The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove

by Deborah Smith

  “But why?”

  “It’s my home, not an apartment building. And I can’t have all sorts of strangers running around. This is my business headquarters.”

  “You lead a very odd life. You have no family, no wife—only people who work for you.”

  “My parents died some years ago. As for the wife part—I’m not a fan of marriage. And the nature of my business keeps me traveling a great deal. Marriage wouldn’t work.”

  “What exactly do you import and export?”

  He shrugged lightly. “Whatever pleases me.” He wished he didn’t have to lie to her. But even if she were an ordinary guest, he couldn’t have told her the truth. There was simply too much at stake to allow information to spread beyond his highly trusted employees. The need for secrecy made for a lonely personal life, no matter how many women shared the perimeters of it, but Audubon had learned to accept loneliness as a child.

  At the darkly paneled double doors to her suite, he stopped, looking down at her in the soft light from the frosted bulb in a silver wall sconce. Her unyielding pride had been knocked askew by the day’s traumatic events; she returned his attention with sad eyes.

  “This place does not suit me,” she told him in her solemn, husky accent, like Greta Garbo playing Ninotchka. “I mean, I don’t suit it.”

  “Where did you live in Moscow. An apartment?”

  She looked away. “Oh, I … chose … to live at the institute. It’s a grand old place, but nothing like this. I thought I had luxury because I had my own record player.” She shook her head. “But then I came to America and saw everyone—even children—carrying those … those boom things …”

  “Boom boxes? You mean the big cassette players?”

  “Yes, those. Everyone has one. Amazing.” She waved a hand at the furnishings around them, at his lifestyle. “And now this! You didn’t make your fortune in some immoral way, did you?”

  “Me, personally? No.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Audubon family made its money the old-fashioned way—by exploiting other people. We started out in the fur trade, killing off the wildlife and cheating the Indians. Then we became planters and made a mint using slave labor. But we gave that up for the more honorable and profitable business of textile mills, employing young children.”

  “But you aren’t repeating those shameful things. You’ve redeemed yourself by becoming a manipulative kidnapper. Take heart.”

  “Hmmm, sarcasm with a Russian accent. Don’t tell me that you resent us capitalist pigs.”

  “No. I’m not political. Most Russians aren’t, I suppose. I never got to know outsiders. I mean, people outside my own circle of friends.”

  “Hmmm. Now there’s an interesting slip of the tongue.”

  She gave him a cool glance. “The only American I resent is you.”

  “Tomorrow I’ll have some clothes and accessories brought in for you. And someone to fix your hair.”

  She was barefoot and wearing an oversized pink house dress that belonged to Clarice, his secretary. Clarice had also given her a pink barrette with which to pull the ragamuffin blond tresses back on one side. The amazing thing about Elena Petrovic was that she didn’t seem more than mildly concerned about her parade of unflattering outfits.

  And in fact, he was glad her clothes had hidden the charms underneath. It was troublesome enough to be fascinated with her mind and spirit without becoming obsessed with the rest of the package as well. But he was already losing that battle too.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked bitterly. “Dress up the ‘pigeon’ to attract the hawks?”

  “No, just make life easier on my sore eyes. Tell me—and don’t be coy about having good taste—do you pick your own clothes?”

  “No. I had no say in how I was dressed when you met me. And certainly none after I ran away.”

  He was startled. I was a slave, he recalled her saying. But he hadn’t taken her words seriously.

  “Good night,” she said brusquely.

  “Now, wait. You owe me an explanation for your last—”

  “I owe you nothing. Nothing at all. I don’t have to be nice to you. I don’t have to care what you think of me.”

  It was true, and suddenly he realized she was unique in that respect. Everyone else either owed him something, wanted something from him, feared him, or respected him from a polite distance. She didn’t give a damn about owing, wanting, fearing, or respecting, and so for the first time in years he could simply be himself, for better or worse. He loved it.

  She nearly growled when he bent and kissed her quickly on the mouth. “Good night, fair damsel in disgusting dress.”

  She said something in Russian, and he was relatively certain it wasn’t a thank-you. After she disappeared behind her suite doors, he stood outside in troubled thought, shocked by his rush of feelings of desire and loneliness.

  He suspected she’d try to leave tonight, if for no other reason than to test the boundaries of her situation. She was nine parts courage and one part know-how, which he admired deeply, and he didn’t want to humiliate her, so he’d let her get the adventure out of her system.

  But when she tried her wings, he’d be there to stop her. It was really for her own good, he told himself. Really.

  Did he think she was so smitten with him that she’d willingly stay? Elena was more angry than frightened when she tiptoed through the dark, imposing halls downstairs and easily unlocked the door to the outside.

  Stepping onto a moonlit stone patio, she glanced around at the enormous swimming pool, cabana, and trellises covered with flowering vines. The grounds of the estate stretched beyond the back of the manor without a single obstacle to stop her. She had nothing to fear from the security lights around the stable and other outbuildings, and a Victorian streetlamp put out only a small pool of light in front of the cluster of guest houses nearby. The darkness was hers. She stared at the shadowy magnificence.

  Whole houses just for guests! The man must have more money than sense. Why else would he recklessly allow her to wander?

  Soon she was skirting the carpet of lawn at the edge of the forest, her bare feet wet with dew. She recoiled from the thought of walking for hours through the sharp, thorny, crunchy, invisible things that lay on the ground under the trees, but if Audubon thought having no shoes would keep her from leaving, he had sadly misjudged her determination.

  Still, she was glad when she found a wide, man-made path. She decided to follow it through the woods at least until the moon rose a little higher. An hour later she was still hurrying along, and had to fight the eerie feeling she was lost in the middle of a deep green sea, being watched by sharks. No, not a sea, and not sharks. Volks, dangerous, majestic beasts with black fur—no, with white fur, and eyes as green as the forest, and dangerous intentions that the full moon encouraged.

  The path rounded a curve and spilled into a meadow. The moon turned the opening into a silver bowl with dark sides made of forest. And in the center, waiting patiently astride a tall horse, was Audubon.

  Elena stumbled to a halt, awed at the drama of the scene then consumed with rage. She’d never had a chance! He’d made a fool of her! She considered running, but already knew he’d catch her. Dignity wouldn’t let her charge into the woods only to collide with trees and then be taken back to the house both bruised and defeated.

  He nudged the horse and it walked toward her, switching its tail lazily, the English gear making the soft, taunting sighs of fine leather. “Good evening, Elena,” Audubon said pleasantly. “Nice night for a walk, wouldn’t you say? I had the same idea, myself.”

  The volks must spy for him, because no one else could have reported her route before she knew it herself. In bitter silence she turned and walked back to the path. His horse caught up with her without increasing its insultingly lazy gait. Its head bobbed along beside her, and the rhythmical whoosh of its breath was so patient that she wanted to scream.

  “There’s room for tw
o up here.” Audubon’s deep, rich voice was also patient.

  Twenty-five years of dreaming, hoping, and frustration, and defeat made her finally lose control. She stopped, threw her head back, and filled the night with a long wail of fury and grief. She saw a fallen limb to one side of the trail and snatched it up, then went to a tree and beat the branch against it with all her strength. She heard herself make keening sounds, and her head buzzed with desperation, closing out the rest of the world.

  Then Audubon was behind her, enfolding her in his arms and pulling her against his torso while he gently grasped her wrists. She struggled against the restraint and the crooning sound he made into her ear, and doggedly held onto the limb, now splintered and bent.

  “I won’t be used any longer! I won’t live without choices and dreams of my own, just my own, without having to ask for permission!”

  “Tell me the truth,” Audubon urged, holding her tightly, his mouth brushing her ear. “Were you part of Kriloff’s research?”

  “Yes! Yes! Are you satisfied, now? Does that confirm my value?”

  “Did you volunteer to take part?”

  She laughed with an edge of hysteria. “Volunteer? At five years old, would I volunteer to spend the rest of my life in captivity?”

  “Elena, do you mean—”

  “Stop! What difference does it make to you? You’ve always had everything you wanted. You’ve always lived in a country where people can do as they please!”

  “Why are you so important to his work?” Audubon’s hands slid over hers. She dropped the broken stick as his fingers pried into her palms. He cupped her hands inside his much bigger ones. “It’s here, isn’t it? What happened today on the beach came from something special inside you. Tell me.”

  “Pay me.” Her voice was cold. “Money, lots of it. And help me find a place to live. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

  “I like my plan better. As soon as you get it through your head that I’m only going to help you, you’ll talk. You can’t go off alone and expect to be safe. My plan is for your own good.”

  “I’ll never trust you, because you’ll never admit your motive.”

  “You want a motive? Here.” He took her by the shoulders, swung her to face him, then wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. With a suddenness that took her breath away she was on her tiptoes, her body conforming to his from chest to thigh. She could feel his leg muscles flex through her housedress and the tight riding trousers he wore. Winding her hands into his soft cotton shirt, she cursed years of training that magnified every nuance of his body to her senses.

  “When we danced the other night, I wanted you in a pure male-wanting-female way,” he whispered, his voice angry and challenging. “And you wanted me. I know you believe that, at least. Don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “I don’t have many purely personal pleasures in life, believe it or not, and I want to feel the way you make me feel. And that, my dear Elena, has nothing to do with your gift, or talent, or hocus-pocus—whatever you want to call the reason you’re so valuable to Kriloff.”

  “You want sex, then? Okay, maybe I can trade sex for what I want.” Crying silently, she caught his face between her hands and kissed him, hoping her limited experience wouldn’t show. His mouth conveyed his surprise for a second, then his hands gripped her harder and he twisted his lips on hers, moving swiftly and taking the advantage in her small gasp.

  There were dozens of emotions and sensations in the contact—the warm pull and push of his mouth, the defensive way she met his tongue with her own, then shivered with pleasure when his explored it tenderly. Fear shattered as the intimacy brought them so close, it seemed impossible to think of ever distrusting him again. Her knees were weak; she melted inward, aching. Elena rose farther on her toes, and the downward slide of his hand on her hips brought them closer. He nestled himself against her stomach, and she swayed. How could he give her this sublime combination of desire and emotion if he had other, less admirable, plans for her future? Surely he couldn’t be that good at deception.

  Remember Pavel?

  It was easy to be blind when a man had you in his arms and you were dazed with instinctive responses to his touch. Such flights of fancy meant nothing, she knew. They were to be enjoyed, then forgotten. But Pavel had not been T. S. Audubon, and she’d never forget what Audubon’s slow, uninhibited kisses were doing to her, even while she worried.

  “You want to play games?” she asked. “Then we’ll play.” She reached between them with both hands and jerked the tail of his shirt loose, then quickly slid her hands underneath. This time, he was the one who drew a sharp breath. “I have power too,” she warned. “A different kind.” Molding her hands to his sides, she drew them upward. One found his half-healed scar; she poured her heat and energy into the place and heard him sigh in response.

  “Part of your life belongs to me,” Elena whispered, making it sound like a threat. “And I know you in a way that no other woman will ever know you.” Her hands slid around him, the fingertips meeting over his spine. She tilted her head back and looked at him. The darkness hid his expression, but not the swift rise and fall of his chest. “I find an old back injury, here. The muscles stiffen sometimes.”

  She rubbed the pads of her fingers over the bone and sinew. “There, that’s better.” She brought her intimate hands down his back as if she’d stroked him a thousand times. Unerring, her right hand slipped under the waistband of his riding trousers. She never hesitated as her hand flattened just above his hip, her fingertips tantalizing the cluster of scar tissue there. “This nearly crippled you, and even though it didn’t, I feel the arthritis that makes your leg ache sometimes.”

  “Your fingers are melting into my skin,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t tell where you stop and I begin. How do you do it?”

  She pulled her hands away, raised them to his face, and stroked the backs of her fingers up his cheeks. “My secret. Don’t think you have all the control.”

  “My God, no wonder Kriloff will do anything to get you back.”

  “And you will do anything to keep me—at least, until it suits you to do otherwise.”

  He grasped her hands and held them still, tucked against his chest. “I could turn you over to my own government. You could take your chances with the diplomats, hoping they won’t give you back to Kriloff or let our scientists put you under a microscope. Or you can stay hidden here, as my guest. And I’ll make sure that when my government does find out about you, you’ll be given everything you want.”

  Poignant confusion tightened her throat. “I want to trust you, but you have too many mysteries.”

  “So do you.” He stepped back, still holding her hands, and studied her in the moonlight. “But we have plenty of time to figure each other out.”

  “Do we, really? How long before someone learns I’m here?”

  “I could hide you forever. I have the people, the know-how, and the money to take care of it. Don’t worry.”

  “You’ve learned unusual skills from the import export business.”

  “No more unusual than your massage technique.” He led her to the horse, climbed up while she stood in wary silence, then held out his hand. “You don’t want to walk all the way home, do you?”

  Where will I ever have a home? She wished he wouldn’t be so casual with his sharing. When she left his estate, she didn’t want to take homesickness for him and this place with her.

  She exhaled in resignation and mounted the horse with his help, settling awkwardly behind him on the animal’s wide back. “I’m no cossack. I can’t ride. I don’t even know what to hold on to.”

  “Me. That’s the beauty of riding double. I get to have fun.”

  She grasped his bare sides where the shirt hadn’t quite drifted back into place. This time she concentrated and kept her touch cool. But it was impossible not to savor the warmth and strength contained in the hard masculine bod
y between her hands.

  “You’ve turned the generator off,” he noted slyly. “But the circuits are still humming.”

  During the ride back he tried to draw her into conversation, but she resisted until he finally gave up. She was more vulnerable to him than she’d suspected, and it frightened her. Years ago she’d stopped expecting the silver fox to come to her reseue; now she was too cynical to let herself imagine differently.

  He escorted her to her suite a second time that night but didn’t tease her with a kiss, as before. He didn’t have to. He only had to stand there in the low, provocative hallway light and bid her good night, while his gaze lingered on her mouth. After she shut the door of the suite she leaned against it, listening to him walk away. His private quarters were on the other side of the house. He’d told her he kept the entire upper wing to himself. Lonely, mysterious Audubon. Did she dare believe he was a friend?

  Dragging with fatigue and nervous exhaustion, she soaked her feet in a claw-footed bathtub in a bathroom larger than most Moscow apartments, with pale blue carpet as plush as the fur of a Russian sable. Tossing the housedress aside, she looked at herself in a gilt-edged mirror, seeing a raggedy blond woman in very plain, utilitarian white panties and a pointed bra.

  American women didn’t wear pointed bras. She hoped new underwear was part of the clothes Audubon had mentioned. It occurred to her that she was becoming very uncomfortable with the way she looked to him.

  Frowning, she stripped off her underwear and sank into a canopied bed with sheets trimmed in white lace, and pillows almost as large as herself. The room’s delicate white antiques stood out in the moonlight coming through an enormous bay window. The feel of the sheets and white satin coverlet made her naked skin flush with excitement.

  Even after this terrible, exhausting day, which had left her trapped, alone, and fearing she’d revealed too much about herself, she felt a glimmer of hope. She thought of Audubon, analyzed him, mulled over his every word, every touch, the essence of him, and came to no conclusions. But she lay in the darkness, with the sheets making love to her skin, and watched a houseplant in one corner of the room begin to bloom.