Stripped (16 page)

he last thing Brandon had expected to encounter when he flung open Natalya’s office door was her cuddled up to another man. Shock roiled through his system. In its wake, anger surfaced. Less than an hour ago, she’d moaned at the press of his fingertips. Yet, he’d barged in to find her face inches away from another man’s dick.

He ignored the very obvious fact that if he’d bothered to knock he wouldn’t have been confronted with the startling scene. He also ignored the irony that he’d been coming here to establish rules, the first one being, no more private encounters in his office. Bottom line—she’ been putty in his hands and his primal animal instinct refused to accept he could be so easily dismissed.

His scowl slanted toward the stranger at her side. The man didn’t flinch. He held Brandon’s gaze with all the arrogance of a man who had nothing to hide. His hand slid down Natalya’s shoulder as she eased to her feet.

“Brandon.” A nervous hand pushed the tendrils of hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. “This is Sergei Khitrovo.” She gave Sergei a tentative smile. “Sergei, Brandon Moretti.”

Brandon’s gut dropped to his toes. The notorious Sergei. She’d fled his office to answer
his
call. No wonder he stood at her side like he belonged there. He did. Brandon was the unwanted party. The interloper who’d intruded on a private moment between two lovers. Christ!

Fine. So be it. The guy might be big and sturdy, but a paycheck said he wasn’t man enough for Natalya. Not if she’d needed to find a little outside stimulation.

Wanting nothing else but to demand the man’s immediate departure, Brandon reluctantly accepted Sergei’s offered hand. He’d agreed to hire him. He might be a lot of things, but he never went back on his word.

“Pleased to meet you, Moretti.”

Sergei’s accent slammed into Brandon. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but hearing the thick Russian accent drove another fist into Brandon’s already bruised ego. It sounded too much like Natalya’s, marking a bond between them that he could never claim.

Mystified and uncomfortable by the thorny sensations prickling at his subconscious, his frown deepened. Damn, what was wrong with him? In thirty-five years he’d never cared to carve out a place just for him in a woman’s life. But as he stood before these two, feeling every bit the ass he was acting, a sudden sense of loss snuck over him. Yeah. He’d lost her. Only he hadn’t even known he was trying to win.

He shook off the nonsensical thought. Lost? Hell, she hadn’t been available for the taking.

And that was all he wanted, he told himself. Take her. Enjoy her. Fuck her senseless and move on when they both got tired of the same routine. He certainly wasn’t considering getting involved with the primary suspect in his case.

Still, he couldn’t stop the burn that surfaced at the thought Sergei had heard that soft, throaty moan.

Brandon gritted his teeth. Much as he didn’t want to, he needed to meet with his newest employee. And he needed to introduce Aaron to the latest man on his staff. Business called. Given his experience, Sergei might just be the best asset Fantasia possessed. Brandon took a step backward through the door and stared hard at Natalya’s lover.

Those light brown eyes looked familiar. The way they issued quiet challenge, the chin that held just a touch of a square line. Brandon cocked his head and studied Sergei’s impassive expression. Yeah, they’d met. He felt certain of it. Too many faces filled the clubs for him to remember where, exactly. “Have we met before?”

“Don’t think so.”

Brandon shrugged. No, maybe not. He’d remember that accent. Not too many Russians frequented Vegas. “Meet me in front of the stage in ten minutes. You’re working the front of the house.”

“Brandon?” Natalya asked quietly.

He didn’t want to look at her. Wouldn’t. He’d already revealed too much of himself by storming into her office.

His gaze slipped in disobedience and leveled with hers. That same dark color flickered in her eyes, drilling holes in his composure. In one heavy heartbeat the need to stalk across the room, yank her away from Sergei, and kiss her senseless consumed him. His dick reminded him they shared unfinished business, and his body was all too willing to finish it now. He silently swore.

“About that dance…” She gave him a coy smile.

“Forget it.”
Not in a hundred years.
“You’re a housemom, not a dancer.”

As he turned to leave, he caught the way Natalya flashed her lover a soft, intimate smile. The brightness on her face set off the boiling in his blood, and he clenched one hand into a tight fist. Glancing over his shoulder, he met her cool green stare. “No personal calls on my dime. And when you’re here, it’s my damn dime.”

Her mouth dropped, but whatever protest she intended to try, he squelched by closing her door.

S

ergei released a long, slow breath. Almost resurrected. How long would it take before Brandon put the similarities together with memory and discovered Stefan? It would happen—he didn’t try to hold on to the hope it wouldn’t. When it did, he better have his explanations lined up, ready to fire.

Coming clean might be better in the long run. The conversation would suck. Digging through the past and confessing all the sordid things he’d not only done, but thought… He’d rather stand in front
of a firing squad. But with the truth exposed, he could focus his energy on the case, as opposed to worrying about keeping his cover intact.

Brandon was a cop. A damn good cop. He’d worked the beat for twelve years almost all of which he’d spent deep undercover. He understood the necessity of keeping identities intact. And frankly, Brandon might have information they could use.

Still, the chance remained, no matter how dismal, that mannerisms would change. As opposed to treating Sergei like an employee, or even punishing him for standing too close to the woman Brandon wanted—like he’d just done—could fade into awkwardness, or worse, companionship. It might not even be Brandon’s slip.
Sergei
couldn’t fathom the idea of not kicking back a few beers with his brother once the truth came out. He might very well make the fatal slip that cracked their cover.

Then there was the matter of Natalya. She’d sense something was off-kilter. Until he knew for certain Dmitri couldn’t, or wouldn’t, harm her, he refused to clue her in. Beyond all the logical agency reasons he shouldn’t, she had more than enough on her mind. Not the least of which was, evidently, Brandon.

Sergei swallowed a chuckle, but his mouth twisted with wry humor. Some things never changed. Brandon still didn’t know the meaning of defeat. Or for that matter, compromise. He set his sights, and if anything stood in his way, he barreled right through, bent on obtaining what he wanted.

Problem being, at twenty, Brandon hadn’t been much more than the boy Sergei was. Competitiveness was all part of growing up, learning the game, testing out the waters. They won. They lost. They won some more. In the end it didn’t really matter. But the brother who had stormed through that door a minute ago had taken one look at Natalya and reacted with a man’s fury.

A man who knew exactly what he wanted and no longer had to play the game. He chose. And clearly, he’d chosen her. No holds barred, he’d fight to the death to win this prize.

Brandon might not know it yet, but any other guy within ten feet of his angry gaze would have recognized all the warning signs.

“Yoo-hoo, Sergei? Are you in there?” Natalya rapped a light fist on his chest.

Blinking, he glanced down at her and realized she’d been talking to him. Waiting for his response. He took one look at the door and switched languages, doubting anyone in the building—save for Dmitri’s hired guns—would understand his words. “He’s not Iskatel´.”

She drew back, frowning. “What?”

“Moretti’s not Iskatel´.”

“I told you earlier about my conversation with Kate. You can’t just dismiss the possibility.”

Completely exasperated by her refusal to see what stood right beneath her nose, he reached across her body to her desk and picked up her phone. He slapped it into her palm. “Think about it. If he were Iskatel´, he’d know you’re engaged to Dmitri, yes?”

She nodded.

“Then tell me why the hell Dmitri’s puppet would refuse you personal calls?”

Her green eyes turned as wide as saucers, and he knew he’d made one point she couldn’t argue.

Fourteen

B

randon chewed on the inside of his cheek as he weaved his way through the club toward Aaron’s post at the end of the bar. He’d swear he knew that face, accent or not. Maybe it was a case of the “everyone has a twin syndrome,” because he damn sure had never met a
Sergei
in his life. But, man. The name sat on the tip of his tongue.

He sidestepped around a waitress and gave her a cordial nod. Forty minutes to showtime. Eleven days until the asshole made his move on Kate. Brandon had pissed away two by allowing Natalya to fog his mind. Rachel’s murderer hovered right beneath their noses, and by the end of tonight, he intended to be one step closer to hauling the bastard to jail.

He’d start with putting his new man to use. Give him a minor information-gathering job and feel out his dependability. If he botched it, Brandon won the ability to send him packing. If he proved trustworthy…

Brandon didn’t intend to think about that.

A swathe of long blond hair coming through the front door caught his attention. He stopped to give Kate the first genuinely warm smile he’d felt all day. Sweet Kate. Why couldn’t his dick have become obsessed with her? She was smart. Funny. Kind-hearted. And she had the best damn kid known to mankind.

Her smile didn’t hold the same brightness it usually did. As she approached, he noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes that her false eyelashes and electric blue eye shadow failed to disguise. Tight creases
framed her dainty mouth. Suspicion clouded over him. Had the killer approached her?

He intercepted her path to the backstage dressing rooms. “You all right?”

She pushed her hair over her shoulder, stood taller in her casual sandals, and attempted her usual good cheer. “Yeah, why?”

Not working. She might be sweet and kind, but she couldn’t lie for shit. Thank God. In two days’ time, he’d had more circular conversations to last a lifetime. He arched a disbelieving eyebrow and cupped her cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed over the swollen tissue beneath her right eye. “What’s keeping you up at night?”

Her laugh was forced. She twisted out of his reach and shook her head. With one fingertip, she nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just stress. Derek’s been full of it this week.”

Another lie. But whatever she was hiding, she didn’t intend to reveal. Brandon’s frown returned.

Before he could press her for answers, she took a step backward. “I’ve got to hurry. I’m running late.”

A sly glance at the clock behind the bar proved yet again, she spoke false. Four thirty on the money. Just like every night. He let it slide. He’d dig deeper tomorrow when he stopped by to pick up Derek. “We’ll burn off some of his steam tomorrow. I talked to my buddy over at MGM, she’s going to let Derek help feed the lions.” At the sudden paling of her face, he hurried to add, “Not in the habitat, Kate. He’s going to help the trainers prep. And then, after the official feeding’s over, they’re going to let him go back and bottle feed a cub.”

Relief restored the color to her face. “You about gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m not stupid enough to let a child get in with lions. In case I get caught up here tonight, I’ll be by around ten.”

She glanced sideways with a distracted nod. “I’ll have him ready.” The forced smile returned as she backed up another step. “Gotta get dressed.”

Strange. Damned strange. Kate didn’t usually clam up when something bothered her. He watched her walk to the dressing room. Sergei and Natalya exited as Kate entered. One foot still in the doorway, Natalya looped her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug.

Brandon’s gaze narrowed, and his jaw tightened. That man was asking for a fist between his teeth. He’d been three kinds of a fool to hire him, knowing Natalya spent her nights in Sergei’s bed. He might be the best damn guard they could hope to find, but Fantasia didn’t have room for both of them.

One night. See how it goes. He’s Aaron’s responsibility.

Yeah. Aaron’s responsibility. He’d introduce Sergei to Aaron, tell him what he wanted accomplished, and be done with the buffoon. Khitrovo might be his employee, but a job didn’t equate to friendship.

He straightened as Sergei headed directly for him. Deciding he’d rather not walk the short distance to the bar in the man’s company, Brandon struck off alone. He pulled up a stool beside Mayer and dropped one hip on the leather cushion. “There’s your new man.” He inclined his head toward the advancing Russian.

“I figured.” Aaron’s gaze slid to Brandon’s, bright with unspent laughter. “How’d the show go?”

The look Brandon shot his best friend had cowed criminals who considered guns natural extensions of their hands.

“That good?”

“Knock it off, Mayer.”

Luckily, Aaron couldn’t say any more; Sergei reached his destination. He thrust out a hand, which Aaron heartily clasped. “Welcome aboard, Khitrovo.”

“Good to be here.”

The thick accent scraped Brandon’s nerves. He motioned to the bartender, signaling for his usual, start-of-the-night, rum and Coke.

“I want you on the wall, there.” Aaron pointed to the left-hand corner nearest the stage. “If anyone sticks so much as a finger on that floor, you haul ’em back.”

Sergei nodded as Brandon’s drink slid in front of him. Brandon downed it in one deep gulp, savoring the pleasant burn that spread through his belly. The ice cubes, however, only reminded him a long night waited ahead. A night that would eventually end with one Natalya Trubachev leaving with her Russian lover.

He signaled for another and swiveled on his stool, putting his back to Sergei.

“You get three breaks. Eight, eleven, and two. Spend them how you want, but if I catch you with a one of our girls on the clock, you’re outta here.”