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.