his face would’ve cinched it. “We have a reservation.”
“At two in the afternoon? Who needs a reservation at two in the afternoon?”
He kept his eyes on the road, but there was no mistaking the pleasure in his smile. “We do. Though, by the time we run this errand, it will be closer to three.” He glanced her direction, so much warmth behind his steel gaze she felt it in her gut. “Trust me, vozlyublennaya.”
God, she was becoming a sucker for the Russian language. Or at least the way it rolled off his tongue. Granted, she’d only learned the translation for malen’kaya koroleva so far, but as good as the foreign words sounded with his deep voice, he could recite the TV guide to her and she’d be lit and ready to go.
Little queen.
My Queen.
She still had a hard time remembering how he’d said the words without visibly shivering. It was the stuff of every romance she’d ever read or seen—only he’d been up close and personal. Every bare, six-foot-four and ripped muscled inch of him.
He turned off Claiborne Avenue and headed toward East Carrollton. Less than ten minutes later, he pulled up in front of a two-story tan stucco building with black shutters and a simple black placard over the double glass doors.
Frannelly’s Custom Fine Jewelers.
Oh, shit.
A three-thousand-dollar coat and a jewelry store?
Not only no, but hell no.
She opened her mouth, ready to argue.
Roman cut her off with a blasé comment before she could. “I will only be a moment. You are welcome to come and look while I do business if you like.”
Hmm.
Business.
It did kind of make sense he’d have to work sometime. And while she’d always thought mobsters stuck to construction, restaurants and gambling for their primary partnerships, Roman, Kir and Sergei hadn’t exactly turned out to be the run-of-the-mill types for anything. Why not work with jewelers? And hell, yeah, if she could look her fill at a bunch of high-end jewelry without someone bugging her, why not go along for the ride? She shrugged and unbuckled her seat belt. “Sure.”
Inside was pure class. Simple and small, but definitely the kind of place people with lots of money went to shop. Diamonds, colored gems and every hue of gold sparkled from the soft tan suede displays, held safe from prying hands with fingerprint-free sparkling glass. A silver tray near the door featured chocolate covered strawberries and what looked like homemade cookies.
Her stomach grumbled its appreciation, but she ignored the food in favor of the case closest to her.
“Their selection is good, yes?” Roman said beside her.
Good was too tame of a word. Everything in front of her was elegant but beautifully unique. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
“They are custom pieces. The owner is known for his craftsmanship.”
“Really?” She leaned in for a closer look. “It looks like the super fancy stuff you see at all the big retail jewelry stores but a whole lot more original.”
A blond-haired woman in a perfectly fitted black dress and model-quality makeup sauntered their direction. Her gaze darted between Roman and Bonnie and she wriggled her elastic wristlet with a decent number of keys free. “May I help you?”
“Roman Kozlov to see Mr. Frannelly.”
Her eyes widened and her attention shuttled to Bonnie for all of a heartbeat before she nodded at Roman. “Of course.” She hustled to the back of the store.
Bonnie chuckled. “Wow. You’ve got a real way with people. I bet the last time she walked that fast was for a Black Friday sale at Needless Markup.”
“Needless what?”
“Neiman Marcus.” When all he did was frown at her, she added, “Neiman Marcus. One of my bar regulars calls it Needless Markup. Get it?”
Comprehension registered and he smiled just as a slightly balding dark-haired man hurried their direction.
The man extended his hand for a handshake long before he reached Roman. “Mr. Kozlov, how nice to see you again. Are you here to see Raymond? He’s out running an errand, but will be back soon. I can call him.”
Roman shook Mr. Frannelly’s hand. “No need. I’m here on business.”
For the barest of moments, genuine fear swept across Mr. Frannelly’s face. He masked it quickly and squared his shoulders. “Whatever it is, you know you can count on me.” With a shaky smile he turned his gaze on Bonnie. “Is this your wife?”
Bonnie nearly choked.
Roman beamed. “Not yet. No.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side. “This is moya nevesta, Bonnie Drummond.”
Moya what?