by Brenna Zinn
“Cold?” he asked.
“No,” she lied. If only her lace bra and panties could provide a little more warmth. She’d been on the verge of sweating only a few moments ago. Now she was holding back a shiver. What was he doing to her?
He reached over and rubbed his hands up and down both her arms. Without saying another word, he lowered his head and latched onto one of her breasts. Wet heat penetrated the lace. He sucked, drawing the bud farther into his mouth.
The combination of warmth and gentle tugging coaxed a low groan from Mila. She closed her eyes and arched her back, tempting him to take more. Wanting him to take more.
Shifting his position, he slipped his hands around her sides to behind her back while moving his mouth to her other breast. His stubbly cheeks and chin chaffed her skin, but in the most delicious way. His tongue flitted over her rosy nub, his teeth lightly nipped. Every action he took, large or small, drew her deeper into a passion-hazed trance. The kind that could easily hypnotize her into doing anything he wanted.
She could barely open the lids to her eyes when she felt her bra straps being slipped over her shoulders. She was so lost in her heady fog, she hadn’t noticed when he’d unclasped the hooks in the back.
Duke lifted his head and placed his lips on hers as he effortlessly removed the tiny piece of lingerie. She opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to penetrate and entwine with hers. Over, around, back and forth, the length of their tongues darted and crossed in their own sensual dance.
His hands roamed down the slope of her waist and up the rise of her hips. He tucked fingers around the top string of her panties then broke their kiss to shimmy the barely there undies down her leg.
Several beats passed as he kneeled beside her naked body. He slowly, oh so slowly, raked his gaze over her, as though trying to familiarize himself with each freckle, each curve.
Unexpectedly, he bowed his head, his chin nearly reaching his chest. His hair fell forward, obscuring his face.
“What did I do to deserve you?”
There was a rough, almost raw quality in his voice.
Concerned, she sat up.
“What’s wrong?”
He tilted his face to hers. Between blond locks, she could see deep lines creasing his forehead. The space between his brows was pinched. His appearance held a graveness she’d never seen before.
“My heart.” He attempted a smile, but it fell short, lacking genuine happiness. “I’m sorry. It picked a hell of a time to burst, but it did.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was just sitting here, thinking about how lovely you are, when it dawned on me—I mean it really dawned on me—what a lucky man I am.” He let out a cheerless laugh. “You’re fearless. You’re so smart. And you rescued me when I needed you most. Twice. I couldn’t help but wonder again how I deserve you. If I deserve you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand.
“I love you, Mila. God, how I love you. I’m not a man who’s generally comfortable talking about his feelings, but right now my love is so strong, I feel like my heart is coming apart. It’s the damnedest thing.”
Duke Gunnison, the big tough man who had served his country, was naked and kneeling beside her, professing his love.
Her chest squeezed, wringing out even more of the anger and hurt she’d become so accustomed to feeling in regards to him. If she wanted any kind of future with him, she had to let those feelings go.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I wasn’t lying when I told you everything I did, I did for you.”
She believed him. And deep down inside, she knew his true character, didn’t she? That couldn’t be faked. He was a good person. A wise-ass, but a good person.
Yakov. Duke. Marion. What did it matter? She hadn’t fallen for a name. She’d fallen for the man. His hair might be a little longer and there were a few wrinkles around his eyes, but he hadn’t really changed. Not where it mattered. He was still the same person he’d been when she’d met him. The man who had won her heart so long ago. The man who had saved her life only hours before.
Most importantly, he wasn’t pressuring her. He’d told her she could take time to get to know him better. She would do exactly that, as much as she needed. When she was ready for more, she’d tell him.
He was hers. She was his. For now, that was enough.
She breathed in a steadying breath.
“I…I know. I believe you. I really do.”
She may have stuttered a bit, but meant every word.
He blew out a sigh, then combed his fingers through her hair and leaned her back onto the mattress. “You don’t know how much hearing that means to me,” he said, just before he pressed his lips to hers.
She gave herself over to him, without reservation, kissing him back, again and again, stoking the smoldering fire between them. He positioned himself atop her, his hands on the mattress, his arms bracing his weight. With a tap and a light push of his knee, he spread her legs and pressed the rounded tip of his penis inside her. She was more than ready for him. Hot, slick and aching.
Inch by inch, he pushed deeper, moaning into her mouth when he reached his hilt. She rocked her pelvis, encouraging a slow pace. They had all night and their first time together again should be unhurried. Each moment, each second, deliberate and savored.
He seemed to share her sentiment. He filled her with steady, easy thrusts, setting a gentle rhythm that allowed time for nuzzles against her neck, soft touches on his back and meaningful caresses.
Despite their relaxed tempo, light sheens of perspiration developed on their skin, and the urge to find release escalated to a powerful need. Duke’s strokes became stronger and quicker. She gripped his shoulders, finding stability as she lifted her hips with his every downward thrust. Each movement because a sensual collision, building their desire, taking them higher and higher.
“Yes,” she whispered on a jagged exhale. “Take me.”
He complied with a solid, driving buck, and groaned as he pushed them both over the edge into a shattering oblivion.
Her toes curled. Her back arched then lowered to the mattress. Every ounce of energy she’d had only moments before was now spent, leaving her slack but sated. Mila lay beneath Duke’s weight, hearing the rapid beating of her heart in her ears and feeling contentment she hadn’t known in quite some time.
All too soon, he rolled off her, still breathing hard.
“Incredible,” he panted.
“Yes.”
“Food now? More sex later?”
“I love your thinking.”
From the sitting area, a muted buzz sounded. The noise continued, starting and stopping in a fluid pattern.
“Holy shit.” Duke sat bolt upright. “Please tell me that’s your personal cell phone.”
“No. Mine plays music when I receive a call.”
“Did you put the phone Major Mazure gave you in your purse?”
“Yes. He told us to keep them with us at all times.”
Duke jumped out of bed and reached for his jeans.
“Get dressed. We need to get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Ten
Jesus, he was an idiot. A dangerous idiot.
He’d been so caught up in quickly removing Mila from their original hotel after the shooting, he’d forgotten to dump her purse. A simple check of its contents would have been enough to prevent anyone from easily locating them. He would have seen the phone Mazure had given Mila and would have left it at the railway station. If Mazure bothered to track the device, he would have seen the cell was there and thought they were waiting for a train. Damn it.
He didn’t even think about the fucking phone. He’d left his on the table in the conference room and hadn’t thought of it since their meeting.
In his twenty years in the service, he’d never made a mistake like this. Mistakes got people killed. In the high-stakes worlds of war and espionage, there simply was no room for errors.
I
f they were lucky, Major Mazure was a good guy on the up and up, and dedicated to protecting Yure. That being the case, Mazure wouldn’t overly concern himself with Mila’s leaving. She wasn’t his problem. Yure was. If Mazure was on the take, the situation was entirely different. The level of threat the Major might be was based on who he worked for.
The Major was retired Ukrainian military, and the Ukrainian government was in financial straps. If he was dirty, chances were he was taking money from more than one source. Why not? The more behind-the-scenes employers, the more money. Finance 101. As long as the people paying the bills didn’t have competing interests, Mazure had no problem. But in cases such as Yure Bartosh’s, there was a definite conflict. Mazure would need to keep things very much on the down low.
A potential employer for the Major included Ivanov. The mobster’s men had all too easily gotten into the conference room at the hotel. Although Mazure had lost three of his own men during that attack, he had plenty more. Finding young men wanting to work with guns in Ukraine for a decent wage was not a problem. With employment in the country so low, those types of guys practically lined the streets.
The Russian government was another contender as a source of revenue for the Major. They had deep pockets and wanted Ukraine back. There was a good possibility there were many other people and organizations who would be interested in or wanting to influence someone with Mazure’s skills and connections.
No wonder Yure didn’t completely trust him.
Duke checked the magazine on his gun and palmed it back into place. He had sixteen rounds ready in the chamber and another sixteen in his back pocket. Hopefully he wouldn’t need any of them. He checked his front pocket. His fingers brushed his knife and the key to their borrowed car.
While Mila dressed, he inspected her bag. Two cell phones. A book of matches from a local club. Possibly the club where she ran into Ivanov. A small pistol with six bullets. A wallet. Her passport. Various types of makeup. A travel-size can of hair spray. Hair ties. Tissues. Gum. Junk. And more junk. Her purse weighed at least ten pounds and most if what she had was unnecessary crap.
He hiked up his jeans, removed the hair spray, and dropped the small can in the available space between his calf and the side of boot. He’d snuck enough liquor into events to know that few people thought about looking in a man’s boot for contraband. He didn’t know if he’d need the spray, but at this point, anything was a possible.
“Why are you putting my hairspray into your boots?” Mila asked, stepping into the small parlor.
“In case we need it.” He lowered his jeans over the boot. “If you ignite the spray, it becomes a torch. I don’t know if we’ll need a torch, but I learned real quick in the Army that you take advantage of every resource you have. Sometimes those resources can be used in ways you never imagined and may end up saving your life.”
He grabbed the hair ties and snapped them onto his wrist. Then he removed the pistol, slid it in his waistband, pocketed the matches and took out the wallet and her passport.
“Here.” He handed the passport and wallet to Mila as she sat on the chair to put on her shoes. “You’ll need this to fly in the morning. There’s nothing else in your purse worth taking. We’re traveling light. I want you to be able to move with little restriction.”
She stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans, and then held out her hand.
He gritted his teeth, but handed over her weapon. She’d shown she could use it and had saved his life in the process. Another capable gun might be useful if they found themselves in a fight.
“Where are we going?” she asked, slipping on her loafer.
“No idea. Just away from here. Maybe we can find a hole-in-the wall restaurant and get some food and coffee. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
He moved to the side of one of the French doors and peeked out into the night. Their room was at the front of the building on the second floor, which he always considered the third, as most Americans would. In general, Europeans didn’t count the ground as a floor number, which sometimes led to confusion.
Directly below, a large striped awning covering the entryway to the hotel was lit with small spotlights. If they needed to jump, the canopy would help break the fall. How much it would help, he couldn’t be sure. The fabric looked old and worn. Easily ripped. They could fall straight through it and break their necks.
A small but manicured stretch of grass and flowers separating the hotel from the street could be seen in the dim light of nearby streetlamps. A paved driveway curved in from the street and then forked, providing access to the back parking lot and the front desk area for checking in. Their car was parked in the back, away from direct view from the street.
Mila slipped up from behind and wrapped her arms around his middle.
“What’s the plan?”
“We take the stairs down, get in our car and drive away.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
He spotted two black American-built SUVs pull into the driveway. One continued to the registration area. The other wound its way to the back.
“Don’t count on it. We may have company.”
She poked her head around. “Can you see who’s in them?”
“No. But vehicles like that are hard to come by in these parts, and I can’t imagine there are too many rock stars staying at a place like this. We gotta move. Stay close.”
Duke went to the door and looked through the peephole. The fisheye view didn’t provide much of an angle. From what he could tell, the hallway was empty.
Pulling his hair back, he removed one of the ties from his wrist and secured it around the thick bundle several times. The end result was a relatively secure bun.
Mila’s brows shot up.
“If people are looking for us,” he explained, “they’ll be looking for a guy with long hair. If they take a second or two to figure out I have my hair in a bun, I may be able to use those seconds to my advantage. Plus, it helps keep my hair out of my face.”
“Okay. But for the record, I am not a fan of the man bun.”
“So noted.”
He pulled out his firearm and opened the door, then inched his head around the frame. The elevator dinged down the corridor. A couple got out, hand in hand. Duke slipped back to avoid being seen. Keys jingled. A door opened and closed. Then silence.
He poked his head out again. He saw no one. He heard no one.
“Come on. Keep in the back of your mind that we have no idea if there are bad guys here. I don’t want to hurt innocent people.”
She nodded.
They walked quickly and silently down the hallway toward the stairwell, their guns in their hands at their sides. He stopped when he passed by the maid’s cart.
“Hold on,” he whispered over his shoulder. A strong whiff of soured towels filled his nose. “I have a better plan.”
Reaching into the closet, he pulled out one of the blue coats hanging from a row on the wall. Lightweight and cut short, the coat resembled something a doctor might wear. Perfect. He handed the jacket to Mila and pointed back to their room. She gave him a dubious look, but headed back. He clutched the side of the cart and followed, pushing it with him.
Inside the room, he instructed Mila to apply a heavy layer of makeup and to pull her hair into a bun on the top of her head. She nodded, grabbed the purse they’d left on the chair and headed into the bathroom.
He pulled the knife from his pocket and flicked it open. The blade was clean and sharp, and easily cut into the sides of the canvas cart with no problem. After making several small holes, he returned the knife to his pocket.
Mila stepped out from the bathroom. If the situation weren’t so serious, he would have laughed. Dark purple shadow shaded the lids of her eyes, the rims smudged with thick liner. Her lashes looked heavy under the weight of several coats of mascara. Bright splotches of blush stained her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun.
She picked up the maid’s coa
t from the back of the settee and pulled it on.
“How do I look?”
“Awful.”
“Then my work here is done.” She examined his handiwork to the cart. “Want to fill me in on the new plan?”
“I lay in the cart. You push the cart to the elevator. We ride down to the ground floor. You push the cart out the back door and keep going until you get to the dumpster. I climb out. We make a run for it and we don’t stop until we find a safe place or a taxi. Whichever comes first.”
The corners of her lips dipped to a frown. She looked into the cart. Her nose wrinkled. “You’re going to get into this thing with these nasty towels?”
“That’s the plan.”
“You know you’re going to smell like hell when you get out.”
“I do. We’ll be the perfect pair. Clown lady and smelly guy. Our cab driver is going to love us.”
“Won’t he though?” Mila pulled her gun from her jeans and dropped it into the pocket of the jacket. “You think this will work? Shouldn’t we try to get away in our car?”
“Darlin’, in all honesty, I’m not even sure we’ll make it to the dumpster without the guys in the SUV stopping you. If they’re looking for us, they’ll probably question everyone. But unless we wait here and possibly get trapped in this room with no way out other than jumping from the window, then we’ve got only two options. We leave through the front door of the hotel or the back. Either way, I sincerely doubt we’d be able to get to the car, unlock the doors, get inside, start it up and take off before they try to make Swiss cheese of us.”
“And if the guys in the SUV stop me?”
“You convince them you’re really a maid doing your job. I’ll be there too, remember. And I’ll take out anyone I feel means to do us harm.”
She blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay then. I’m ready. Let’s get you stashed.”
It took only a few minutes to get him arranged inside the cart beneath a layer of towels. The position of his body in the small space was awkward, but he was able to keep his gun in his hand.