Mine to Keep (NOLA Knights #3) - Rhenna Morgan Page 0,13

A mobster enforcing seat belt protocol?”

A faint gasp stirred from Cassie, but Roman’s expression lightened. Not a smile by any stretch, but something about his eyes said she’d almost earned one.

He shifted enough to anchor one arm on the back of his seat and the other on the top of the steering wheel. Without a tie, the action stretched the opening of his shirt enough to show some kind of script tattooed high on his sternum with more artwork just below it. “Whoever took your brother and father appear to be gone, but I cannot guarantee no one is watching. If they are and they choose to follow us, I’ll be inclined to lose them. I’d rather not have your body bouncing around the backseat to distract me.”

Fuck, but she wanted to see the rest of that ink. Especially on the backdrop of his rich olive skin with all that muscle beneath it. Talk about a sweet canvas.

“Miss Drummond,” he said.

The humor in his tone hammered through her distraction enough to shake her from her thoughts.

Shit.

Totally busted.

This time he did smile, though it was closer to a wolf’s grin. “Are you going to buckle up?”

“I think I should have done that about an hour ago,” she murmured mostly to herself, then reached for the belt.

He waited until she was situated, then nodded and faced forward. Starting the truck, he checked all around them, then put the gearshift in drive. “One more thing, Miss Drummond,” he said with his eyes on her in the rearview mirror. “We prefer bratva.”

“Huh?” Bonnie glanced from Roman to Cassie.

Cassie chuckled, but also looked utterly delighted. “He’s messing with you because you called him a mobster,” Cassie said over her shoulder.

“Um.” Okay, it had been a crass thing to say. Not to mention founded on newsroom gossip—even if he did fit the image perfectly. “Sorry. I’m snarky on even my best days, but today’s been a killer.”

Shit.

Bad word to use.

“I mean, not a killer literally. But I’ve had better days.” She ground her teeth together and gave up keeping her nervous jiggling knee in check. “I’m just gonna shut up now.”

Cassie giggled, a light and carefree sound that seemed off-kilter with the rest of Bonnie’s day. “Girl, you crack me up. But I told you—it’s all going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Roman drove them out of the parish and onto I-10, his gaze alert and constantly shifting for signs of being followed. Cassie, God love her, made it her mission to set Bonnie at ease through all manner of casual questions. What had been going on since they last talked? How was her dad’s health? Had anything interesting happened at the station?

All of which garnered the same answers as usual—not much, still awful and nothing would ever top Cassie leaving the dog-eat-dog world of reporting to marry a hot Russian.

Under other circumstances, the light chatter might have actually uncoiled some of the tension knotting her stomach. But every time she dared a glance at the rearview mirror, she’d catch Roman looking at her with those awesome gray eyes. The man didn’t even have the grace to look away and act guilty when she caught him either. Just held her stare a second longer than was comfortable before going back to focusing on the road and weaving between cars on the highway.

Yep. Total badass.

Which was unfortunate, because every badass she’d ever known had also been a complete jerk—a fact she’d learned by falling for them and getting screwed over in more ways than she could count.

Just off the Pontchartrain Expressway, St. Charles Avenue bustled with ten times the cars and people they’d left behind in Desire. “So...umm... Roman. How long are you thinking your research is going to take you?”

Surprisingly, he kept his eyes on the road. While he didn’t actually smile, his voice sounded like he found her hysterical. “As long as it takes, Miss Drummond.”

“You know, you can call me Bonnie.”

His eyes cut to the mirror. “Very well.” He hesitated only a moment, but the heat behind his eyes made her feel like she’d just handed over her nonexistent virginity. “Bonnie.”

Whoa.

Way too much testosterone for such a cramped space. Maybe she should roll down a window and stick her head out before she got any stupid ideas.

Eyes back on the road, Roman turned off St. Charles. Within blocks they were in a whole new world. Elegant homes lined up one after the other, their mix of Victorian and plantation architecture holding the modern