Her Rogue Russian (Karev Brothers Book 2) Read online

  "Just a feeling I have," Travis said. "Also, Savannah's a total smoke show. Even if you don't like her for her killer personality, do every man in your vicinity a favor and stick it out a while longer."

  "You circling for my sloppy seconds again?" Maxim asked in bemusement.

  "I know you," Travis stated. "I know exactly how you're going to fuck this thing up for yourself. Don't put work obligations before a potential relationship with this woman or else you're going to miss out on a good thing."

  Travis knew him, but he didn't know everything about him. Loyalty and obligation were the two major qualities instilled in Maxim since birth, but they extended to every aspect of his life. A serious relationship with a woman was just as much an obligation to him as family or work, and it wasn't something he needed right now—not when his father's killer was still out there, and he was a prime suspect in the murder.

  "Hell, this could be a great thing," Travis continued. "Becky already loves her; she can't stop talking about her. 'Savannah this' and 'Savannah that.' 'Do you think she would eat a batch of cookies I baked for her with a body like that?' Do you think we call her Anna for short?’"

  "Yeah? She circling for my sloppy seconds, too?"

  "You wish," Rebecca interrupted as she clicked her way into the room. "As far as I'm concerned, she's already saddled with mine. Maxim, your guy at the tattoo parlor is on line one."

  "Getting new ink?" Travis asked curiously as Maxim rose.

  "Not me," he said. He left them alone together to imagine what that might mean as he strode from the room to take the call.

  "Okay. So, I did the independent research, and I'm convinced that this really is a thing," Savannah said when Maxim met her that evening outside the tattoo parlor. The sky above them was pitch black, the night's mantle deepened by the blazing neon sign roosted above their heads. Needles to Say, the sign read. That had gotten a laugh out of Savannah, but something about the woman's cocked hip and crossed arms made Maxim wonder how much laughter he could look forward to hearing that night. Was the fearless agent nervous about what they were about to do?

  "I mean, you wouldn't steer me wrong here, would you, Karev?" she asked him.

  "All girlfriends of the mob have a tattoo that marks their affiliation with the brotherhood," he asserted. " You want to be taken seriously when we're undercover, then this is where we start."

  "So let's start already," Savannah said, surprising him by mounting the steps first and pushing the door open. Maxim crooked an eyebrow and followed behind the fiery agent at a much more leisurely pace.

  "Ah, Maxim!" A heavily-inked man with a thick Russian accent to match came out from behind the counter and clapped Maxim on the back boisterously. He turned at once to behold Savannah, extending his arms to frame his human canvas.

  "Adrian, this is Savannah," Maxim introduced the two of them. Savannah held her hand out straight to shake, but Adrian shook his head at the gesture, before yanking her in to endure a hug that rivalled the one he had given Maxim.

  "No, no. You greet me this way, ja? You might not feel so warmly toward me later this evening, you know?"

  "Oh, I'm not worried about it." Savannah seamlessly brushed off the tattooist's concerns. "It's my pleasure, and also my potential pain, to meet you, Adrian."

  Maxim couldn't help but feel slightly impressed by the woman's bravery. Working on the Blood Diamond Task Force was one thing, but there were plenty of men his size and larger who fainted at even the prospect of having their skin pricked by Adrian. Maxim let his hand drop to the small of Savannah’s back as Adrian led the way into the backroom. He noted that Savannah didn't shy from his reassuring touch, but that might have just been for the sake of appearances. A place like Paint and Pint was removed from the Russian underworld, but he hadn't been able to guarantee her they wouldn't run afoul of a few of his old cronies here. Savannah had assured him this was a "good thing," and that it meant they were ready to take their cover to its logical next phase.

  "Books! Books!" Adrian gestured to a pile of binders stacked on a table in the corner. "Pick one up and start looking! Please. I only have a few preparations to make and then we can get started."

  "You choose," Savannah said abruptly as they sat down together.

  Maxim raised an eyebrow as he pulled the first binder off the pile. "You sure? Unlike this fake relationship of ours, whatever you decide on tonight is permanent."

  "I know what a tattoo is," Savannah muttered. "And I'm aware that I'm going to have to live with it the rest of my life. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. Anyway, the research I did stated that the male member of the mafia that the woman is attached to is the one who ultimately decides what she gets. I'm not saying I agree with it, but if we're going to buy into this misogynistic tradition, we might as well do it wholesale in view of everyone else."

  Maxim pondered on this as he flipped through the book. It was a smart move on Savannah's part—while the parlor wasn't filled at this relatively late hour in the evening, there were still a few rough-looking men loitering about, reclining on sofas or tables and joking with each other in Russian. Maxim recognized several of them, and he was certain his own observations were mutual; however, no one approached the couple. He noted that just as many eyes drifted to him as they did to the stunning woman he was keeping company with.

  "Do you know the meaning of the name Maxim?" he asked her after a long moment's consideration. Savannah shook her head. "It means great. And I want you to wear something that symbolizes that." He flipped the book around, presenting her with the open page, and pointed to a relatively simple design that had caught his attention. "I want you to get a sword."

  Savannah didn't take advantage of what was probably an easy joke at his expense; instead, she craned herself forward to study the design, nipping at the knuckle of one finger as she thought. "Where?" she asked finally.

  Maxim set the binder aside, letting it fall open at his feet, before rising. Savannah rose also. He glanced across the room, noting that Adrian appeared in the final stages of sterilizing the needle he would be using.

  "Turn around," Maxim ordered. Savannah's eyes narrowed, but she complied. As soon as she was looking the other way, Maxim stepped up close behind her and shifted her ombre hair to one side. She was wearing a cream-colored cable knit sweater with a low collar that hung off her dark, slender shoulders. "Can you take this off?" Maxim murmured. After a brief pause, Savannah reached back behind her to pull the sweater over her head. Beneath it, she wore a white camisole—Maxim, and everyone else in the establishment, could clearly see the dark outline of her push-up bra.

  It was a revealing glimpse at an already tantalizing woman, but Maxim wanted to push her further. Keeping his expression carefully neutral to anyone who might be watching, as if he had done this a thousand times before and the novelty had long ago worn off, Maxim settled his hands on her waist. "What about something along the side?" he murmured.

  "What's the point, then?" Savannah asked, her breath catching slightly in her throat. "I'm not going to infiltrate the Russian mafia wearing a string bikini. We want outside eyes to see it and think we're legit, don't we? So long as it's visible, put it wherever you want."

  "You shouldn't say something like that to a man like me," he whispered against her neck as he lowered himself down, palms grazing the outside of one jean-clad thigh. "I might take it the wrong way. What about here?" His light touch deepened into a possessive grab as he took hold of her upper leg.

  "You want me to freeze my ass off in short-shorts?" Savannah asked him.

  "I'd put you in them. Hell, every man here would put you in them if they were forced to." He glided his hand back up the outside of her ass and moved his fingers beneath the front of her shirt, caressing the silky-soft skin of her navel. "I think given the option, there isn't a soul present who wouldn't prefer seeing you naked."

  "Let's assume that they won't." It definitely wasn't his imagination, he decided—Savannah was breathing harder beneath his
touch. "Any other bright ideas for a spot?"

  "I could explore your spots all day," Maxim promised darkly as he rose again, taking his hand away from the body he ached to touch and resting it on the nape of her neck. This time, he felt Savannah's skin erupt in goose bumps, her instinctive reaction to feeling him behind her and grasping a vital, sensitive area. Was she afraid of him? Somehow, he didn't think so… and the implications of what her body might feel when he was around were tantalizing.

  "What about here?" he broke their standoff by asking. He began to stroke a finger down the curve of her neck, but Savannah quickly reached back to still his hand.

  "There. There is good," she agreed. "Let's get this over with."

  As they moved together across the room to rejoin Adrian, Maxim decided a small part of him liked the idea of leaving his mark on Agent Casillero. He was going easy on her by selecting a place on her body she could easily conceal by wearing her hair down.

  He explained the design and positioning to Adrian, who praised the decision, as Savannah sat down and pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head.

  "Have you had any work done previously?" Adrian asked her.

  Maxim was all ears for this one. Savannah cast a hesitant look his way, and he leaned in, smiling like he was as invested as the artist in her answer. "I have a… butterfly. Across my lower back," she confessed. Maxim thought he had never heard the word "butterfly" spoken with such derision before.

  "Ah. A babochka. Lovely choice," Adrian complimented her.

  "You have a tramp stamp," Maxim stated smugly, easing back on the stool he occupied and crossing his arms. "When did you get that done? College?"

  "For your information, it was over a spring break in Daytona," Savannah said through gritted teeth. "And my friend Maddie thought it was a terrible idea."

  "Should have listened to your friend," he said.

  "I know that now," Savannah groused. "At least she still pretends to be supportive of my decision."

  "Want me to hold your hand for you now?" Maxim joked. He watched her face flex in automatic response, but it wasn't the confident smile he was used to seeing; it was close-lipped, never quite reaching the full and generous dimensions he knew it was capable of. Could it be the blackmailing, avenging angel in a pantsuit actually feared the prick of a needle? As Adrian drew closer, Maxim watched Savannah lean away and wince.

  "Hold yourself very still now, please," Adrian advised. "I promise I will not make you look any less beautiful. It is not possible."

  Savannah gave a weak laugh, then glanced down in surprise when Maxim's larger hand enveloped hers. He didn't remember telling it to do that. As soon as the low buzzing of Adrian's needle started, her grip on his fingers tightened.

  "I should tell you what you're getting yourself into," he said in a low voice.

  "You didn't think that maybe this should have come up sooner?" She gave a little laugh, trying to put on a brave face. They knew that Adrian was well within earshot of whatever advice Maxim felt like imparting to her, and that nothing even hinting at their real arrangement could be divulged.

  "You want the proper initiation, you're going to have to let me pour vodka over you when it's done," Maxim continued. He saw Adrian's mouth flex, but the tattoo artist was a professional; he kept his body perfectly poised behind Savannah as he began to trace the outline he had stenciled in ink. "Typical sterilization procedure, right, Adrian?"

  "I'm not some ship you get to christen before you sail," Savannah snapped, her tone more a product of pain than any real offense.

  "They didn't finish you off that way down at Daytona Beach?" Maxim mocked. "Pity. You could have killed two spring breaks with one stone by beginning the wet T-shirt contest immediately after."

  "Fuck you," Savannah said with a chuckle. "All right, why don't you regale me with stories of your own spring break?"

  "Never had one," Maxim admitted, shifting thoughtfully in his chair, her hand still occupying and occasionally squeezing his. "Want to go this year?"

  "You want me to pop your cherry?" Savannah's smile twisted wistfully, and she kept her eyes on him, studying him, even as her body flinched slightly beneath the onslaught of the needle. It was one of the most beautifully tragic expressions that Maxim had ever seen. "You pay for my ink tonight, and it's a date."

  "Done."

  It was the script. It was all a part of the script, and they were merely actors. Even if every line they traded was made up on the fly, this wasn't real flirtation… and it was a credit to Agent Casillero's skills that he had fooled himself into almost thinking it was.

  "And done," Adrian proclaimed what felt like only moments later, drawing back from his delicate canvas. Maxim leaned around to look as the tattoo artist went and retrieved a mirror so that Savannah could assess the finished product. The sword was small and slender as a dagger, and entirely monochrome, which was why Adrian had been able to finish it so swiftly. Savannah turned her head slightly, wincing at what Maxim knew, having been on the receiving end of Adrian's work many times himself, was the ache that accompanied the finished product.

  "Looks good on you," he noted approvingly.

  "Not half bad," Savannah admitted, turning her head more gingerly to look again from a different angle. "Now everyone will know I'm yours, right?"

  Maxim hated the way the question caught him by surprise. Obviously, Savannah hadn't intended it the way he instinctively took it, but he couldn't help but consider her in those same terms when he looked at her now: as his. The thought of exercising some modicum of possession over such a beautiful, lethal creature lit a fire in his belly. There was no denying the flare of desire he felt for her—had felt for her since the beginning—was only stoked by the idea that his mark had been imprinted on her for the rest of her life.

  Adrian dabbed the area clean and taped a bandage across it, effectively sheathing the sword. Savannah slid down off the chair and went to use the wash room as Maxim followed Adrian to the counter. When he reached into his back pocket to go for his wallet, Adrian stalled him with a hand.

  "My gift to her," the artist said. "She is a lovely woman."

  "I'm a lucky man." The words passed his lips easily, reflexively, as he watched Savannah exit the bathroom. She had let her hair down and was still rubbing the back of her neck, but smiled and stopped when she noticed him watching her. She pointed to indicate she was going outside, before disappearing out the front door. Like a moth mesmerized by a departing light, Maxim found himself compelled to follow. He dropped a nod of thanks to the proprietor before starting for the door.

  "Maxim." Adrian's thick pronunciation of his name gave him pause. Maxim turned to find the tattoo artist smiling, although the look in his eyes was calculated. "You are planning on returning to work soon—your real work—ja?"

  "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention you saw me," Maxim replied, knowing full well the pair of loose lips he was talking to. That was part of the point of coming here tonight. His friendship with Adrian was practically lifelong, but that didn't mean he trusted the other man to know when to keep his mouth shut. He did feel a little sorry for manipulating him like this, but decided privately that he would blame his new capacity for subterfuge on Savannah; odds were the agent would approve.

  "Ah," Adrian said knowingly. "Understood." He winked, and Maxim offered him the slyest of smiles in return as he clapped the other man on the back.

  "You did great work tonight. Be seeing you."

  Outside, he found Savannah gazing at her reflection in the side mirror of his Nighthawk, occasionally attempting to turn and scrutinize the bandage on the back of her neck.

  "Leave it alone," he advised her. "We both know you didn't really want a new tattoo, and you definitely don't want one that's aggravated."

  Savannah tilted her head to look at him, before straightening up once more. Maxim didn't attempt to suppress the urge that came over him then; he embraced it wholeheartedly, reaching forward to shift her hair back into place over
her neck. His fingertips brushed fleetingly across her skin. Did he imagine it, or did she lean slightly into his touch? Did her eyelashes flutter? Maybe her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness outside the parlor.

  "It's not so bad," Savannah murmured finally. "It'll be a reminder, at least. Of how seriously I take my work."

  Somehow, Maxim didn't think the appended remark was what she had intended to say. "Yeah? What's so forgettable about this job that you need reminding?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light, but his face as he watched her felt too tense.

  "Maybe next time I won't allow myself to get in this deep," Savannah replied.

  His knuckles were still poised at her neck. It would be so easy to lean in, to capture those lips under the cover of darkness and prove to the woman she was still treading in the shallows. She thought she was in deep now? He could carry her down further and show her just how pleasurable a fall could be…

  A pair of headlights cut a blinding swath in the darkness. Maxim blinked and turned, and Savannah lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the onslaught. "Looks like my cab's here," she mentioned as she started down the drive. He wanted to put a hand out to stop her, to reel her back. He wanted to tell her to forget riding with anyone else. He wanted to pick up his thought process where he had last left off and make it a reality.

  Instead he stated the obvious. "You could ride with me. You know it would look better if we left together."

  His invitation gave Savannah pause, and she turned back to him with an arched eyebrow. "Really?" She didn't sound as if she quite believed him. She fastened a hand on one cocked hip as she considered him. "You're always offering me rides home now, Karev, where before you couldn't spare so much as a single ounce of gas on me. What gives?"

  "Maybe you're not the only one getting in too deep," Maxim replied as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she challenged, a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

  "I know a way you could easily find out."

  Savannah chuckled. "Good night, lover. Get some rest. We'll reconvene later this week."