Loving Leo (The Romanovsky Brothers Book 3) (2 page)

She broke their gaze the moment the words hit her brain, eyes searching the large bathroom he’d led her into. Her subconscious instantly went to work.

Power outlet, light fixture, curtain rod, wall sconce, decorative mirror.

Five places she could plant a camera.

She turned to Leo at the sound of the door closing, eyes falling to the bathroom bench he was now pulling toward her.

“Have a seat,” he said.

Jessica plopped down, eyes going anxiously to the door of the bathroom.  Her prime suspect was on the other side.  She itched to get to where Val was, but she had to play it cool.

Leo bent down in front of her and took her ankle in his big hands.

She gasped, eyes flying back to him.  Her waist-length braid tumbled off her shoulder and came to a stop at the swell of her breasts.

His eyes followed that braid and then rose back to hers, filling with suggestion as his fingers trickled along her ankle.

“Are my hands too cold?” he asked.

She tried to answer, and when nothing came, she just shook her head.

“Let’s get a look at you.”  He ran his hand up her leg, squeezing a trail from her ankle to her calf, her calf to her knee, and her knee to the bottom of her thigh.

Jessica raised an eyebrow, wondering how far this sly bastard was going to take it.

His hands came to a stop before he reached her upper thigh.

“Smart man,” she said.  “If that hand had gone even an inch higher, you’d have earned yourself a quick fist to the nose.”

“So you’re violent,” he said.  “I think I like that…”

“You have a nice nose, that’s all,” she said.  “I would’ve hated having to bust it open.”

“Somehow, I think you would’ve loved it.  I hit you with my car, you clock me in the nose.  Eye for an eye right?”  His eyes fell as he moved to her other leg.  He gave it the same treatment, traveling from her ankle to her thigh, stopping just short of violating
her.

“Anything hurt?” He took her wrist and squeezed his way up her arm.

She swallowed.  “No.”  When he released her arm, she raised the other one for him.

She watched a smile bloom on his face, long eyelashes only enhanced as he lowered his lids.

She rolled her eyes.

He looked up just in time to miss it, putting more pressure under his grip.  “No pain?”

She shook her head.

He released her arm and took her around her bare waist.

She gasped at the unexpected touch, taking in a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.

His smiling eyes rose to hers.

Hers fell.  She’d had no idea she was capable of losing her cool like this.

He ran the pads of his fingers slowly up and down the sides of her waist.  It was far too delicate a touch to discover an injury—but just strong enough to send a waterfall of moisture surging straight to the seat of her pants.

“Here?” he asked.  “Does it hurt here?”

“No.”  Her eyes fluttered closed. The scent of his aftershave soothed her senses, and her lips tingled when she felt his breath puffing against them.

She didn’t see him leaning in, but she knew he was.  He was going to kiss her and, like an idiot, she wasn’t going to stop him.

The fingers he was trailing along her sides came to a sudden halt, and he tightened his hold.

Her eyes popped open.  “Ouch!”

Leo’s hands flew off her, eyes wide.  “Where?” he demanded, all the lust vanishing from his eyes.

She couldn’t lie.  Whatever spot he’d just touched had hurt like hell, but she was thankful for it.  The pain had woken her the hell up.   She cringed as she tilted her body, guiding his fingers to the spot that hurt.

“Here,” she said.

He pushed.  “Here?”

“Ow!  Yes, dammit, Leo.  I just told you it hurts right
here
and your first instinct is to prod at it some more?”

He removed his hands, and like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her head, Jessica woke up a little bit more. It was beginning to alarm her, the effect this man had on her body.  The moment he took those warm hands off her, she was a cop again, a federal agent, a woman whose job was on the line if she didn’t bring his twin brother to justice.

“I’m so sorry.”  He buried his head in his trembling hands, eyes wide when they came back up.   “Maybe we should get you to the hospital.  I’ll take care of the medical bills.  This is my fault.”

Still holding her side, eyebrows tugged together, Jessica stood.

He stood with her.

“No.  I’m fine.”  Her eyes went back to the door. “Just a little bruising.  I’ve taken worse hits from my big brother when we used to play as kids.”

“Are you sure? What if you’re bleeding internally? What if this is one of those things that doesn’t seem like much now, but then kills you in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping?”

She gave him a horrified look.

“If you bleed out in the middle of the night, I’ll never forgive myself.”

She felt her eyes shift from horrified to amused.  “I’m fine, Leo.  Really.  I’m a soldier.”  She looked at the door that Val was on the other side of, and the part of her that lived for her work shifted to life.   “I could really… use a glass of water, though?”

Leo flew across the room and pulled the door open, giving her plenty of space to step out without having to shove her ass against his dick.  Now that she was officially a battered woman, he was no longer trying to cop a feel.

She shot him a look as she stepped out into the hallway, holding her breath, once more, when that hand went around her waist.

***

The moment Victor King stepped away from the podium, deafening applause ensued.  The sun was high that day in Four Freedoms Park on Roosevelt Island, radiating waves of heat onto his shiny head as he raised a hand, offering the thousands of halfwits worshiping him a wave and a smile.

After making his way through the crowd, shaking every hand while fantasizing about the nearest bottle of sanitizer, he found himself swept away by his handlers.

Once he was out of the cheering crowd’s sights, the smile vanished from his face.

Voices hit him from every angle as he was shuffled through the backstage area.

“Rousing speech, Governor.”

“I got
chills,
Governor.”

“The win is as good as yours, Governor.”

Victor clenched his fists as the words of the last ass kisser stung his ears.

“The win isn’t as good as mine,” he said.  “Not until it’s mine.”

From one starry-eyed face to the next, he trudged through short, obligatory conversations, praying for escape.

After he was ushered into the backseat of his private limo, the backdoor slammed, leaving him to drink in the delicious silence.

“You did good, Dad.”

Victor’s eyes popped open, shooting a disdainful gaze across the car to his only son, Reggie King.  “Does the driver have the address?”

“Yep.”  Reggie shifted, his brown eyes growing larger.  He motioned toward the driver as the limo pulled away.  “I told him.  He knows where to go.”

“Good,” Victor said.  “Now shut the hell up.”

As tall as he was broad, Reggie’s legs shot far out from the leather seat, appearing long enough to punch a crack through the back window.  He was topped in sheer size only by his father, who towered over most people at a neck-breaking six-foot-seven.  Like Victor, Reggie’s skin was captivatingly dark, nearly spilling out of sight against the leather seat, and he had a handsome face that often stopped people in their tracks.

Silence zeroed in, and King’s head fell back against the seat.

“There’s nothing on Earth more exhausting than smiling and curtsying for four hours straight.”  His deep voice wavered with the kind of exhaustion only a two-hour speech could inspire.  The rally that afternoon was the second of many to come, and his skin crawled at the thought.

“It’s only your second speech since announcing your bid for president, you can’t be running on empty yet?”

“You’ve been running on empty since the day you were born, son; I wouldn’t be so quick to talk.”

Reggie inhaled, eyes narrowing.

Victor waited for a rebuttal, eyes sharp and primed.  When a silence fell, he relaxed his tightened fists, but didn’t move his eyes from Reggie.

“It’ll be worth it in the end,” Reggie said, pasting a smile to his shaking lips.  “When you never have to hear another soul call you Governor again?”  He threw his father a wide-eyed look.

“Governor,” he drawled.  “God.  It was once a title I coveted.  Took pride in.  Bled for.” He licked his teeth.  “Now it just feels subpar.  Inadequate.  Weak.”

“Well, there will be nothing inadequate about it when you take the title of  Commander in Chief? Nothing weak about being the President of the United States?”

“You’re talking in question marks again,” Victor breathed, cringing across the space.  “Do you have any idea how subpar, inadequate, and
weak
you sound when you speak that way?  As if you don’t believe in the sound of your own voice.  Like you don’t believe in your own
existence
.  Speak to me like a man, Reginald, for God’s sake.”

Reggie’s eyes wavered as the limo’s questionable brakes screeched to a slow stop, and his eyes moved to the tinted windows just as a middle-aged white male approached the car.  The man looked down the quiet alley in both directions before opening the door and climbing in.

He slid in next to Reggie, breathing deep, cratered skin flushed and blue eyes darting as he slammed the door closed behind him.

Victor couldn’t help but wonder when the morons would stop surrounding him, but he also couldn’t deny that the bumbling mess before him was
his
moron, loyal in his moronic ways, and terrified of Victor.

Victor’s black eyes ran the shifty limbs of the cop before him.  “At least you had the sense to change out of your uniform this time, Harry.”

Harry tried to smile, but it died a slow death halfway to fruition.

Victor considered him, allowing him to stew in his nerves, which only grew more pronounced the longer the silence went on.

Growing bored, Victor spoke.  “Is it true that someone tried to access Val’s mug shot?”

Reggie’s eyes cut to Harry.  They shared a look.

Harry shifted, beads of sweat multiplying on his forehead.  “Who… who… who—”

“Spit it out,” Victor said.

“Who told you that?” Harry sputtered.

A patient smile spread on Victor’s face.  “I have ears all over this city.  You should know that by now, Harry.”

Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, which only served to spread the sweat farther, leaving a pool of moisture collecting on the edge of his eyebrow.  “They didn’t try.  They accessed it, Vic.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know.”

“Angie Colt?”

Harry shook his head.  “Couldn’t have been her. The only people with access to the police server with Val’s mug shot…” Harry swallowed.  “It had to have been someone on the inside.”

“Knox Jefferson?”

“He skipped the country, months ago.”  Harry cringed. “Why would he pull the mug shot?”

“Foolishness?  Desperation?  Some insipid sprout of loyalty to a son he’s never known?  Now that he’s laid eyes on Roman, I can’t trust him.” Victor straightened his suit.  “Find a way to bring Knox back to New York.  Concoct a phony police charge if you have to.”

“He’s in Iceland, Vic.  No extradition.  Getting him back to New York would be close to impossib—”

“Find Knox Jefferson and bring him back. I have now asked you
twice,
are we going to try for three?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and a bead of sweat on the edge of his eyebrow dripped inside the lid.  He hissed, squinting.

“Are you winking at me?” Victor asked.

“Nah, it’s sweat.  You know how I sweat.”  Harry pressed the heel of his hand into his eye.

“Just get Knox back here and take care of the problem,” Victor said.

Pulling his hands from his face, Harry’s eyes searched Victor’s, still wincing around the sting of his own sweat.

“That’s all,” Victor said.

Flinging himself at the door, Harry stumbled out onto the pavement once he had it open.  He didn’t look back, not even after he’d hurled it shut.

No one ever looked back when they made their escape from Victor King, hoping against hope that he would one day forget they existed and free them from his clutches.

But Victor King didn’t forget.

Not ever.

Jessica followed Leo toward the barrage of voices floating down the hallway, and soon they were both lingering in the arched entryway of the formal dining room.

Conversation continued around the wooden table, chock full of an assortment of food and surrounded by ten white chairs.

Angie and Zoey sat next to each other, immersed in the kind of closed conversation only two best friends could manage.

Alongside Zoey was Val, staring off into space with the same disturbed look that had been in his eyes in the hallway.  Roman was next to Angie, shooting daggers at Val.

Next to Roman, at the head of the table, was his mother, Bette Romanovsky.  She was leaning across the table, wood jamming into her gut as she did, massaging the back of Roman’s neck with a smile on her thin red lips.  Her starry hazel eyes searched his face.

Next to Bette was Gary, the youngest Romanovsky brother.  Jessica recognized his long, shaggy brown hair from behind.  She straightened when he turned toward the door and his green gaze hit hers.  His eyebrows jumped, traveled her body, and then moved to Leo.

“Yo.” Gary beamed, turning his entire body toward them.  “Leo’s here.  Finally. Can we eat now, please?” He directed his question to the head of the table, opposite Bette, where Tony Romanovsky sat.

Jessica’s eyes went to Tony.  His salt and pepper hair was brushed back, and his orbs were just as green and friendly as Gary’s, but Jessica knew better.  Unlike Val, Tony didn’t have the good sense to be suspicious of her on sight.

“Hey.”  Tony’s smile was kind, erasing twenty years from his wise eyes the moment it hit his face.

If Jessica didn’t know any better, she’d have the utmost trust in Tony—and anything he said—just from being on the receiving end of that dazzling smile.

But Jessica
did
know better.

Tony Romanovsky was prime suspect number two.

Gary and Tony’s greeting stole the attention of everyone at the table, and soon, all conversation came to a halt and every head turned toward the door.

Leo left Jessica and moved into the dining room. He went to Bette first, cupping the graying brown bun in her hair before dropping a quick kiss on her cheek.  Bette didn’t release her hold on Roman, but she lifted her head to accept Leo’s kiss, watching him with smiling eyes as he circled the table, clapping a hand of greeting on the shoulder of each of his siblings before he reached Tony.

He placed a kiss on his father’s cheek, as well, before looking up at Jessica. Every eye followed Leo’s.

All eyes on her.  Jessica wasn’t even uncomfortable.  She was too busy profiling every set of eyes that now studied her, filing them into specific categories in her mind.

Val:
Mug shot.  Prime suspect.  Almost undeniably guilty.

Roman:
Innocent.

Zoey:
Clueless.

Angie:
Pain in my ass.

Gary:
Clueless.

Bette:
Utterly clueless, thinks her kids are angels from heaven.

Tony:
Prime suspect number two.

And, finally, Leo.

Oh, Leo:
Clueless pawn.

“Who’s your friend?” Tony asked, his jovial voice carrying across the room.

Leo returned to Jessica and placed his hand on the small of her back.

Bette smiled at Jessica.  “You must be Carolina,” she said, nodding in greeting.

Jessica grinned.  “No.”

Tony chimed in from the other end of the table.  “Forgive my wife.  She would forget
her own
name if I didn’t have it tattooed on my arm.”  He presented the large tattoo on his forearm, a black-and-white replica of Bette’s elegant face. Tony’s eyes went to his wife as he motioned to Jessica.  “Sweetheart, this is clearly
Genevieve
.  Leo’s told us all about her, remember?” Tony looked to Jessica, waving his hand languidly through the air, presenting her like a brand new car on
The Price is Right
.  “Long, flowing black hair?  Dark, mysterious eyes?”

Leo clutched at Jessica’s waist, and she almost laughed.  How many bitches had this guy brought home?  Even his family was plumb confused.

“Nope.  Sorry.” Jessica shook her head.  “Not Genevieve.”

Tony made a face, stumped.

“Aren’t you
Jasmine
?” Gary took a shot.

Jessica pressed her lips together, doing all she could to stop from bursting into laughter.  “Nope.”

Zoey sat tall, leaning against the table on her elbows.  “Good God, you guys. Way to make Leo look like some serial womanizer.”  She motioned to Jessica.  “This one is obviously—”

“Please stop,” Leo finally jumped in, clearly having tolerated as much of the painful exchange as he could take.

Zoey plopped back into her seat with a confused pout.

“So which one are you?” Gary asked Jessica.

“I’m the one Leo just mowed down with his Porsche Carrera out there on the street.” Jessica jabbed her thumb toward the front door.

The only person at the table who didn’t gasp in horror was Angie Colt.  She watched Jessica with calm, informed eyes, as if she were fighting not to shake her head in dismay.  She raised an eyebrow high, knowing good and well that Leo had only
mowed
Jessica down because Jessica had put herself in a position to be mowed.

Bette was horrified.  “Leonardo Alexander Romanovsky! You
hit
her?”

“Nice job, speed racer.”  Tony shook his head, voice rising. “We’ve been telling you for years to slow your ass down out there.  Is this what it’s going to take for you to drive the speed limit for once in your life?” He motioned to Jessica.  “You killing some innocent woman?”

“She was in the middle of the damn street,” Leo said.  “And, for your information, I was
driving
under
the speed limit.”

Laughter broke out from every person at the table but Roman and Val.

“Speed limit!” Gary howled.

“Do you even know the meaning of those two words? I’m not sure you do.”  Zoey giggled.  “The only reason you passed your drivers exam in high school, on the
fifth try,
was because you nailed the horny cougar who was giving you the test.”

“No person in their right mind would ever put a license in his hand.” Tony beamed.  “Not without some serious provocation.”

“It is not my fault this woman has a death wish.” Leo secretly squeezed Jessica’s side.

She felt it, heeding his silent apology.  “In Leo’s defense, I really was jogging in the middle of the street.  No crosswalk.  It was completely my fault.”

Skeptical looks hit her from every angle.

“Regardless,” Tony said.  “The speed limit in this neighborhood is ten miles per hour.  Ten.  Miles.  Per hour. That’s lower than a grade school crosswalk, for God’s sake.  If the speed demon had been driving
under
the limit, like he claims, he would’ve had plenty of time to slow down before he hit you.”

Jessica threw Leo a look of apology.  She couldn’t argue with that.

“Are you injured?” Gary’s eyes travelled Jessica’s body for the second time.

“I’m fine.  A little tender in some spots, but nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner…” Bette faltered, motioning to her.

“Ashley,” Jessica offered.  “Ashley Williams.”

Bette waved to Leo.  “Pull up a chair for Ashley, speed racer.”

Jessica shook her head, even as her psyche screamed
yes. 
Even as Leo left the room in a huff to go fetch a chair.  The more time she spent in this house, the better.  If she stayed for dinner, she might even be able to persuade Bette into giving her a full tour of the house.  Excitement raced through her veins, but she pretended to hesitate.

“I really couldn’t impose, Mrs. Romanovsky.”  She looked down at her too-small spandex sports bra, and her
way-
too-tight jogging pants while re-zipping her running jacket.  “I’m not really dressed for a family dinner.”

“We don’t mind,” Gary said, smirking.

“We
insist.
” Tony’s voice rose higher.

Leo returned with the chair and nodded Jessica over once he had it at the table.

Jessica moved to him, thanking him.  As he pushed her in, snug under the table, her eyes rose to Angie Colt.

Angie was looking right back, arms crossed.

Jessica widened her eyes.

Angie widened hers right back.

They had a silent conversation.

Jessica tried to keep her cool.  Angie was the only person there who knew who she really was.  Jessica knew Angie wouldn’t purposely blow her cover, but she also knew Angie was no actress.  Her emotions always showed themselves, loud and clear, on her face. Angie was at least making
somewhat
of an effort to appear nonchalant, but it wasn’t flawless.

Jessica turned to Gary.

He offered his hand.  “Gary.”

She took it.  “It’s nice to meet you, Gary.”  Just like Leo, he’d been leering at her breasts since she’d walked in, so she didn’t mean a single word.

She knew Gary was the youngest Romanovsky, and worked as VP of Marketing at Novsky.  He was in his mid twenties, same as Zoey and Angie.  He had a real estate portfolio in the millions, just like his brothers, but he dressed like a high school basketball player.  He’d landed a spot on the varsity team his freshman year, Jessica remembered, and it was evident he had yet to let go of his glory days.  His body was even longer than she remembered, and just a touch skinnier than his long limbs called for.

Leo took a seat between Jessica and Tony.  “Sorry,” he said, pushing off his jacket and revealing a long-sleeved black cotton shirt.  It hugged his muscles as he motioned to each person at the table.  “This is Ma, Rome, Angie Colt, Zoey, Val, and Pop.”

Each person smiled or nodded as Leo introduced them.

All but Val and Roman.

They were still entrenched in their staring contest, both harboring the kind of feeling in their eyes that said so much, but nothing at all. It made Jessica wonder what had gone on between the two of them before she’d run into them in the hallway.

Their expressions reminded her of the disturbed looks she often saw on civilians’ faces when there was a dead body at a crime scene.  Most people only saw dead bodies in movies and on TV.  In real life, however, it was worlds different.  There was no expression more poignant than that of a person who’d just seen a dead body, in real life, for the very first time.  Yes, Val and Roman’s faces, their attitudes, their whole
auras
, reminded her of that.

She considered them as they considered each other, wondering if there
was
a dead body in that house somewhere.  It wouldn’t be the first dead body the Romanovskys had on their hands.  It wouldn’t even be the second.

As she thought of the Blacks, her eyes travelled to Zoey.  She couldn’t see her belly, but Jessica knew Zoey was well into her second trimester.  Zoey was carrying Val’s baby, even though she’d been meant to see Val as a “brother.”  Jessica hadn’t had the luxury of delving too deeply into that story, but she’d be damned if it didn’t make her curious.

Even as her fiancé scowled away next to her, Zoey offered Jessica a smile.

Jessica was surprised when it immediately melted her heart.  It felt warm and genuine.

“Can we eat?” Gary chimed in.

“Let’s get it,” Tony said, making it so.

With Tony’s word, hands flew into the middle of the table from all directions, each clawing for a different dish.  Chicken marsala, potatoes, spaghetti Bolognese and stuffed clams were just a few of the dishes that got passed around.  In minutes, everyone’s plate was full.

As Jessica filled her own plate, she couldn’t help but be amazed at how well this plan was panning out.  She’d made the kind of progress in one hour that she’d thought would take weeks.

Maybe, if luck stayed on her side, she could have Val under arrest before the week was out.

***

“So, what do you do, Ashley?” Zoey smiled across the table as she made Val’s plate.

Jessica studied Val, who was in the process of running a hand down his distressed face, looking like food was the farthest thing from his mind.

With effort, Jessica dragged her eyes back to Zoey, referring to the mental list in her head that told her who “Ashley Williams” was before answering.

“I’m a freelance graphic designer,” Jessica said.

Zoey nearly dropped the plate in her hand.  “Shut up!”

“How about that?  Zoey’s a graphic designer, too.” Sarcasm laced Angie’s voice.

“Small world,” Jessica said, throwing Angie a look, eyes begging her to shut up and stay that way.