Jase’s dad shook Harry’s hand. “You are the man who took money from my mother?”
Harry paled and glanced to Babushka.
“No, that’s the other one,” Jase mumbled under his breath.
“That is Morty. Different man.” Babushka poured herself a tumbler of vodka. “This is Harry. We live together.”
Oh God. Jase’s father’s face started to turn purple, but credit to him for keeping it together. “You live together?”
“I guess I’m off the hook, huh?” Heather muttered quietly to Jase.
“You live with this man?” his father asked again.
“I think she means, they live together at the retirement home,” Heather tried to help.
“Details.” Babushka waved a hand toward Heather.
“What the hell did I miss while I was gone?” Rome asked Zach.
“Babushka’s having a very late midlife crisis.” Zach went to work on his own glass of vodka.
Jase pulled at Heather’s arm and shook his head. “Rules of combat in the Dvornakov house: stay low, don’t say anything, don’t let them see weakness.”
“I think you’re being a bit dramatic.” Heather watched him over the rim of her wineglass.
“Also, if it’s stupid but it works, then it isn’t stupid.” Rome lifted his glass to her.
“Heather, sweetheart, we missed you at book club last week.” Harry strutted her way.
“You know this man?” Jase’s father asked.
“Heather volunteers at the retirement home. She likes committees.” Jase placed his hand at her back, a silent gesture of support that meant everything. “Mom likes committees, too.”
So he’d said.
“What committees do you serve on?” his mother asked.
“Right now, I’m helping with the senior ‘senior’ prom at the retirement home up the street from our shops. I thought it’d be fun for everyone and help bring in some new potential residents.”
“Nadzieja already agreed to go with me.” Harry’s eyes danced. “For part of the night. I’m sharing her with the man who owns Pistol Polly’s. I get second shift.”
“Pistol Polly’s?” Anna asked.
Heather swallowed hard.
“Second shift?” Zach asked, eyes wide.
“Oh shit,” Jase said under his breath.
“It vas Heather’s idea for me to move in with Harry.” Babushka picked at one of the appetizer trays.
“It was your idea for Nadzieja to move in with Harry?” Jase’s mother asked Heather in total seriousness. There was definitely an edge to the words that hadn’t been there before.
Heather choked on a sip of wine. “No…that’s not—”
“Was this before or after they decided to take shifts with my mother?” Jase’s dad asked, his expression a blank canvas.
The wine had gone sideways in her chest. She thumped at it with her fist.
Jase started to talk. “I think I can explain this—”
“Because she and Jase need their privacy at her apartment. She says I need my own space,” Babushka continued. “That I should move in with Harry.”
Okay, so that was not at all how the conversation had gone.
“This is what you say to my mother?” his father asked.
Shit. No. “Jase…” Heather said.
“This is getting twisted.” Jase pulled her against his side. “Dad, Babushka wanted to move in with her boyfriend—the other one—so Heather was coming up with alternatives. This was a much better idea.”
“And home is not an alternative?” His father glanced between Heather and Jase. “This is not an alternative you presented to my mother?”
So maybe she wasn’t off the hook after all.
“Morty is vonderful, but he always vorks,” Babushka babbled on. “Heather saw this when she took me to his restaurant.”
“To Pistol Polly’s? They have a restaurant?” His mother’s eyebrows fell together. “I’m confused.”
Heather tried to explain. “It was a total misunderstanding. I didn’t realize where she wanted to go eat—”
“C’mon, Dad, it’s not like Heather hasn’t been helpful to Babushka,” Anna tried to reason. “When you lost your temper, she let her stay with her.”
“I lost my temper because she’s handing out money to men we don’t know.”
“What the hell has been going on here?” Rome stood, apparently ready to join in the fray.
“Heather, let’s go on the patio and sit by the pool.” Jase snagged her hand and started toward the exit.
“When did you take my mother to the strip club?” Jase’s dad asked.
Heather’s heart stalled. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, yes, that’s where we ended up. And, sure, I was driving. But it was her idea and I didn’t realize until we got there—”
“Hey. Where did Babushka go?” Zach asked.
Harry was missing, too. Heather glanced to Jase. “You don’t think they’d…?”
“They’d what?” Anna asked.
Jase pinched his lips together and shook his head. “This is why we can’t have nice dinners.”
Jase’s father bustled from the room, his mother following, both of them talking to each other in rapid-fire Russian.
“Ten bucks says they’re making out in a closet somewhere.” Jase’s forehead was etched with lines, and the little lines around his mouth pointed straight down. “Let’s get out of here.”
Heather’s hand in his, he started for the front door.
“My family doesn’t really do dinners like this. We save it for Christmas and stuff,” Heather said, trying a bit of small talk. Now she kind of understood why they only got together a few times a year. If this was the kind of family drama that getting together regularly brought, she’d stick with twice-a-year get-togethers.
Jase’s mother shrieked from down the hallway. His father boomed what sounded to be Russian profanity.
Heather heaved a breath and chanced a look to Jase. “Yup. Making out in a closet. At least they didn’t have time to do what we caught them doing.”
“What did you catch her doing?” Anna’s expression was of total confusion.
Heather’s nerves had all gone numb, like when you’re in a car and it’s about to hit a telephone pole. Not that it had ever happened to her, but if it did, this is what she imagined it would feel like.
“We caught Babushka with her other boyfriend,” Jase replied. “They were…having…”
“Sex,” Heather finished for him.
“Serious?” Anna asked.
Jase nodded.
“Well. Shit.” Zach stood and refilled his tumbler of vodka. “Dad might just stroke out if he finds out.”
Heather’s shoulder slumped. “I don’t think this is going well.”
The muscles in Jase’s jaw clenched. “Welcome to my personal hell.” He dropped his untouched vodka tumbler on the counter. “Another rule of Dvornakov combat? Evacuate and get the hell out.”
Heather was 110 percent on board with that.
“Oh, hell no.” Rome jumped to block the exit. “If we have to stay, you have to stay.”
Jase widened his stance. “Heather, how do you feel about waiting by my bike?”
“What?” Heather slid her gaze to him.
He pressed his hands in his pockets, like they were at the zoo waiting in line to see the zebras. “You wanna get out of here?”
She nodded.
“I have a plan to get us out of here. Do you trust me?”
Uh. “Sure.”
“Then when I say go, you go. Wait by my bike. I’ll be right there.”
“That’s how this is going to go?” Rome asked, a sly smile stretching across his lips.
“Shit.” Zach stood and started moving the wineglasses off the kitchen island.
Heather gripped his forearm. “Jase, what are you doing?”
“Don’t get in the middle of it,” Anna said, hopping up on a barstool by the sink. “You’ll get a col
lateral-damage-black-eye, and they’ll both feel bad.”
“Jase…” Heather’s heart started to pound. “Whatever you’re going to do—”
“Trust me,” Jase said before she could finish. Then he stared straight at Roman. “You really want to block my way?”
The ominous air that had taken over the room intensified. Heather pulled at his arm. “Jase,” she said, her voice low.
She was already on the short list of things his parents hated, she didn’t need whatever Jase was planning with his brother.
“Be ready to move. I’ll be right behind you.” He turned his entire focus back to Roman.
Roman made a little c’mere motion with his fingers, licked them, and crouched. Like, he actually licked his fingers.
Well, crap.
“Go.” Jase said it so low that she barely heard it. But she hurried into the hallway to the front door, tossing it open. Anna squealed. Zach let out a “whoooop.” Something shattered. Something large shattered. There was… Was that fist on flesh? It sounded like someone was taking hits. She started to turn back, this was ridiculous.
“What are they doing?” Jase’s mother hurried beside her.
Heather glanced to her and opened her mouth to tell her she had no idea, but Diana clearly got the message, what with the telltale thuds and cracks coming from the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Diana whisked herself in to the kitchen. More Russian cursing. She must’ve learned that from Jase’s dad.
Heather didn’t need to stick around to figure out what Jase and Roman had done. She’d take his rules of combat and evacuate as directed.
She bolted to the Ducati. She’d barely made it there when the front door opened and Jase strolled out like nothing had happened. No crashes, no thuds.
He grabbed her helmet. Tossed it to her. And dealt with his own.
And he didn’t say a word.
The light in his eyes said it all.
“Do I need to go check on your brother?” she asked.
“Nope,” he replied, clicking her chinstrap for her.
“What did you do to him?” She slid her gaze back to the house. It looked totally normal. Fine. Like nothing had happened.
“He wouldn’t let us leave.” Jase tossed his leg over the bike, kicking on the motor.
“Jase…” She crossed her arms. Maybe she should go in and check on Roman.
He turned to her. “I didn’t hurt him. I just tied him to the refrigerator.”
How on earth?
He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the seat behind him. “You’ll want to get on, because if we’re not out of here before Mom comes out, we’ll end up staying. I can’t tie her to the refrigerator.”
Who was this guy?
You know what? She didn’t need to know. If this was the kind of thing people in big mansions did, she’d just be glad she’d grown up in a tiny apartment. A small, totally normal apartment.
* * *
Jase was pretty sure his mother was blowing up his phone. Not that he’d check tonight; he’d turned it off before he tied Roman to the fridge. His own fucking fault for trying to block Jase and Heather in.
On a good night, his family went a little bonkers at these things, but with Roman home and Babushka off her rocker, the last thing he needed was for Heather to see just how crazy his family could be. And he could tell from the way things were going, they were just greasing the gears for the real bizarre to come out.
He pulled up behind Heather’s shop, parking his bike in the alley next to the door leading to her kitchen. He turned off the engine and helped Heather to her feet.
“Is this how dinners with your family usually go?” She pulled off her helmet.
“Yes and no.” He tucked the keys in his pocket.
She leaned into him, whispering in his ear, “A little more, Jase.”
Shit, he didn’t want to dissect this. “Yes, it’s usually crazy. No, I don’t usually get to leave.”
She shifted on her feet, clearly unsure. “Why’d we leave, then?”
“Because I would like, at the end of the night, for you to still be speaking to me.” And possibly doing other things with him. He also didn’t particularly want to be around the table with Babushka and Harry while they acted like teenagers.
“I won’t judge you based on your family.” She stepped forward, placing her arms on his shoulders. “They’re them. You’re you.”
“See? You say that now. But…” He did a little one-sided lip curl, shaking his head.
She dropped her hands, unlocked the heavy exterior door, and pushed inside. “Do you want to place bets on what happened with Babushka and Harry after your parents caught them?”
“I want to not discuss my family anymore.” He paused to trace the edge of her forehead with his thumb.
“You want a cookie?” she asked, letting him by.
He heaved a breath from his lungs. “Is that code for something? Because either way, I definitely want a cookie.”
She gave a deep, throaty laugh before flicking on the lights in her kitchen. The kitchen was immaculate. He’d never seen it without her staff. Usually, it was bustling, with flour and icing flying.
“I can fix you a sandwich?” she asked.
“I’m good with cookies.”
She grabbed a bin of undecorated sugar cookies, pulling off the lid. “I know you don’t want to talk about your family anymore, but for some reason, you kicking someone’s ass is totally a turn-on.”
“How much of a turn-on?” he asked as she opened another bin filled with pastry bags of icing. She must’ve meant real cookies. That was fine, but later he wanted the figurative ones, too.
“Like, I’m in the showcase showdown on The Price is Right and my showcase is the one with a trip to Tuscany, a boat, and”—she went into game-show-announcer mode—
“a brand-new car.”
God, she was funny. He pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t bust out laughing and ruin the mood he was attempting to set.
“What do you, ah, want to do about that?” Jase dropped his voice lower.
She glanced up from icing his name on a cookie, obviously catching his vibe. “I suppose I’d like you to teach me to tie you up. Seems like that’s a skill you’ve been holding out on me about.”
His pulse skipped. Well, folks, he had not expected that. “I could teach you. First, I’d have to show you. I’d need you to volunteer.”
“That sounds fun. I could do that. But don’t lose focus, I want to learn the ropes. As they say.”
He moved closer to her, not in her space, but close enough he caught her scent. “You get me tied up, what are you going to do next?”
“How do you feel about frosting? Because I love frosting.” She piped a bit on her fingertip.
“You are not icing my dick.” He had very few things he wouldn’t do, but he drew the line there.
“I’m really good at icing dicks.”
“I repeat. You are not icing my dick.”
“I’ll lick it off.” She illustrated what she’d do with her tongue and her lips until there was no more icing on her finger. Well, hello, there, Heather.
Fuck it all, he no longer had that limit. Go figure.
“All right, so we get a little frosting involved. I get to have fun, too.”
“Where would you like to put it, Mr. Dvornakov?” she asked, the epitome of innocence.
He turned her so she faced the table, her back to his chest. Hands on her shoulders, he moved them to her collarbone, slowly down to her breasts, stopping at her nipples to rub circles there. “Maybe here?”
“Hmm…” She dropped her head against his pecs.
He continued lower, his hands pulling her against him. He stopped at her navel, rubbing more circles. “Here.”
“You’re getting warmer,” she said in a singsong voice.
“And it’ll feel so good, but your hands will be like this.” He pulled the pastry bag from her grip. Then
he raised her arms so they stretched around his neck. “Don’t move them,” he whispered in her ear. “See, they’ll be here. And you’ll want to touch yourself, but you’ll have to wait, because I’m going to be enjoying the frosting.” His hands continued their lazy journey down to the skirt covering her outer thighs. Stopping there.
“Where would you like me to put the frosting, sugar?” He brushed his lips against her ear.
She moaned, her hands still at his neck, her back still pressed against him. “Jase,” she said quietly.
Carefully, he lifted the edge of her dress so it was up around her hips before returning his hands to her thighs.
“Little to the left.” She squirmed against him.
“Then do I get my cookie?” His voice was rough.
“Then you can have all the cookies,” she replied.
He moved his hands to her inner thighs, rubbing there with the pads of his fingertips—just inches away from where he knew she wanted it. Drawing it out, making them both squirm. His erection pressed against the seam of his jeans, right against the outline of her ass.
Whatever this game was they were playing, he wasn’t ready for it to end.
She started to pull her arms away from his neck. Quickly, he moved his hands from her thighs to adjust her hands back to his neck again. He held them there. “Now we have to start over. It’s a good thing I like frosting.”
She made a gurgle sound in the back of her throat.
“Let’s go back to the beginning. And this time”—he began his slow descent down her body once more—“don’t move your hands.”
He brushed the hair from her shoulders, a light touch down the inside of her arms with his knuckles, over the slope of her breasts, pausing at her waist. She parted her thighs, but her arms didn’t move.
“See, you’re good with games. You learn fast.” He nipped at her earlobe. “Be a good girl, and drop your arms to the table, but don’t move them once they’re there.”
She did as directed.
“Do you want to do this here or upstairs?” He lifted her skirt, tracing the edge of her thong with his index finger.
“Here.” She gripped the table harder, grinding her core against his finger.
“Good choice.” He removed his hand from her skirt so he could free his erection.
Blow Me Away: A Mile High Matched Novel, Book 2 Page 16