There had never been anyone to defend her, ever. Her father had skipped out with all the family’s money when she was nine years old, and even before that, he hadn’t been much of a father. Her mother had been wrapped up in her father and, after his abandonment, in her own misery, with no time or thought to her daughter. There had been no aunts or uncles or cousins to form a loving layer of protection around her.
Grace had never had a protective boyfriend. Her lovers had been few and far between and the affairs never lasted more than a couple of weeks, often less. She’d been a passing fancy in their lives. By some twisted turn of fate or maybe by some twist in her psyche, the men she’d been with had been obsessed with their careers or their bank accounts, or often, both. Grace Larsen never figured very highly in their lives. She was there and then she wasn’t, and they didn’t much notice the difference.
The closest she’d felt to being special to someone had been with Harold. It had been a lovely feeling, but knowing that this charming, elderly man had her best interests at heart in the art world wasn’t the same as having someone as strong as Drake solidly on her side in all things.
Like now.
Grace let herself lay on Drake, draped over him, knowing in some deep recess of her mind that, somehow, she was precious to him. That he felt something strong for her and that it was real.
The sharp smell of sex was in the air, a compound of her arousal and the semen that had jetted all over his stomach and that now glued her to him. Her head had fallen to his hard shoulder, nose against his neck. She barely had the energy to open her eyes. Through slitted eyes, she could see about four square inches of his skin, even this small patch of him beautiful and intriguing.
Golden-brown skin, corded muscles so pronounced they cast shadows, even here sleek and strong. With her nose so close to her skin she could smell the essence of him above the keen smell of sex—a dark, fragrant spicy scent, redolent of musk, unlike anything she had ever smelled before in her life.
In a dark, crowded room full of men, she would be able to pick him out blindfolded, by scent alone.
And certainly by touch. No other man she’d ever seen had his deeply muscled physique. One brush of her fingers and she’d know him. No other man on earth could feel like that.
He reached over and punched a button. With a gentle whir, the curtains started sliding open.
It took her a minute to find the strength to turn her head toward the window. By the time she did, the curtains had opened all the way, letting the morning and New York come into the bedroom.
It was still snowing. Not a storm like last night, just gentle flakes hovering in the air more than falling out of the sky. Clouds hung so low over the city they hid the tops of many of the skyscrapers. This high up, it looked like the sky was close enough to touch.
“It’s still snowing,” she said dreamily, turning her head back into his neck, one hand over his heart.
Drake sighed, the huge deep chest filling with air, lifting her up. “Yes, love. Everything becomes more difficult in the snow.”
True, but the world wasn’t made for ease. “And everything becomes more beautiful in the snow.”
She could actually hear his smile. “Yes, duschka. Very beautiful. I never noticed that before you.”
She smiled against his neck, happy to have given him something, if only an appreciation of the beauty of snow.
She drifted, thinking of nothing at all, feeling warm and safe in his arms. She was beginning the luscious slide back into sleep when Drake said quietly, “Duschka.”
“Mm.” If he wanted to talk, he was going to have to do it to a semi-comatose woman, because she was way too comfortable to pay attention to whatever he wanted to say. Something serious, from the sound of it.
No, she didn’t want to talk about anything serious, not right now. Now was her time out of time.
Another enormous sigh as Drake’s big hands shifted to cup her shoulders. He lifted her torso slightly so he could look her in the eyes. “I need to tell you something, something you won’t want to hear. It is time for you to know, because we need to be making plans.”
It was serious. Any hint of a smile had gone, and his face was drawn in tight lines, as if in pain. Grace dropped the smile. Whatever it was, it had him worried, so it worried her.
She folded her hands on his chest and rested her chin on them. Whatever the bad news was, she wanted to be touching as much of him as possible while hearing it. “All right,” she said quietly. “Shoot. I’m ready.”
He shut his eyes briefly, then opened them, gaze fierce as an eagle’s. “These…problems we’re having. They’re not going away. Ever.”
She said nothing, just watched him.
“The people who are after me are not going to quit, love.” His hands on her back clenched lightly, as if reasserting ownership. “Particularly not now, not when they have you as a bargaining chip and when they know what you mean to me.”
She spoke through a suddenly tight throat. “And just what do I mean to you, Drake?”
“Everything,” he said promptly, eyes never leaving hers. “You’re everything to me.”
He lifted himself slightly to her, hard stomach muscles clenching, so strong they actually lifted her up as he brought his mouth to hers for a hot, biting kiss that went on and on. She’d just climaxed but her body started waking up, bit by bit, each time his tongue touched hers.
His body was already awake. His penis had only softened a little after his climax, but with the kiss he surged into a full erection, lengthening and hardening in powerful pulses that sent shivers through her.
Grace melted.
Drake broke the kiss, easing back down. The pupils of his eyes had expanded so much the irises looked black. A deep flush rode his high cheekbones and his jaw muscles bunched.
“Later,” he growled. “We’ll have all the time we want later. But now we need to make plans. I told you my enemies aren’t going to give up and I will not give you up.”
Grace’s heart gave a huge thump in her chest. Something big, something dangerous was coming. “So—what’s the answer?”
“We disappear,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving hers.
At first Grace didn’t understand. The words garbled in her head. Dis a tear? Or was it we’d appear? Appear where?
And then it struck her.
She frowned. “You mean—go away for a while? Hide out in some sunny resort until the situation resolves itself?”
“No, love.” Drake fingered a lock of her hair, brought it to his nose, then gently tucked it back behind her ear. “I mean disappear completely. Disappear forever. Leave our lives behind and make new ones far away where no one can ever find us.”
Grace blinked. “You mean—just walk away? Forever?” Wow. It was almost impossible to even contemplate the thought. It was one thing to hole up somewhere for a while. It could even be…well, if not fun, then certainly interesting, as long as Drake was with her. A little time out of time. But he wasn’t talking about that. He was talking about a new life, a new identity, like those people in the Witness Protection Program. And even then, as far as she knew, when the danger was over, the people went back to their lives.
He was searching for something in her face. “Yes,” he said simply. “Forever. Stop being Grace Larsen and Viktor Drakovich and become someone else, far away. And stay that someone else for the rest of our lives.”
Grace let out a slow breath, mind whirling.
“And we’re going to have to be really clever about disappearing, too, because if my enemies find us, we’re dead. There will be no statute of limitations on this, Grace. No going back, ever. You’ll never be Grace Larsen again, never see New York again. Never see the United States again. Everything you have and are will have to go.”
“I—is that possible? I thought only governments can do that kind of thing.”
He allowed himself a small smile. “It is indeed possible, and I can do that kind of thing much better than a
government can, if I have the time to plan it right. The question is—are you all right with this? Can you stand the thought of leaving everything and everyone behind? Because it will make my task difficult if not impossible to create new lives for us if you can’t let go. If you contact any of your old friends, if you resubscribe to a favorite magazine, if you get in touch with old clients, that would be a huge door for my enemies to walk through, Grace. It could get us killed. You must be able to walk away and never look back. I know how much I’m asking of you and I know this is all my fault. But there is no way to undo what is done, and now I must ask you—can you do it?”
She thought it was typical of him that he wasn’t wheedling or coaxing her. He wasn’t even seducing her, though he must realize by now that sex was his most potent weapon. If he started kissing her, making love to her, she would melt and acquiesce to anything he said. Disappear to the North Pole or to darkest Africa? Yes, of course, darling Drake. Kiss me again.
No, he wasn’t using any weapons at his disposal. His body under hers was very still. He wasn’t trying to smile or charm her in any way. He’d made his apology and she imagined it would be the last. Drake was a realist above all, and this was now their new reality. It wasn’t really his fault and it certainly wasn’t hers, it just was.
She was at a crossroads, and the decision she took right now, in this very instant, would color the rest of her days. She looked down at him, at this man who, in a storm of violence, had someone become more dear to her than any other human on earth.
It would be easy to say that she had bad taste in men, but she knew it wasn’t true. The lovers she’d had had been vain children, wanting in important ways. She’d known that and she’d been with them anyway, because at times she’d just been so damned lonely. So she’d closed her eyes to their defects, trying to pretend that this time, this relationship would work, all the while knowing it wouldn’t. All the while knowing that they didn’t really care for her, Grace Larsen. They wanted some eye candy on their arm, and the fact that she was an artist made for fun cocktail party conversation until they got bored with it, and with her.
Nothing had ever worked out and with the kind of men she met, nothing ever would. She’d resigned herself to being alone.
Fine, upstanding, successful American men—and they had all been morally weak, even fragile, inside. Take away their money and their jobs and their status, and they were nothing.
Drake was the opposite. He’d had a hard life. She could feel the strength of him down to his core. She was important to him, she could see it, she could feel it. Every cell in her body told her this.
This was such an important moment. She had to get it just right.
Grace leaned down slightly, right hand resting lightly over his heart. She could feel the faint rasp of his chest hairs against her breasts, his nipple centered against her palm, the steely muscles under her hand striated with muscle and deep down, the solid, regular, calm beats of his heart.
She bent her head until her nose almost touched his, her hair a curtain around them, as if shielding them from a world that meant them terrible harm.
He kept his hands light, barely touching her.
He was now highly aroused, she could feel him, hard and hot, between the lips of her sex. Each time she moved, it seemed to trigger a surge of blood through him, and he thickened and lengthened. Each movement of his penis was mirrored by an answering movement of her inner muscles, which he felt, too. She was growing wetter by the second.
But what she wanted to say had to be said without sex clouding the issue.
She looked him straight in the eyes, his question still echoing in the room.
Can you do it?
“I can do it,” she said softly. “I know you think I’m giving up a lot, but really, I’m not. I don’t have that many friends and their lives will go on without me. I have no family. My connection with the working world was exclusively through Harold and that is now severed. And I’ve been painting only for you for the past year, anyway. But there’s one more reason why I can do it.”
She paused, breathed slowly, trying to find a way to say words she had never said to another human being in her life.
“I can do it for another reason, not just because I’m not leaving much behind. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, Drake, but there is a connection between us. I have been dreaming of you for a long time, without even knowing you existed. I hardly know you…and yet I know you down to your soul. To an outside person, I probably sound insane, but Drake—I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth…because I love you.”
He stiffened under her, his eyes slitted, muscles clenched. A sound escaped him, a hissing moan, almost as if in pain. He brought her to his mouth again, big hands cupping her head, and kissed her deeply, wildly, as if he would never get a chance to kiss again in this lifetime. It called up an answering wildness in her as she opened everything wide to him—mouth, sex, heart.
His hips beneath her began pumping up and down, sliding along her. She was so wet, his penis slid easily between the lips of her sex, as exciting as if he had penetrated. Clinging to Drake’s shoulders to keep her balance, Grace kissed him as if she would die if they were separated. His movements were fast and rough, creating a hot friction against her vulva, her breasts rubbing against the hard planes of his chest. Heat blossomed, welling up fast, and it was impossible to resist. With a wild cry, she began coming, clenching against him, feeling the surge of blood in his penis with each contraction.
He wasn’t slowing down. He was keeping her climax going for what felt like forever, while another orgasm, riding hard on the waves of the first, caught her by surprise.
He was close, muscles bunched hard, movements jerky, uncontrolled. He gave a deep moan in her mouth and with one last upward thrust started coming again in hot spurts that covered his stomach and hers.
Oh God, it was so intense.
Grace felt like she was leaking emotions that came out of her as moisture. Somehow her eyes were full of tears, though she wasn’t crying. It was as if the emotion in her simply had to find a way out and had opted for her eyes. She was sweating from every pore, shaking and trembling, holding on tightly to Drake, as if she’d drifted far out to sea and he was a lifeline.
They lay together holding each other tightly for a long time, long enough for the sky outside to turn a light shade of pewter. Her trembling muscles slowly relaxed and their breathing evened out.
Grace was sliding into sleep when Drake turned his head to kiss her ear, then whispered into it, “I love you, too, Grace.”
It jolted her awake. She lifted her head to look at him, at this man who had become her lover. Who had become her beloved. Each feature of his face was exotic, fascinating, new yet familiar.
Who knew? She didn’t believe in past lives, but there had to be something that could explain the deep, intense and immediate connection with this man.
She meant what she’d said and so did he. Neither of them took love lightly.
“There’s so much to say.” Grace ran a finger over his eyebrows, down that high, broad cheekbone, over his full mouth. “I don’t know where to start.”
His head dipped in agreement. “Yes, there is much to say, my love, but we have the rest of our lives to say it. And if we want the rest of our lives to be more than a day or two, we must plan carefully. A man will be coming with new documents for you. He will be here by noon, unless all this…beautiful snow—” his hard mouth quirked upward in a smile, “slows his progress.”
On a long sigh, Grace rolled out of bed and stretched, naked. She lifted her arms to the ceiling and rose on her toes. She felt so…good.
“Where will this meeting be, Drake?”
“Good question, dushka.” One hand reached out from under the covers to stroke her hip. Grace smiled at his touch. “Not my study. That is too…personal, with all your paintings there. No, I think we will meet in the living room.”
Thirteen
I have news�
��
The message came over Rutskoi’s BlackBerry, which he’d parked in full sight. He ground his teeth together. When this was all over, he was going to comb Drake’s personnel files and find the fucker who was fucking with him.
Whatever the news was, the man, or woman—nothing like a woman for betrayal, in his experience—wasn’t talking until the next installment was transferred. And Rutskoi had to take it on faith that the news was going to be worth a hundred thousand dollars.
Rutskoi took his eye off the scope and texted his Caribbean bank. His Caribbean bank lived for this. The transfer was made immediately. A quarter of an hour later, his informant texted:
Target will be in living room at noon. Living room is five rooms from southern end, tenth and eleventh windows. He ordered food and might stay in the room for a while.
Yes! Drake finally in the living room, in a straight line from his Barrett, staying there for a while—if Rutskoi didn’t make this shot, he might as well hang up his rifle.
All of a sudden, Rutskoi could feel a huge surge of power running through his body. He had only catnapped over the past days, but suddenly the fatigue disappeared as if it had never been. He felt alert, refreshed. Ready. This would work, he could feel it in his bones. He was going to get Drake, and become rich and, in the right circles, famous.
He settled back over his rifle, feeling a preternatural clarity. His destiny was awaiting him.
Drake would go down and he would go up.
It was the way of the world.
They had a leisurely breakfast, left outside the door by the phalanx of good fairies that apparently ran Drake’s household. The fairies were excellent at what they did. Strong Indian tea, homemade yogurt, homemade croissants, fresh blueberries.
Drake said he would offer a light lunch to the mystery man coming at noon, so she ate sparingly.
The atmosphere between them had changed, sharpened. Grace no longer felt any shyness at all around Drake. They spoke naturally, as a couple, making their plans. He asked her where she wanted to end up and she said far away, in a place with palm trees.
Dangerous Passion Page 22