He tucked her hand in his and headed for the front door. He didn’t knock. Of course he didn’t, he didn’t have to.
“You’re not even a little excited to see your brother?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m excited to have a beer with him once all this family bullshit is done.” He squeezed her hand. “You want the tour?”
“You want to avoid the evening?” she replied, following him away from the sound of voices in the kitchen.
“Hell yes.” He pulled her along with him as he showed her through the rooms of the house, carefully avoiding the area where his family chattered. She’d known that his family was loaded. Not just loaded, but like Molly-Brown-and-a-firepit-of-money loaded. Heather had been in the house once before, when Babushka texted her for the pickup, but she hadn’t made it past the entryway.
The entryway was ornate, but the rest of the house was massive. High ceilings and one-of-a-kind signed Russian art on the walls. The whole house was decked out in cream and gold with marble accents. Heather had grown up in a small apartment in Arvada. Everything was thrift store and Walmart with linoleum accents. They might not have had a marble staircase, but there’d been a lot of love in that little second-story apartment.
Jase walked her through the bedroom wing of the house, taking his time showing her the different rooms. His old bedroom, his sister’s, and both brothers. Zach, who still lived in Denver, and Roman, who was enlisted and rarely visited—the man of the night.
They paused at Jase’s old bedroom.
“Didn’t look like this when I lived here.” He leaned against the dresser. “I wouldn’t have let Mom put stupid pillows on my bed.”
There were throw pillows at least a foot deep at the head of the bed. The whole room looked like it came from an interior design magazine spread. Still, there were little traces of Jase—framed photos on the nightstand of him with his family, and another of him with friends she’d never met before. It wasn’t Brek and Dean and Eli—these guys had a military look to them.
She meandered to the closet and flicked on the light. A handful of dry-cleaning bags hung on the rack, his uniforms inside.
He’d come up behind her.
“You ever wear these?” she asked, turning so she could see him.
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
“Is that not allowed?” It would be a huge disservice to the world if Jase Dvornakov couldn’t wear his uniform anymore. “’Cause uniforms are super sexy.”
“They’re allowed. Important events. Things like that. But I stick to a tux now.” His expression had turned stoic.
Right. No more talk of sexy uniforms. She turned the closet light off and closed the door.
“You know what else is sexy?” she asked, ready to ease the heavy air that had taken over the room.
“What?”
“When you wear nothing.” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.
He smiled against her lips. “Are you getting fresh with me in my parent’s house?”
“Mm-hmm,” Heather hummed as she deepened the kiss.
“Jason,” a man who had to be his father said from the doorway.
Heather jolted and stepped away from Jase.
“Dad.” Jase didn’t seem at all fazed that his father had just walked in on them making out. “This is Heather.”
Jase held his hand out to Heather. She grabbed it, tethering her to him in a gesture of reassurance she hadn’t realized she needed.
“Hi.” Heather held out her other hand.
Jase’s dad shook it with a strong, warm grip. “It’s nice to finally meet the woman who has cracked Jason’s shell.”
“I don’t know that I’d go that far.” Heather couldn’t help the blush that was obviously creeping up her cheekbones.
“I guess Mom sent you to come find us?” Jase asked.
