was fierce, a rough, brutal leopard, honed from the many beatings Sevastyan’s father and uncles had given him when the cat had tried to protect the boy. They’d let their larger adult cats loose on the young, immature leopard, tearing him nearly to pieces at times, until Sevastyan had forced a shifting in order to protect him, willing to let the leopards kill him rather than see Shturm suffer any further. Theirs had been an ugly childhood with little room for gentleness. He was thankful his leopard had shown that trait to Flambé.
Sevastyan applied pressure to the puncture wounds until he was certain the bleeding had slowed to trickles. He smeared on the antibiotic cream, placed Band-Aids over the two puncture wounds before pulling down her top and turning her almost in one motion so she wouldn’t see that Matherson was right at the window, the threat of death in his eyes. He pulled Flambé into his arms, tight against his chest.
“We’ll find our way through this. I’m excited to see what you’re going to do with the landscaping. I’ve been looking forward to hearing your ideas and seeing them drawn out since I made the call asking you to meet with me.” He brushed a kiss on top of her head, his gaze meeting Franco’s without hesitation.
There were cameras everywhere recording every threat the man might make. He might destroy one or two, but he wouldn’t find them all. Sevastyan had every confidence that he wouldn’t be able to breach the house, not as a man, and not as a leopard.
Matherson gestured toward the door. Sevastyan looked him up and down as if he were so far beneath his notice he couldn’t be bothered. The man hadn’t had the decency to go to the door before he peered through the window like some Peeping Tom. Worse, he’d actually run Flambé off the road and then struck her. He’d be paying for that, just not at that moment, not when Flambé, or anyone else, would know Sevastyan had anything to do with retaliating.
“Tell me how you got your name. There must be a story behind it.”
Sevastyan ignored Franco’s pounding on the window and took Flambé’s hand to walk her deeper into the living room, where he found a chair that kept her just out of Franco’s sight. The man would be able to see her legs and lap, but not her face. The chair had wide arms and a deep cushion, meant for a big man like him.
Flambé sank into the chair and he immediately went to the floor and positioned himself between her legs, kneeling there, so his wider body kept her legs spread open for him. That would torment a man like Franco. Drive him absolutely insane. It would ensure that Matherson would come after him and not Flambé.
Flambé’s eyes went wide when he dropped to his knees, his arms circling her waist, but she didn’t protest. She moistened her lips, indicating she was nervous, but she reached out and pushed at his hair, touching him tentatively. When he didn’t pull back, she stroked his hair away from his temples and gave him a little half smile. Her other hand rubbed her thigh restlessly.
“My mother was a chef. She worked at a famous restaurant. Apparently, one of her most famous desserts included something where she poured alcohol over it and lit it.”
When she smiled, even that little half smile, her eyes lit up and he found the experience extraordinary. Her eyes could be green or gold or light brown or amber. So many colors depending on her mood or what she might be wearing. With her leopard added to the mix, his woman’s eyes could be any number of colors and he would have to learn what each of them meant. It would take a lifetime, maybe nine of them.
“Flambé. Of course.”
“My father wanted children.” Her voice had gone neutral. Almost as if she was retelling a story. “She had a multiple pregnancy, but lost two early on. I was the last, and at first the doctors thought she had lost me as well.”
Her voice had gone soft and very sad. Sevastyan thought she might be reflecting her father’s sorrow at the loss when he told her the story. She had a lot of empathy in her. That told him he would have to shield her. He would take care to do so without making her think he saw her as weak. He wished he had that quality.