangement.”
“Marriage is business. It’s a merger.”
He shook his head. “You can’t be serious. Marriage should be about two people wanting to spend time together. Becoming the best of friends. Partners. And lovers.”
Natasha stared at him. “If you believe that, then why didn’t you sign the papers? We’re not any of those things.”
“Aren’t we?” He arched a brow at her. “I enjoy spending time with you. We’re already lovers. And here we are, partnering up to solve a mystery.”
“I—” She frowned before saying, a little grumpily, “We’re not friends.”
“Aren’t we, though? I trust you not to shoot me in the back or while I sleep.”
“Gonna say that’s a pretty low bar if that’s your criteria for friendship.”
The remark brought laughter. “Have I told you how much I admire your sense of humor?”
“It’s called sarcasm.”
“And you’re quite good at it.”
“Idiot.” Said with warmth. She pushed at his chest. “You can put me down now.”
“If you insist.” He set her down, nudged the door shut, all while keeping an arm around her waist.
She craned to peek at the barrel vault ceiling. “Cute place.”
The walls were a mixture of stone at the front of the house, brick on the inside, with sections covered in hand-slathered plaster. Thick wood trim hid most of the modern electrical wiring that ran through the place. The floors, stone slab for this level, wood planks for the upper one, were covered in a thick rug, a woven pattern using lots of red and gold. The artwork on the walls proved just as vivid and contrasted with the dark-stained furniture: a couch with fluffy cushions, a few deep armchairs, a dining set with six straight-backed chairs.
He guided her into the living room area and said, “This house belongs to a friend of mine.”
“Meaning someone does know we’re here.”
He shook his head. “My friend is currently in South America and will be for the next four weeks.”
“And you just happen to know how to get in?”
“Are you really going to argue when it suits our purpose?”
“What kind of security does this place have?”
“The kind that lets us know if someone is coming. There are also some weapon caches in each room. I won’t insult you by pointing them out.” He’d already seen how her gaze was taking in everything around them.
“You do realize if they can’t find us, then they’ll just wait for the bachelorette tonight.”
“Assuming it’s you they want. Guess we’ll find out when we split for our parties.”
“You going to do something public to see if you’re the one who’s popular?”
He dragged her close. “I am going to be so blatantly out in the open they’d be stupid not to try.”
“Without backup?”
“Are you saying I can’t protect myself?”
“The last two times we were attacked, I saved your butt.”
“Because it’s cute, right?” He grabbed hers and squeezed.
“Passable.” She tilted a hand left to right in a so-so gesture.
“Baby, I’m hurt.”
“I’m sure your ego will recover.” She pushed away from him and began exploring, the entire main floor, even peeked out the back door to check out the enclosed courtyard. “Who owns the places bordering our oasis?” She pointed up at the windows overlooking it.
“Humans. So no sunbathing in the muff.” Meaning, skin only, no fur.
Curiosity satisfied, she headed up the stairs. She went through each room thoroughly, including closets, showing a keen eye as she sussed out the hiding spots for the various guns and knives. The four-foot sword with its razor-sharp edge hid in plain sight, nestled in a pair of brackets over the guest bed.
Natasha threw herself on the mattress with a sigh. “Nice place. I hope no one blows it up.”
So did Dean. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Are you hungry? Because I am craving some freshly made pasta.”
“I could eat.”
He stripped off his shirt and flexed a bit when he saw her looking.
She tucked an arm behind her head, and her eyes shut halfway. “What happened to getting some food?”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower before I touch anything.” His pants hit the floor next, and her gaze dipped lower. “Care to join me?” He entered the bathroom, an area both modern and old at the same time with the toilet water tank bolted high above and dangling a string. Above it, another cannister for the electric water heater.
The shower sputtered before spitting out all the cold stuff. He held his hand in the spray until it turned warm. He lifted his face to the water and didn’t immediately move when she joined him, her naked body pressed to his back.
Mine. Possessive, and yet he couldn’t help it. How could she not see how perfect they were for each other?
He dragged her close for a kiss that lasted a while under the hot spray of the shower. There was much panting and slippery fun as they soaped each other. When he spun her to face away, she braced her hands on the tile wall and tilted her ass towards him. She moaned as he entered her slowly from behind.
He wanted to feel every inch of her tight pussy. Moaned as her scalding flesh pulsed around him. She wiggled her hips, seating him deeper. And then she goaded him.
“Going to just stand around all day or make me come?”
He’d make her come, all right. He’d make her climax so hard, so intently, she wouldn’t be able to walk straight after.
In. Out. He began to pump, slipping in and out of her welcoming sex. He held her by the hips and thrust over and over again, feeling her tightening around him. Hearing it in the way her breath grew ragged.
When he felt himself getting close, he reached for her clit and rubbed. Circled his finger on that nub as he kept slamming into her. This time when she came, she could scream as loudly as she wanted.
He reveled in her pleasure and felt his own body tightening in reply. When she rolled into her second clenching orgasm, he joined her. Fucked her good and hard and growled, “Mine.”
When they both stopped shuddering, he spun her into his arms and just held her.
Could have held her forever if her stomach hadn’t growled, and she’d grumbled, “Married to a chef, and yet I’m starving.”
The laughter proved vigorous. “So sorry, wife. Let me fix that.” He exited the shower, towel-dried, and headed downstairs.
She called after him. “Wait, I think you forgot something.”
He glanced back at her. “I have everything I need in the kitchen.”
“What about some pants?” She pointed.
He smiled. “I prefer to cook in the nude. Join me in the kitchen if you’d like to watch.”
To his delight, she came down wearing nothing at all and, for the first time since he’d started cooking, he burned something. But it was worth it to have her eager and flushed on the counter.
Given he’d barely managed to put together food for one meal, and he’d ruined it, they ended up ordering in. It was after, with their bellies full, that her phone rang, and her smile slipped.
“What is it?” he asked, ready to leap over the table and reach through that phone to kill the person who’d taken away her happy face.
“Simon.”
“I see.” He said nothing but took the napkin from his lap and folded it before placing it on the table.
“I should take this.”
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“I guess. I told Simon the engagement was off.”
“How did he take it?” Because he knew how he’d react, and it would require a lawyer and bail money by the time he was done.
“Politely. He told me he understood what a difficult position I was in, and that he respected me for coming clean and wished us luck with our marriage.”
“That’s a good thing.”
She grimaced. “I think he’s lying.”
“Is he? Maybe he wasn’t keen on the whole getting hitched thing either, and you gave him the out he needed.”
“I don’t know.” She looked skeptically at her phone.
“What’s your gut say?”
“That he expected me to call it off. He didn’t act surprised one bit. Didn’t even argue.”
“Would you like me to pay him a visit? Find out if he’s got a secret.”
The offer startled her. “No. Of course, not. He’s not even close by.”
“If you change your mind…”
She shook her head. “I am probably imagining things.”
Still, her worry proved contagious, and no amount of sex—in the bed, on the kitchen counter or in the shower—made it go away. Although, each time he sank into her body, he lost himself.
He was ready to roar his affection to the world, to give her the hickey bite of all hickey bites.
She, however, remained convinced that after their sojourn in Italy, when they moved on to Russia to meet her family, that it would come to an end.
Which might be why he kissed her extra hard as the taxi arrived at the club where she’d be having her bachelorette.
“Don’t have too much fun without me, baby,” he breathed against her lips.
“Try and stay alive,” was her reply as she got out.
He planned to live a long, long time. With his wife. He leaned forward and said to his taxi driver. “Take me to—”
The doors on either side of him opened, and bodies slid in just as the man in the front seat turned around and smiled.
“Surprise!”
Chapter Eleven
Entering the club, she had to admit being surprised that Neville didn’t come in with her. In many respects, he acted the overprotective sort. Yet he didn’t escort her inside and ensure the place was secure?
It didn’t take the drawled, “If it isn’t the striped cow who tricked our darling nephew,” for her to realize why. He’d known his aunts were already here.
She would definitely kill him.
Natasha turned and smiled at his aunt, Marni. “You should stop acting so jealous about it. That kind of love,”—and yes, she finger-quoted—“is illegal in Italy.”
Marni’s lips pursed. “You’re a sassy one.”
“I think you mean I’m not a pushover.”
“He could have done worse,” Aunt Loretta declared from her other side. “At least, she’s a princess.”
“Have you both forgotten who her father is?” huffed Aunt Kari.
“I haven’t. I wonder if he’s got a line on some good Italian wine for cheap,” Marni mused aloud.
“Wine. Cigars. Illegal hunts. We are multi-branched and always open to new prospects.”
“Such as?” The lionesses all eyed her. In many respects, they reminded Natasha of her own relatives. Shrewd, tough, and all about the family.
“Hair products. Right now, they’re getting killed by tariffs. Greedy government,” she declared. “Imagine if we could bypass those annoying rules.”
The women smiled, showing way too many teeth, and Marni slung her arm around her shoulders. “I think we are going to get along just fine.”
“Even if I’m a striped cow?”
“It’s a compliment,” Loretta declared. “Means you’ve got birthing hips.”
Which was finally the thing to say to slam her mouth shut. She and Neville making a baby? She could hardly imagine, which might be why she drank way more than she should.
But she was among friends. Not only did she have the three aunts watching over her, they’d also brought a few of the renowned biatches, including Melly, Luna, and Stacey. Plus, Natasha’s own friends showed, a handful with Ana, her dancer friend, whose blood was so diluted she’d only inherited the feline grace. Then there were her cousins Sasha, and Pietra. And two more friends from school, Bianka and Kloey.
Between them all, they put away a ridiculous amount of alcohol, traumatized the strippers given not one of them was truly bashful, and danced.
It should be noted that none of them ever actually got drunk. The watered-down versions sold in these types of places barely got them buzzed. Not that it mattered. No one attacked her.
They shut the club down, and then the aunts escorted her to their hideaway house, which was lit up and full of strangers.
Okay, not all strangers. She recognized Lawrence when he turned from the laptop some guy was working on at the kitchen table.
“What is going on?” she asked. “Where’s Neville?” Because looking around, she didn’t see his striped head.
“Who’s Neville?” someone asked, only to shrivel under her glare.
“So, we might have misplaced your husband…” Lawrence started to say, coming towards her with his hands spread in apology.
She didn’t need to say a word as Neville’s aunts stepped forward. “Excuse me. Did I hear you say you lost my nephew?” Aunt Marni asked softly.
“Not exactly lost. It appears he might have been kidnapped.”
“What?” Marni lifted Lawrence off his feet, which was impressive given he was a few inches taller and broader.
The other males in the room took note, but none came to his aid, probably because Loretta and Kari glared and kept them subdued.
Natasha was really starting to like these women.
She stepped closer to Lawrence, a knife in her hand. “You might want to explain, and quickly, how you lost my husband. Before someone gets hurt.”
“When we heard what was happening, a bunch of us flew over to give him a bachelor party.”
“Without warning him?” she asked.
“It was a surprise,” Lawrence declared. “Jeoff over there wore some cologne to hide his scent, along with a wig and a hat.” A fellow with short, brown hair waved. It took some squinting to recognize him as their driver from earlier.
“Good thing he was distracted, or it wouldn’t have worked,” Jeoff declared. “Should have seen his face when I turned around in the driver seat.”
Lawrence took over again. “We told him we were kidnapping him and took him to a tavern.”
“With strippers?” she guessed.
“We were trying to be authentic.” Lawrence shrugged, and Marni sighed as she set him down.
“He didn’t stay, did he?” his aunt predicted.
“No. The moment he saw the naked titties bouncing around, he was out of there like he’d seen a ghost.”
“Breasts don’t scare him,” Natasha stated, only to blush as a few eyes turned on her. She angled her chin. “I’m sure he had another reason.”
It was his Aunt Loretta who revealed the why. “His mother was an exotic dancer. It was how our brother, Manifred, met her.”
“And now all strippers make him think of his mom,” she concluded. “So, where did he go, and why did none of you follow?”
“We did. From there, we went to a billiards hall. Played a few rounds. He left a couple of games in to go have a piss.”
“Alone?” she queried.
Lawrence shook his head. “I was with him. But I got distracted.”
“Meaning someone shook her titties at him,” mumbled the man who carried in a bowl of chips from the kitchen.
“And now, my husband is missing.” She planted her hands on her hips. “This is unacceptable. We have to find him. Now.”
“If it’s any consolation, we don’t think anyone took him.”
“You said before you thought he was kidnapped.” She sighed. “Why would he sneak away…?” She clamped her mouth shut. “He went to meet someone.”
“Who?”
Given his sudden insistence on doing things traditionally, she had a sneaking suspicion.
She eyed her smartphone and, a moment later, dialed. It took three rings before someone answered.
“Tasha, my daughter. How was your bachelorette?”
“Fine, Papa. Do you have him?”
“Have who?” he asked a little too smoothly.
“Do you have my husband?”
“Don’t be silly, Tasha. How can I have your husband when you aren’t supposed to be married for another week? Or are we talking about your other husband? The one you neglected to tell me about.”
Her stomach sank. “I was going to explain.”
“You don’t have to. I already know everything. Don’t worry, I’ve talked to Simon and handled the misunderstanding between the two of you.”
“You did what? I already spoke to him. He was fine with me calling off the wedding.”
“But that was because he thought you were already married. A problem I am about to rectify.”
“Papa.” She injected a warning note in the word. “Don’t you dare hurt my husband.”
Rather than reply, her father, the tsar of the Russian Siberian Tiger Mob, hung up. She threw her phone hard enough that it shattered on the brick.
“Bad news?” was Lawrence’s cautious query.
“My father has Neville.”
And had more or less admitted he was going to murder him.
Chapter Twelve
Waking up tied to a wall wasn’t Dean’s idea of a good time. Especially given it also involved a bucket of ice-cold water and a snarled, “Stop ignoring me, tiger!”
“Actually, that’s tigon,” he drawled, recovering enough to take a peek around. Old stone, low ceilings, naked lightbulbs. He appeared to be in a basement, and the man in front of him, wearing a thick pullover, with gray hair and an epic glare could only be one person. “You must be Natasha’s father. I’d shake your hand, but I appear to be a little tied up at the moment.” He was also feeling a little dumb. When he’d concocted his plan, probably while still lacking blood to his brain, he’d thought it brilliant. Contact Natasha’s father and come clean about their marriage so he could get the man’s blessing and finally put Natasha’s fears to rest.