Her Rogue Russian (Karev Brothers Book 2) Read online

  "Oh, Maxim! You've barely worked on your own!" Rebecca laughed, leapfrogging past Savannah's easel to look at Maxim's half-assed bowl of fruit. "Do you need someone to tell you what the colors on the pallet are? I can definitely tell you the banana isn't supposed to be black like this." Rebecca pointed, looking positively tickled, and Savannah craned to look.

  "Why would he need someone to tell him what colors to use?" Savannah asked suspiciously. "Does he need someone to put the bumpers up for him during bowling as well?"

  "Max is colorblind," Rebecca explained. "That's why he always wears black and white. Didn't he tell you?"

  Savannah's eyebrows pulled together. "No. It didn't come up… in his dating profile, I mean." She cursed herself for the slow recovery. She felt Maxim's arms tighten around her shoulders and realized the Russian was embracing her in earnest from behind, almost leaning his weight against her. There was no way she was getting any painting done, much less drinking, with her arms pinned against her sides like this. She hated the feeling of helplessness, the inability to detach herself from the warm, solid presence holding her. It went against her every instinct to let herself be secured and protected. Her head spun at the invasion.

  Maybe it was a good thing she couldn't drink. Maybe she shouldn't have helped herself to that last pint.

  "If it wasn't obvious from the outset, I couldn't care less what my painting looks like. I'm taking artistic license, thanks," Maxim replied, looking surprisingly nonplussed by all the shit he was getting. He rested his chin atop her head, and Savannah wanted to head butt him hard enough to open up a whole new spectrum of color for the infuriating man.

  "Just don't start taking artistic license with my bikes," Travis suggested as he stepped back to address his own bowl of fruit. Savannah thought the other man was taking it the most seriously of all of them. "You do a shit enough job as it is."

  "Yeah, right. Then why don't you go hire somebody else?" Maxim asked him.

  "Would if I wasn't so scared of you and your family," Travis muttered cryptically. "And anyway, Rebecca would leave me if I just cut you loose like that. I swear, sometimes I think you guys are still dating behind my back." Travis left to go coerce a closer look at one of the pieces of fruit from the instructor.

  This was a lot of information to process. Savannah found herself drawn out of her strange contemplation of Maxim's secrets by two major revelations: one of them being that Travis, and likely Rebecca, knew about Maxim's past and familial ties to the Russian mafia, the second being that Maxim and Rebecca had actually dated. Her gaze moved to study the woman by Maxim's easel with renewed curiosity, but she could read nothing new in the receptionist's body language.

  Was it possible Rebecca was jealous of Maxim's blossoming fake relationship with her? She didn't detect any trace of ill-feeling in the other woman, and Savannah prided herself in being an accomplished reader of others.

  She seized her opportunity to find out more by following Maxim to the bathroom when the Russian excused himself. He drew the curtain to the back aside, and they reconvened in the hallway, stepping back into the comfortably-maintained distance of two relative strangers. Savannah crossed her arms and glared at him underneath the low back hallway lighting.

  "You have paint on your cheek," Maxim mentioned. "Want me to get that for you?"

  "You were in a relationship with her!" Savannah said incredulously. "That's how she knew you were colorblind! How long did it last between the two of you? Days, months… years?" she arrived at when Maxim's expression gave nothing about the relative timeline away. "Didn't you think this was something I needed to know going into this?"

  "I thought you had a file on me," he said. "I assumed there was a page on Rebecca in there. Although what we had might have required more than one page, to be honest."

  He was gazing at her with a curious expression, one that Savannah couldn't begin to identify. Hadn't she just been dissecting Rebecca under a mental microscope, certain she could read the other woman like an open book? Then why was it proving so difficult to do the same to this damn Karev? Whatever his look meant, she found herself suddenly wondering if it was in response to something he saw on her own face.

  "I thought you didn't do girlfriends," she stated. "That's what you told me in your interrogation."

  Maxim's mask finally broke as he raised a dark eyebrow. "What else are they for?"

  "If you're immature enough to think that's funny, then forgive me for having a hard time trying to wrap my head around all this," Savannah replied. "Seriously, the fact that you manage to have a working relationship with this girl, not to mention you're best friends with her husband, is just incredible to me."

  "Why? Rebecca and I both knew it was over when it was over." Maxim shrugged. "She couldn't handle what I did for a living, and I couldn't handle the possibility of one day dragging her into it. We broke it off mutually. It's what adults do."

  "I'm perfectly aware of what adults do," Savannah fired back. A moment later, she raised a hand to brush a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. She ignored Maxim's beastly, crooked smile as she tried to get her mental cylinders in order.

  Why was she even bothering to confront him about it now? It's not like she was jealous of Rebecca. She just… needed to be aware of these things, that was all. Account for all actors and variables. When she pulled her hand back from smoothing her hair into place, Savannah discovered that her fingertips were coated in a wet, sticky substance.

  "Now you're just smearing the paint. You should let me help you," Maxim offered.

  "No. Save if for when we're back out there. It'll be cute or whatever."

  The Russian snorted. "What's incredible is that they actually buy already that we're going steady without ever having heard me mention you before." Maxim turned to look off into the main room. Savannah turned her own eyes away from the sight of his exposed throat, wishing it didn't conjure up images of all the things she could do to it in private. She didn't know if she wanted to kiss or strangle the strikingly-handsome man standing before her, but she definitely wanted to be the one to make him squirm as payback for his domineering attitude all throughout their date.

  "Guess it's true that people see what they want to see," Maxim muttered. "They wanted to see me in a relationship bad enough that they're willing to accept any horseshit story that's fed to them. Your file got one thing right about me, Agent Casillero—even if it's missing pertinent information on everything else—I'm not a man to stick by one woman for long."

  "Yeah, well, now I'm thinking I've got to quit relying on all that paperwork," Savannah replied. "It pays to go with your instincts. Any good agent can tell you that much. I still had no fucking idea you were colorblind."

  "Not a lot of people know. And I prefer to keep it that way."

  "You didn't prefer to keep it that way with Rebecca."

  "You know, Agent Casillero, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're a little bit jealous of Becky," Maxim commented.

  Savannah decided she wouldn't deign to respond to this. Instead, she reached for the pint he was still carrying and confiscated it, downing it in one aggressive swill.

  "So now you know about my romantic history with Mrs. Hammersmith," he continued. "I can promise you it won't compromise our cover. But now I'd like to know a little bit more about yours." Maxim shifted to lean his tall body back against the wall opposite of her. Savannah mirrored him, the empty pint glass dangling limply in her hand. "I assume you haven't lacked lovers in your life. Hell, maybe you're not even single now."

  "Of course I'm single," Savannah replied. She immediately wished she hadn't taken the fact on as a contentious point of pride, but she held fast to it. "You think any man in their right mind would be comfortable letting me run around with a former Russian thug?"

  "I would guess not," Maxim agreed, dark eyes drinking her in for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. The only difference now was he wasn't doing it for show with an audience present. "Not a woman
like you, anyway. If you were mine, I don't think I'd ever let you out of my sight."

  "Yeah, well…" She was struggling to come up with something clever to say to that. "As much as we both may hate it, I'm going to need you to start thinking of me like I'm yours."

  "I haven't completely dismissed the idea," Maxim said. "Just like I haven't dismissed the memory of asking you who the last man who had you was."

  "He didn't have me," Savannah argued. "We graduated from the academy together. Both made it into the bureau, and one thing led to another…" She raised the empty glass, staring at the streaks of leftover beer foam with dismay. How many had she had? Three? Four? She could definitely go for one more. "It was good while it lasted, but it ended pretty quickly when I beat him out for a position on the Blood Diamond Task Force. Haven't seen much of him since."

  "He couldn't handle you," Maxim surmised. His diagnosis of her past relationship surprised Savannah; she had half-expected some snide remark on her own faults, not the faults of the man she had left behind. "He couldn't handle seeing a good thing come your way at the expense of his own happiness."

  "That's…" Maybe she had been wrong—maybe all those pints weren't working in her favor, because Savannah found she couldn't think of a proper response to Maxim's words. "Well, I wouldn't know about that," she settled on finally. She cracked a grin and detached from the wall to thrust her finger in against his chest like she had earlier in the day, just to see if he would let her. "At least he never tried to throw me off a mission. I think in that regard you've got him beat."

  "Who says I was trying to throw you off?" Maxim asked.

  "Oh, come on." Savannah tucked the empty pint into her apron's front pocket and fastened her hands on her hips. "You were coming on strong all evening. I assume once we get back out there it'll be more of the same. So, what is it? Are you a method actor, Maxim Karev? Because that certainly wasn't in your file."

  "I may tell lies about myself to suit this stupid cover story, but that doesn't mean I'm going to hold myself back when I'm around a beautiful woman," the Russian growled. "You want to be my so-called girlfriend, you better get used to all the things I say and do to you, and that involves touching you as much as I want. You sure you're ready for it, Casillero?" He took a step nearer, until Savannah could feel the press of the glass in her front pocket digging into her thigh. "Because if you think a little G-rated grab-ass was enough to 'throw' you, then I'm not sure you're prepared for what I—"

  Savannah grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar and dragged Maxim down to her level, crushing her lips against his in a passionate kiss. Maybe this wasn't the head butt she had been envisioning all along, but it was certainly enough to set sparks off of any color behind the eyes of the infuriating Russian.

  And her own, if she was being honest.

  Savannah slanted her eyes open slightly, if only to avoid the fireworks, and realized Maxim had closed his own upon colliding with her. He wasn't wearing the startled expression she had been expecting, not at all, but she had surprised him enough that he was allowing her to take full charge of the proceedings now. Her fingers constricted in the fabric of his shirt, forcing him down harder, renewing the sweet, aggressive pressure, and he slanted his lips against her own. She felt his hands sweep from his pockets and close in around her, cupping the curve of her neck and cementing against the small of her back. She tilted her chin, and he moved his, giving ground as she slid her full lower lip within reach of his teeth.

  Maxim rumbled a low growl in his chest, and the animalistic sound inflamed something in her. Savannah wrapped her arms around his neck, confident she was still in full control of the proceedings, as she allowed her eyes to fall shut once more. And maybe, just maybe, she allowed herself to be lost in the sensation of kissing Maxim, relishing the way he refused to give way completely beneath her, the way he stood grounded and strong enough to hold them both upright if he needed to. Crashing back into the wall wasn't even an option with the statuesque Karev standing in the way.

  Savannah had never kissed a man with such a thick growth of stubble. It grazed against her skin, rough and masculine and occasionally needle-sharp enough to make her seek out a new angle and keep the kiss interesting. It reminded her of every interaction she’d had with the man, of the way he kept her on her toes, always trying to dance just one step ahead.

  Was it the pint glass digging into her thigh again, or was it something more this time? The thought amused her as much as it thrilled her, but the kiss had gone on more than long enough. Reassured that her point was now thoroughly made, Savannah pulled her lips free of his with a wet, satisfied gasp and extracted herself from his unresisting arms.

  "You're a better kisser than you look, Karev," she said, trying not to sound as starved for breath as she felt. A move to take charge like that would be completely lost on the bullheaded Russian if she allowed him to sense any sort of weakness in the aftermath of their kiss. Better hope he didn't glance down and notice the state of her knees.

  There seemed little chance of that. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, her lips, as if he was utterly stunned by the idea that they had just been joined against his own. He was struck speechless, a state that Savannah had never seen him in. She doubted she ever would again, considering she wasn't planning on a repeat performance anytime soon. She reached up to grip his shoulder, as if congratulating him on a job well done, before moving off with a smile.

  "Long time in the bathroom," Travis noticed when they returned to their respective easels.

  "Um…" Rebecca held eye contact with the couple as she pointed to her own forehead demonstratively. Savannah looked to Maxim and realized to her dismay that she had tracked paint across the man's forehead when she had kissed him. She quickly scrubbed the evidence of her indiscretion away as Maxim turned to see to his own mark. Rebecca, eyes shining in amusement, hid herself behind her hand and turned away as well.

  "I'll drive you home," Maxim said an hour later, once the class had concluded and the four of them were out on the curb together. Travis and Rebecca stood slightly apart, comparing their finished paintings and teasing one another about perceived imperfections. Savannah hadn't finished hers, and neither had Maxim. When Rebecca suggested they trade anyway, they had done so without protest.

  "You would like that, wouldn't you?" Savannah said. She still felt warm and tingly from the alcohol… only the alcohol, she determined. She was perfectly clearheaded otherwise.

  "Yes."

  Maxim stood very close to her. They had been closer throughout the evening for the sake of appearing like a real couple—and of course, there was the incident in the back hallway to consider—but their conversation now somehow felt more intimate than Savannah was prepared to deal with.

  Good thing she had other ways of dealing.

  A yellow cab glided up to the curb. Savannah moved to it, waving goodbye to the Hammersmiths, who called after her with invitations to come by and visit the shop later next week.

  "You watch your step, Karev," Savannah advised as she pulled open the back door to the vehicle. Maxim stood with his hands loosely in his pockets, her terrible still life tucked under his formidable bicep.

  "Why would I, when I have you to watch it for me?" he joked. Savannah rolled her eyes as she shut the door.

  She let him have the last word. Again. But something about their parting conversation troubled her, and it had nothing to do with who had managed to come out on top that night. It was Maxim's quiet invitation to continue the night alone together, and the way he had taken her subsequent rejection in stride.

  A man like Maxim Karev didn't stop when met with an obstacle to what he wanted. And if what he wanted was, impossibly, Savannah herself, then their business arrangement had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.

  3

  Maxim

  "So you gonna need some days off?"

  Maxim wiped the oil off his hands and maneuvered himself out from beneath the Harley he had been laboring on the
past few days. "What's that?"

  "You heard me." From across the garage, Travis Hammersmith raised his wrench to brandish it in Maxim's direction. His boss had apparently decided it was too hot for shirts today; sweat and oil mingled, streaming off his rumpled black hair and down the length of his bare chest. Maxim decided a wardrobe change wasn't a bad idea and peeled his own shirt off, balling it and tossing it into a corner of the workroom.

  "Yeah, I heard you."

  It was the day after Paint and Pints, and his head was pounding. He wasn't a beer drinker usually, as his brother Vlad's vodka cabinet could well attest to, and he disliked the muzzy feeling he had woken up with that morning.

  Nothing compared to the blue balls Agent Casillero left me with. After a kiss like that, the woman's rejection of him was something Maxim had never been: pure criminal.

  "I'm serious, Karev." Travis crossed to the bench to dial the radio down and grab his water. "You want time off to get to know Savannah better, all you have to do is ask."

  It occurred to Maxim that he might have to take Travis up on the offer once his mission with Savannah began in earnest, but until then he was sticking by his family at Slick Cycles. "It's just a fling."

  "Doesn't seem like 'just a fling.'" Travis drained the bottle and set it aside, before sliding open a box of toothpicks and helping himself to one. Travis smoked cigarettes usually, but never while he was in the shop. "You already seeing the end of the road with this chick?"

  "I give it three months, tops," Maxim stated matter-of-factly. Then, because he was feeling generous despite the hangover, "She'll break it off with me. Just you watch."

  "I wouldn't be so sure about that, pal. Not this time."

  "Yeah? What makes you say that?" he asked, careful to let his disinterest in the matter show as he bent down to hunt through his toolbox.