She spun to make another lap and found him squarely in her path. His arm stole around her waist and yanked her flush against him. He cupped the side of her face, the urgency in his grip matching edge behind his words. “No, malyshka. That is what a man does to protect what is his. I told you last night—You. Are. Mine.” He held her gaze for tense moments, whether to ascertain if he’d sufficiently delivered his message, or to gain his control, she wasn’t sure.

He finally relaxed his hold, stepped back and smoothed his hand down the front of his shirt. “Now, are you changing into something else and choosing what you want to take with you? Or am I taking you dressed as you are and having your belongings packed later?”

He was serious.

One hundred percent deadly serious.

And something told her it would take nothing short of a nuclear warhead to get him to budge on his position.

The suitcase lay open on her bed, the rumpled sheets where so much pleasure and passion had been shared, beneath it.

You’re gonna have to hold on for all you’re worth, because he’s gonna be a hell of a ride.

Man, Evette hadn’t been kidding, had she? And more importantly, what if Kir was right and the email wasn’t a joke? Someone had not only noted her with Kir and thought to snap a picture, but they’d found a way to track her personal email address to send the message. That meant they were invested. And if the sender truly was tied to the murder of one of Kir’s men, then digging in her heels was utterly stupid.

With a fresh wave of fear rattling her nerves, she nodded and turned for the bathroom. “I’ll change. Give me half an hour to pack.”

Chapter Twelve

Clearly, Kir was lacking in the skills necessary to navigate a relationship. Protecting and providing for a woman he could do, and ensuring pleasure was...well, a pleasure. But finding his way through the mercenary terrain of a tight-lipped woman with clenched fists? That was something Sergei had failed to warn him about. How lost he’d feel, or for that matter, how terrifying making a misstep would be. He’d faced down dangerous men armed to the teeth more times than he could count, and never once felt this powerless.

Cassie stared out the windshield, her features pinched in concentration. If she noted the beautiful Creole and Victorian style mansions passing them by, she didn’t show it. Just kept her gaze trained straight ahead and held her body locked solid.

He made the last turn onto Sergei’s street then covered one of her fisted hands with his own. “Sergei texted while you were packing. Evette and Emerson are both looking forward to seeing you. The accommodations are quite comfortable. You’ll see.”

Slowly, she lowered her head and studied his hand on hers. A mix of bewilderment and strain colored her soft voice. “It’s not where I’m staying. It’s not being around Evette or anyone else in your family.”