17. Pasha
17
“Ms. Cora is on Line One, Mr. Chekhov.” Jack, my new assistant, greets me by his desk with a stack of paperwork and a few handwritten messages. “I tried to inquire as to what it’s about, but she says you’ll know.”
Fuck me. Cora Brennan is the last person I want to talk to right now.
Unfortunately for me, she has information I need.
“Pasha, darling. Long time, no see,” Cora purrs into the phone when I step into my office and answer.
“Getting married and having a baby does that to a man. What do you have for me?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. Scott’s been completely on edge since your arrest?—”
“False arrest.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Either way, something has him backed into a corner and he’s not budging. I even tried slipping him a few hints to go run out and play, if you know what I mean. He didn’t bite.”
I don’t like the sound of that. She knows about all his affairs, so why wouldn’t she know about his dealings?
“And you’re saying this has something to do with my false arrest?”
“Well, the timing is pretty damn convenient, wouldn’t you say? I don’t have information to confirm or deny a correlation there. Just… watch your back. Now more than ever. Okay?”
Again, I don’t like what I’m hearing. It’s a waver in her voice. A flicker of fear.
Cora Brennan is never afraid of anything.
“You, too.”
That’s about as much as I can stomach with her. I hang up, but no sooner have I ended the call than does my phone ring again. The name on the screen doesn’t ease my worries even a little. “Steppa. What’s going on?”
My vor doesn’t sound pleased. “Unmarked police cars everywhere, sir. They’ve got a five-block radius around your building, and a three-block circle around the penthouse building. I’m sending you a picture now.”
I open up the attachment in his text and squint at the screen. Sure enough, I see plainclothes cops strolling around the sidewalks I call mine.
Blyat’.
“Does my mother know?”
“Nothing’s been said to cause alarm, but we did mention to Mrs. Chekhov that staying inside for the time being would be best. She seemed to understand.”
I nod. “I’ll cut things short here at the office. Check your messages; I’ll let you know when I’m home.”
“You got it.”
I send Makari a text to shut down the shooting range and lock up the storerooms for our legal stock. Even if the feds stopped by, they would never see the illegal operations unless they started digging behind false walls and beneath stone floors—but it pays to be vigilant.
Until I have everything on SAC Smithson, I am going to assume that the feds will always dig.
But they’d better make sure they come knocking with both paperwork and balls of steel. If not, my lawyers and my Bratva will rip them to fucking pieces.
Or worse yet—I’ll do the ripping myself.
When I get home, Taty is sound asleep in her crib in the nursery. Mama is reading a book in the rocking chair, keeping a diligent eye on her. Daphne’s masseuse gives me a polite nod before heading out with her table and bag.
Everything seems calm and peaceful here. No invading feds, no gunslinging rivals, no skeevy future in-laws trying to steal my baby.
Realistically, I could have just stayed at the corporate building and let things be.
But I can’t focus on work when there’s even a fraction of a chance that my family is at risk.
I head into the bedroom to shuck off the formal outerwear of corporate bullshit. I’m pulling my tie off when Daphne emerges from the bathroom, enveloped in a cloud of steam and dripping wet.
And naked.
“Oh! Hi.” She smiles and grabs a towel to wrap around herself. “I didn’t think you’d be back until later.”
“Here I am.” My mouth feels dry. I swallow and try to focus on something else. Something other than the way thin rivulets of water drip from her hair and trail over the curves of her breasts…
“I, ah, had some things come up.” I finish slipping off my tie and toss it onto the bed. Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. Now, I want to use it to tie her to the posts.
I swore I wouldn’t touch her while she recovers. But no one said this would be easy. I sleep every night next to her tempting curves and feel her warm softness rubbing against me. I’ve jacked off to memories of her at least a dozen times in the shower.
“Everything okay?” She furrows her brow and hugs the towel a bit tighter to her chest.
God, I want to rip it off and take her. Right here, right now.
Focus.
“Everything’s fine, actually.” She doesn’t need to worry herself over the problems that are literally pacing outside our door. “I have a surprise for you. Get dressed.”
I go to her dresser and rummage through the drawers until I find what I’m looking for. “Here. Wear this.”
“Okay, Mister Bossy.” She eyes me suspiciously, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. But, just as I anticipated, she doesn’t argue and instead takes the clothing and turns for the bathroom.
“In here.”
Daphne blushes again. “But I’m?—”
“Not about to deprive me of the view.”
Pink turns to bright red. I fucking love it.
I stride over to her and tug on the knot of her towel so it drops to the floor. Fuck, I’m rock hard and aching from the sight alone, not to mention the proximity. I can smell her and it’s intoxicating. “Allow me.”
“I’m able to put my own clothes on now, you know.”
“I know. That’s not the point.”
Something close to realization dawns on her face when I slip her nursing bra on and fasten the hooks behind her back.
“What’s next?” she asks, a little breathier this time.
I drop to my knees, procuring a pair of silky panties I snatched from the top drawer. Daphne balances herself with my shoulders as she steps in, one leg at a time, and allows me to slide them up her thighs.
But before I pull them all the way up into place, I pause.
Glance up at her.
And press a warm, sultry kiss to her mound.
I’m not sure what gets me more worked up: the way she smells, the way she tastes, or the way she sucks in a sharp breath and her lashes flutter lower.
If we had the time, and she didn’t have stitches, I’d bury my face between these sweet thighs and drown myself in her moans.
As it is, we have guests and a schedule to keep. So I tug her panties into place, press another warm kiss to her hip, and stand back up to help her slip the t-shirt dress on.
The soft jersey knit hugs her in all the right places and falls just below her knees. It’s appropriate and just dressy enough for our guest, who is waiting for us in the foyer.
“I’ll leave you to handle the rest of it,” I murmur in her ear. It’s all I can do to stop myself from squeezing her ass. “Don’t take long, though. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Who?”
But I’m not going to ruin the surprise, so I give her a kiss and leave the room to go greet him.