was an ugly, demeaning emotion. He didn’t like to picture her in Cain’s office, close to him, leaning over the man’s desk, both poring over the papers she had drawn out, that sensual, intimate note in her voice as she talked about her plants and ideas and how to incorporate his various sexual apparatuses. He didn’t want Flambé talking to Cain about anything sexual, let alone an apparatus.
“Did Cain ever offer to show you how those apparatuses work?”
“Yes, but I declined. I wasn’t interested in anything but rope. That was beautiful and sensual.”
“Did he offer to tie you? He is a rigger. A very good one and a master in suspension.” They were coming up on Prune Lane. Ania had slowed the car as if she suspected another ambush.
Just the thought of Cain tying Flambé and suspending her in an erotic pose made him want to rip out Cain’s heart. He had never been that kind of man. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t possessive. He certainly didn’t care what other man a woman wanted after he tied her in a pose. If she wanted fifty other men, she was welcome to them. Not Flambé. She was his alone and hopefully he had made that very, very clear to her.
She nodded. “He did. By that time, I think I already was obsessed with you. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“Cain has many women to choose from, malen’koye plamya. You have no need to feel guilty or that you may have hurt his feelings. He owns a club and he’s very good at what he does. Women flock to him.”
He risked a quick glance at the setup. Everyone was in place. Once again, his eyes met Ania’s in the mirror and the car began to move forward with more confidence. Behind them the SUV pulled close, the Porsche behind it. The other two vehicles were nowhere in sight, which meant they’d taken the bait and rushed around to cut them off using the alleyway. His body stirred the way it always did in times of danger. He craved the rush. He needed it.
He caught Flambé’s chin and tipped her face up to his to take possession of her mouth. He loved her mouth. It was a hot haven of promised sin. She looked like an angel and kissed like she was Satan’s accomplice. Whiskey couldn’t burn that hot down his throat. Nothing could. She poured herself into him without reservation, without hesitation. He knew if he unbuttoned that prim little blouse she wore and put his mouth to her breast she would cradle his head to her and offer more.
Flambé tasted like hot cinnamon spiced with just the lightest hint of Moroccan rose and Egyptian jasmine. The moment he tasted that on his tongue, he wanted to rip off her panties, press his mouth between her legs and devour her to get at her unique flavor. He had to stop. He’d gone too long without her and he couldn’t start anything, not until this was over.
He had to send Franco Matherson a message. One very loud and clear. One that said not to fuck with him because the man would die if he did. Flambé was off-limits. She was safe and secure and never to be touched, frightened or intimidated again. It didn’t matter how much money the shifter had, he wasn’t going to win and he would never be safe. Sevastyan could get to him.
He lifted his head to push his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes. “I want you to stay in this car with Ania. Keep your head down and the doors locked. Don’t you dare defy me on this, Flambé. This is my business.” He kissed her forehead and then pushed her down on the seat. “Lock the doors after me, Ania.”
“You got it.” He waited until she allowed the SUV to trap her between the other two cars suddenly rushing at them from out of the alley and she brought their car to a complete stop. He opened the door and was out, rolling away from the car to draw fire away from the women and signal to his men they had open season on Franco’s men.
He came to his feet as his men opened covering fire and strode purposefully right up to the passenger side of the Porsche while they were still staring in triumph at the trapped car with Flambé in it. He yanked open the door, put