Her Rogue Russian(14)

 

"You want me to freeze my ass off in short-shorts?" Savannah asked him.

 

"I'd put you in them. Hell, every man here would put you in them if they were forced to." He glided his hand back up the outside of her ass and moved his fingers beneath the front of her shirt, caressing the silky-soft skin of her navel. "I think given the option, there isn't a soul present who wouldn't prefer seeing you naked."

 

"Let's assume that they won't." It definitely wasn't his imagination, he decided-Savannah was breathing harder beneath his touch. "Any other bright ideas for a spot?"

 

"I could explore your spots all day," Maxim promised darkly as he rose again, taking his hand away from the body he ached to touch and resting it on the nape of her neck. This time, he felt Savannah's skin erupt in goose bumps, her instinctive reaction to feeling him behind her and grasping a vital, sensitive area. Was she afraid of him? Somehow, he didn't think so …  and the implications of what her body might feel when he was around were tantalizing.

 

"What about here?" he broke their standoff by asking. He began to stroke a finger down the curve of her neck, but Savannah quickly reached back to still his hand.

 

"There. There is good," she agreed. "Let's get this over with."  

 

As they moved together across the room to rejoin Adrian, Maxim decided a small part of him liked the idea of leaving his mark on Agent Casillero. He was going easy on her by selecting a place on her body she could easily conceal by wearing her hair down.

 

He explained the design and positioning to Adrian, who praised the decision, as Savannah sat down and pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head.

 

"Have you had any work done previously?" Adrian asked her.

 

Maxim was all ears for this one. Savannah cast a hesitant look his way, and he leaned in, smiling like he was as invested as the artist in her answer. "I have a …  butterfly. Across my lower back," she confessed. Maxim thought he had never heard the word "butterfly" spoken with such derision before.

 

"Ah. A babochka. Lovely choice," Adrian complimented her.

 

"You have a tramp stamp," Maxim stated smugly, easing back on the stool he occupied and crossing his arms. "When did you get that done? College?"

 

"For your information, it was over a spring break in Daytona," Savannah said through gritted teeth. "And my friend Maddie thought it was a terrible idea."

 

"Should have listened to your friend," he said.

 

"I know that now," Savannah groused. "At least she still pretends to be supportive of my decision."

 

"Want me to hold your hand for you now?" Maxim joked. He watched her face flex in automatic response, but it wasn't the confident smile he was used to seeing; it was close-lipped, never quite reaching the full and generous dimensions he knew it was capable of. Could it be the blackmailing, avenging angel in a pantsuit actually feared the prick of a needle? As Adrian drew closer, Maxim watched Savannah lean away and wince.

 

"Hold yourself very still now, please," Adrian advised. "I promise I will not make you look any less beautiful. It is not possible."

 

Savannah gave a weak laugh, then glanced down in surprise when Maxim's larger hand enveloped hers. He didn't remember telling it to do that. As soon as the low buzzing of Adrian's needle started, her grip on his fingers tightened.

 

"I should tell you what you're getting yourself into," he said in a low voice.

 

"You didn't think that maybe this should have come up sooner?" She gave a little laugh, trying to put on a brave face. They knew that Adrian was well within earshot of whatever advice Maxim felt like imparting to her, and that nothing even hinting at their real arrangement could be divulged.

 

"You want the proper initiation, you're going to have to let me pour vodka over you when it's done," Maxim continued. He saw Adrian's mouth flex, but the tattoo artist was a professional; he kept his body perfectly poised behind Savannah as he began to trace the outline he had stenciled in ink. "Typical sterilization procedure, right, Adrian?"

 

"I'm not some ship you get to christen before you sail," Savannah snapped, her tone more a product of pain than any real offense.

 

"They didn't finish you off that way down at Daytona Beach?" Maxim mocked. "Pity. You could have killed two spring breaks with one stone by beginning the wet T-shirt contest immediately after."

 

"Fuck you," Savannah said with a chuckle. "All right, why don't you regale me with stories of your own spring break?"