The Professional (17 page)

And therein lay the problem. Anytime we were alone, we were in danger of fooling around. Which might explain why Sevastyan had been avoiding me.

“Paxán, I need you to level with me,” I said, my face heating anew. “What would happen, if there was more . . . trifling?”

The dapper gentleman clockmaker pulled at his collar, utterly uncomfortable with this, reminding me that he was new at having a daughter. “Do you mind if I switch from English?” he asked, and I waved him on.

In Russian, using what had to be a record number of euphemisms, Paxán basically told me that if Sevastyan and I consummated a relationship, the man would be obligated to become
plighted
to me—a way of saying
bound
, fairly much forever—even without the wedding.

It all became clear. No wonder Sevastyan had distanced himself from me—he dreaded what might happen. Attraction to me was one thing, being plighted quite another.

Not that I wanted such an arrangement with him, but it still stung that he’d do anything to avoid getting saddled with me.

The first couple of days after the closet incident, I’d made excuses for his distance. He was too busy, had too much on his mind.
Stupid, Natalie.

Not the guy to hold my hands and warm them when they’re cold.

“I believe I’m bungling this.” Paxán rubbed his temples. “You’re so young. Too young to be given to another?”

“Given?” I said, voice scaling an octave higher. This was the way of the world here, a world I was now immersed in.

Gaze going distant, Paxán said, “Still, considering all the danger these days, maybe you need a man who would lay down his life for you.”

“Will you tell me more about Travkin and the current threat
against us?” Paxán kept the specifics in the vault, so to speak, not wanting to burden me. “Do we all have glaring bull’s-eyes on our backs?”

Paxán seemed not to have heard me. “It is a difficult situation, and perhaps it’s not meant to be with you and Aleksandr. There are shadows in him.”

“Shadows?”

Paxán focused on me once more. “I know Filip is also interested in you. You’re closer in age and have much more in common.”

“I’m not attracted to him like that. I almost wish I could be, but I’m not.”

“No attraction at all? To
Filip
?”

I shook my head. “None.”

“That is . . . unexpected. Perhaps you just need to give all this some time. Let things settle as they will?”

Sevastyan strode up the pavilion steps then, shoulders bunched with tension. A look passed between the two men, and Paxán immediately stood. “Now, my dear, it appears that I have pressing business.”

I made my expression neutral. “Anything I should know about?” Whenever Sevastyan scanned for danger, was it because he was
extremely vigilant
or because danger was imminent?

Paxán absently kissed my head. “Nothing we can’t handle. . . .”

Behind him, Sevastyan’s restless demeanor called to mind that ticking bomb clock. His golden eyes darkened on my face—like an indecipherable warning, meant for me alone.

Sooner or later, the countdown clock would zero out.

And then what would happen?

“I
need answers, Filip.” He and I were in the stables, awaiting the groom. The weather had finally broken after another week of rain, and I’d invited Filip to join me for a ride. “I need to know more about the threat to Kovalev.”

Things around Berezka continued to heat up, and no one would explain to me what was happening. Not even when a photographer had arrived yesterday to take a head shot of me—for my new fake Russian passport. “Just a precaution,” Paxán had assured me. “You never know when you might need to travel outside our territory.”

To travel? Or to flee?

Since my talk with Paxán, I’d gone on a Sevastyan-fast, working to keep my mind off him. Sometimes I would catch his penetrating gaze on me—the clock ticking on—but he never said anything to me beyond good morning.

Still that tension simmered between us, mirroring the business tension pervading the estate. Both continued to grow, with no end in sight.

“Don’t worry about it, Nat.” Filip looked model-stylish in his
boots, tan riding pants, and plaid equestrian jacket. Only a man of his physical perfection could pull off that outfit, a cross between voguish and swank. But he also looked exhausted. “Your father is a clever man. He’s always one step ahead of the bad guys, even a ruthless character like Travkin.”

I adjusted my own tailored coat with my warm gloves. Though the sun was out, the air was chilly. Fall in Russia had a definite bite. “I wish there was something I could do to help.” I’d edited Kovalev’s sparse Wikipedia entry, adding “allegedly” everywhere and implementing a “Contributions to Charity” section.

How had the syndicate lived without me all this time?

Strangely, there was no mention of Aleksandr Sevastyan anywhere online. There was a prominent family in Russia with the same last name, but they were in legitimate commerce and even politics.

“You
are
helping.” Filip chucked me under the chin. “You make the old man happy. Each day you two grow closer. It’s obvious to everyone. Let the menfolk take care of this.”

I stiffened, then realized he was kidding. He was the most modern-minded guy here, and he loved to yank my chain.

“You’re ravishing when you’re all feminine and piqued.” He tilted his head. “You know, you’d be amazing blackmail bait. That’d be one way to join the family business, Cuz.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

With his angelic smile, he asked, “Is it working?” He reached forward to grasp my ponytail, twirling the end around his forefinger. Just when I was about to step away, he abruptly dropped his hand. He had a knack for sensing how far he could push with the flirting.

He’d been having to pull back more and more—because he was
always
flirting. At times Filip’s behavior made me wonder
if he was aware of those plighted rules. I could swear there was an almost desperate feel to his attentions—which didn’t fit with, well, everything about him. “There’s nothing you can tell me?”

“Hey, I just work on the books. Sevastyan doesn’t allow me inside the inner circle.”

“Me neither.” We were outsiders looking in.

When Filip brushed his hand over his tired face, I noticed that his watch was gone. Like Paxán and Sevastyan, he’d had an expensive wristwatch, but I hadn’t seen it in a couple of days. I narrowed my gaze. “Something’s going on with you.” I looked into those guileless gray eyes. Too guileless?

“Nothing’s going on, Cuz.”

“Then where’s your watch?” I demanded before I could bite my tongue. Hadn’t I decided to eighty-six the overanalyzing? The prejudgment of men? Yes, but, damn it, I’d been getting some strong
gambler
vibes off him. Was his car really still in the shop after two weeks?

He averted his gaze as he said, “Went swimming with it the other day.”

“Let me guess. It’s in the shop too?” No watch: pawned? No car: hocked?

Was my cousin a gambler in deep?

“In the shop. You got it.”

I peered up at him. He didn’t seem to be worried about it whatsoever, so I supposed I had enough on my plate without fretting over my cousin’s foibles. “You’d let me know if I could do anything?”

“Of course. You’re a good egg, Cuz. You know that, huh?”

The groom brought out our mounts then. I fell head over heels for my mare all over again. With her glossy gray coat and black stockings, Alizay was stunning. The posh tack just highlighted her
lines. Though western riding was preferred in Nebraska, I’d taken English riding lessons, and was thankful for it now.

I gazed into her lustrous eyes, seeing my own adoring reflection. Okay, maybe I did like money, if only for the horses it could buy.

When the groom brought out a third mount, I asked Filip, “Are you expecting someone?” I frowned to see a rifle stowed in a saddle holster.

Filip scowled, muttering,
“Bloody Siberian.”

As if summoned, Sevastyan entered the stables, his towering body briefly shadowed as he strode into the aisle. He wore black riding pants of a modern cut and a sharp all-weather athletic jacket that he could just as easily have worn to play rugby.

Filip’s style: Barneys high fashion. Sevastyan’s? Bespoke—and moneyed.

His gloves and clothes covered any tattoos, but that slim scar down his lips and the hardness of his features belied any gentlemanly appearance.

As he approached, he moved like an athlete; I could see the powerful muscles in his legs flexing with each of his steps, reminding me of when his thighs had quaked around my ears as I’d swallowed him down. . . .

Focus, Natalie.
“Are you going with us?” I asked him, flushing at how throaty my voice sounded.

Sevastyan told Filip, “Kovalev wants to see you.”

“Just taking Natalie out for a ride,” he said smoothly. “I’ll catch him later this after—”

“Now.”

Filip’s lips thinned. “Nat, let’s go back to the house. We can come back for our ride when I’m done.”

What if the weather didn’t hold? I didn’t bother hiding my disappointment.

Sevastyan said, “I’m taking her.”

Why would he offer to be alone with me? Maybe he’d mastered his attraction to me, and was now in no danger of plighting. But why was he forgoing work? Had the difficulties been resolved?

Curiosity, my kryptonite, had me jonesing for answers.

The tension between the two men seethed. “You? Taking little sis out for a ride? How brotherly. But she’s not interested.” To me, Filip said, “Come, Natalie.”

I stiffened, not liking his tone at all. Strange, since I’d loved when Sevastyan had ordered me around in bed. Or in a maid’s closet.

Even after everything, I . . . missed the man. What harm could come from one little ride? I told Filip, “I’ve been waiting for this for two weeks.”

He gazed from Sevastyan to me and back. In a disbelieving tone, he said, “You want to go—with him?”

Sevastyan bit out the words,
“Ona so mnoi.”
 She is with me.

Comprehension seemed to dawn in Filip’s expression. Then a disturbing flash of anger surfaced on his face, reddening his cheeks. He turned that look of wrath on me. “Are you?
With
him?”

His words were rife with undercurrents that I found difficult to accept. Because right now, it seemed like the guy who’d ignored me for weeks and the guy whose face could make angels weep were in a pissing contest.

Over me.

“I just want to go riding, Filip.”

He appeared to be grinding his molars to dust. Finally he told me, “I’ll be waiting for you back at the house.” With a black look at Sevastyan, he strode off.

Disquieted, I glanced up at Sevastyan, but his piercing gaze was trained on Filip’s back. I said, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on between you?”

“Nyet.”
That word—when spoken by him and addressed to me—might as well be translated:
Dead end, Natalie
.

“Why are you taking time off work? Has the issue with Travkin been resolved?”

He shook his head, repeating,
“Nyet.”

Dead end. He’d tell me no more—because I wasn’t a member of the inner circle.

He brushed his gloved hand down the neck of his mount. “You wanted to go riding, so I’m taking you.”

The stallion looked high-strung, and Sevastyan didn’t strike me as a natural rider. Recipe for disaster? “Have you done a lot of riding?”

“Unfortunately, work precludes it.”

“We don’t have to go.”

In answer, he moved behind me to help me into Alizay’s saddle.

“Oh. Okay.” Had he let his hands linger on my waist?

Then I watched, enthralled, as Sevastyan hoisted his muscular frame into his own saddle and brought his horse around.

My fears had been unfounded. Though he’d been plucked from the streets in his teens, he rode like he’d been raised in the saddle, with an arrogance that only came from excellence.

Again, the contradictions in this man were fascinating. As we set out, I stared at him with such absorption that I barely registered what a smooth ride Alizay was.

But how could I not stare? He was captivating, with the bright fall sun making his jet-black hair gleam. His physique when riding was a sight to behold.

A body like that was good for two things that started with
f
. And fighting was the other one.

Dragging my gaze from Sevastyan, I surveyed the breathtaking estate. A cool breeze finagled stray leaves from the birches surrounding the stables.

In comfortable silence, we rode, and as we gained distance from the manicured gardens and the tennis court, the guest houses and the garage, we saw more wildlife. A fox, two martens, numerous speckled squirrels.

When we crossed a babbling stream, Alizay gave a restless snort. Though I’d never ridden such a fine horse, I could tell she wasn’t satisfied with this mild walk. I patted her neck. “This one’s hungry for more.” I bit the inside of my cheek; could that have sounded more suggestive? Wow, I might as well have pointed at my crotch as I said that.