“It had to be Gavriil. He’s so…” She broke off, paced away from him, all fluid energy. She turned again to face him and glared, her fingers closed into two tight fists. “Overbearing.” She spat the word at him. “Arrogant. Dominant. I refuse to have you watching over me. Babysitting me.”
He looked confused. Brought his hand up to the nape of his neck, frowning. Massaging. “It is my job to look after you. Don Luigi has insisted you have a bodyguard at all times…”
“Not Don Luigi, you oaf. Gavriil. Your brother. He sent you. I know that he did. Probably every last one of them is in on it. You are definitely a Prakenskii,” she accused. “I should have known he would do something like this.”
One week and she’d discovered his identity. That wasn’t good. He’d stayed alive by being a master of disguise. He rubbed at his neck muscles, shaking his head. Frowning. He could play poker with the best of them. “How many brothers do I have?” There was just the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. Amusement and confusion. It was a work of art, that tone. He could see the sudden wariness in her eyes, as if for just a moment she doubted herself.
She lifted her chin at him. The gesture was a clear challenge and it brought out something unexpected – and wicked – in him. The need to tame. To dominate. She was all fire. A living flame, so beautiful she took his breath away.
“You have six brothers, as if you didn’t know.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. Quirked his lips as if the superior male was hiding his laughter from the silly little female. “Six? I didn’t think I had any siblings, but now that I have six I think I need to know where I fall into the mix. Am I the oldest? Youngest? Please give me more information on my family.”
“You’re in the middle, which makes you the most obnoxious.”
He burst out laughing. “I see. If you wanted my attention, cara, all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to make up an elaborate scheme.” He swept his hand down the length of her long red hair, shaping the back of her head, down her spine to the curve of her very sweet ass. He allowed his hand to linger there.
To her credit, she didn’t move away, but she went very still. Something shifted inside him, warning him. She had been just that little bit uncertain. Off-balance. Defending herself and her idea that she might know who he was. Now she was acutely aware of him again. The man. The man he didn’t see himself. The man he didn’t know. Casimir Prakenskii. That man without a real identity. Or a home. Or a family. Him.
She saw too much. Far too much. Vision like that could get a person killed.
He remained silent, his gaze on her face. He shifted closer, subtly, aware they were alone. She had deliberately ensured no one was in sight or hearing of them. He wanted to scare her into backing off. She didn’t seem to scare easily. She didn’t step away. Didn’t move a muscle. Her gaze drifted over his face and then jumped back to his eyes.
“Four of my sisters are married to Prakenskiis. Joley Drake is married to a fifth. That leaves two more. I know you’re Gavriil’s brother,” she prompted, one hand between them as if she could ward him off.
He studied her face. The blue eyes and lifted chin. There was something there. Fear, but of what, he couldn’t be certain. Of him? She had to know if Gavriil sent him, it was to watch over her, not harm her. She was family. His brothers claimed her as family, and that meant she was to be guarded at all times. They had enemies.
Kostya Sorbacov’s son, Uri, was making his bid for the presidency. As Gavriil had pointed out, in order to do that smoothly, Sorbacov had to erase all evidence of those brutal schools and the men and women who had been forced to become assets for their country. There were hits out on every Prakenskii brother. All of them. Even Ilya, the youngest, who had mostly worked Interpol for them out in the open.
Lissa would be a pawn for Uri. He would know the Prakenskiis would do whatever it took to protect her. They had protected one another by cooperating with Sorbacov, allowing them to be trained and used as weapons.
“Are you going to talk to me, or do we go talk to my uncle?” she demanded.
“Why are you upset?” He stayed with Italian. Keeping to his role. “Explain this to me.”
Her breath hissed out between her teeth. “Would you like it if someone put a babysitter on you?”
“Babysitter?” He’d never been called that before. He wasn’t in the least gentle enough to ever be deemed a babysitter. “I don’t know what you mean.” Because she was bluffing. It was a good bluff. Maybe even a great bluff, but it was still a bluff. There was no way she could possibly know who he was.