Scott didn’t even blink, gazing at Katya with a critical eye. “You sure don’t give me the easy jobs, do you?”
His bodyguard didn’t move or relax her posture, her gaze as impassive as usual. She was looking at some spot on the wall behind him, giving no sign she was even aware they were talking about her.
But he knew she was. He would bet on it.
“If anyone can help, it’s you,” he said, giving the designer a dazzling smile. “I want a full wardrobe for her, from lingerie to gowns and everything in between. We’re going to be spending most of our time in Monaco, so the labels are going to matter.”
“Naturally,” Scott said. “Okay, give me a minute while I get my tape measure.” She flicked a glance at Katya’s motionless figure. “Why don’t you go get out of that hideous uniform, honey? I’m going to need to get some measurements off of you.”
As the designer left the room, Katya’s gaze met his. There was temper lurking in her eyes, tiny sparks of gold amidst the green, and goddamn him but he liked that.
Crossing over to the couch, Alex shrugged out of his overcoat, laying it over the white leather, then sat down on the couch, making a little waving motion with his hand. “Well, go on now. Do as the nice lady said.”
Katya didn’t move. “Lingerie isn’t necessary. I have plenty of my own.”
“Of course it’s necessary. You’re playing a part. And it’s much easier to get into character if you’re wearing a costume.”
“I’m sure actors don’t have special underwear made for them as well as costumes.”
“How would you know? Have you done any kind of amateur dramatics?”
Her expression didn’t alter, but he could see lines of tension around her mouth. How fucking satisfying. “No, sir,” she said flatly. “I have not.”
Alex tipped his head back against the white leather of the couch. Perhaps he didn’t need to be quite such a prick. “The lingerie matters depending on the gown. But if you’d rather you didn’t get some free underwear, that’s up to you.”
She looked like she might say something else to that but must have thought better of it, because her mouth firmed and she went over to the changing area instead, drawing the curtains closed with a sharp movement.
Oh yeah, he was going to hell for this, for sure. Then again, he’d been on the road to hell for years, and quite frankly, it was nice to have some scenery for a change.
A minute later, Scott reappeared with her tape measure, disappearing again behind the curtains where Katya was.
Alex took out his phone while he waited, scrolling through his e-mail. There was nothing much of interest, just the usual club shit to deal with, plus a confirmation e-mail from the manager of the Fourth Circle, Alex’s club in Monte Carlo, confirming his arrival date.
As he was replying, a text from Zac came through. It was, in his usual terse style, short and to the point: You still committed?
Alex grimaced and texted a reply: Of course. I told you I was. Did you think I would change my mind?
Zac’s response came through a second later: Yes.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Well, I’m not. What’s all this about anyway?
There was a pause. My sources have officially come to a dead end. Whoever they are, they’ve hidden themselves well. With Tremain still in a coma, this game is our only lead.
Alex scowled at the screen and texted back: Why are you so invested in this?
Because it matters to Eva. That’s reason enough for me.
Jesus, those two. He didn’t understand it. Then again, he was a selfish bastard, so of course he wouldn’t.
Alex put the phone back in his pocket, temper sitting like acid in his gut. Sure, he may have agreed to this little mission, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or want to go. The thought of seeing Conrad again made him feel—
No. He felt nothing about Conrad. Nothing at all. Because, Jesus Christ, it had been nineteen years since it had happened. It had no power over him anymore.
The sound of Scott’s heels made him look up as she exited the changing area, heading once more toward the back of the shop. “I’m going to bring a selection of items for her to try. This may take some time.” She paused and glanced back at him. “You might want to go do business or something.”
Alex shook his head. That hadn’t been in his plan. “I want to choose what she’ll be wearing.”
Scott gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t trust my taste, darling?”
“Of course I trust your taste. But she’s going to be my girlfriend, which means I get final say.” If she was going to be playing the part, he wanted it to be utterly convincing. Which meant he got to choose the clothes.
You can’t wait to see her in something other than that fucking suit; don’t deny it.
Yeah, well, that too, and why not? He could certainly use the distraction right now.
Scott rolled her eyes as she resumed walking toward her workroom door. “Dear God, save me from bossy men.”
* * *
Katya stood in the changing area, ignoring the luxurious carpet beneath her feet and the elegant chaise lounge up against the wall to her left, staring a hole through the heavy, thick white brocade curtains that shielded her from the man outside.
She’d endured the ignominy of being measured by the elegant designer, removing her jacket but steadfastly refusing to take off any more of her clothes.
Irritation snapped and crackled inside her like boiling oil in a hot frying pan.
How dare he keep her in the dark about this ridiculous shopping trip. Surprises were anathema to her job, and the fact that he hadn’t told her either where they were going or what the purpose of the trip was infuriated her.
That it was her own fault didn’t make things any easier. She hadn’t pressed him when he’d waved away her enquiries about where they were going, too caught up in thinking about the intel she’d received from the contacts who’d found Mikhail. More information about where he was being held and by whom. She’d been strategizing in her head the whole day and hadn’t been paying attention. A cardinal error.
Now she had a shopping trip sprung upon her and the worst part was she couldn’t argue with it. Alex was right. She did need appropriate clothing for this mission. It wasn’t like she had any herself, especially since the pretty, frilly little bits of nothing Alex’s lovers usually wore would only get in the way of her being able to do her job. Tight dresses were restrictive, and exposing lots of skin meant having nowhere to hide her weapon.
Being sexy, looking pretty, wasn’t important anyway. It was vanity of the kind her father had always despised.
She cursed in Russian under her breath, the whisper of her mother tongue grounding her.
If Alex had genuinely forgotten to inform her about this trip, she would have forgiven it. But he hadn’t. He’d not told her very deliberately. And then when he’d sprung it on her, he’d stood there watching her, gauging her reactions. Waiting to see what she’d do.
She’d seen him do this to other people. His gaze would sharpen, become watchful, a slow, lazy smile turning his mouth. Then he’d prowl around the edges of their defenses like a panther, testing for weaknesses, looking for a way in. It was unnerving, not to mention irritating.
With an effort, she forced away her annoyance. Getting emotional wasn’t useful in any case. It clouded the mind and adversely affected judgment. “Think with your brain, Katya,” the General had always told her. “Not with your heart.” Don’t be like your mother, in other words. Good advice, not that Katya had any intention of being like her mother. She was stronger than that.
The curtain pulled back and Scott, the designer who didn’t seem to have another name, returned, a length of shimmering green fabric over one arm. “Child,” she said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “You’re not trying on this dress while wearing a gun.”
Katya straightened and put her hands behind her back. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t do that.” Giving up her w
eapon was not happening. She’d already been distracted today and made an error in not pressing Alex for a destination. She wasn’t going to make another one.
The older woman gave her a shrewd look. “You’re angry at him for not telling you about this.”
Katya blinked, forcing away her surprise. “I’m not angry.”
“Of course not. You want revenge, honey? Put on that green dress and he won’t know what hit him.”
She found herself blinking again, but this time it wasn’t with surprise. “I … don’t know what you mean.”
Scott only smiled. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, let me tell you. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. But I think you know that already. Want my advice?”
“No, thank—”
“He’s hooked, believe me. So hold out as long as you can. That’s going to keep him on the end of the line. Then all you have to do is reel him in.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, for the meaning to become clear. And by the time she’d formulated an answer, the designer had given her a wink, then turned around and vanished through the curtains.
Katya cursed a second time. Clearly the woman assumed she was interested in Alex, a natural assumption, since nearly every woman she’d come into contact with over the course of the last three months had been. It wasn’t the first time she’d had that implication leveled at her either. But it was the first time she’d heard it implied that he was interested in her.
It made her extremely uncomfortable. Men tended to see her as competition, and those who didn’t dismissed her entirely. Not many showed sexual interest–she was too tall, too strong, too honest, for their liking. She didn’t care. She had no interest in embarking on an affair with a fellow soldier that could potentially undermine the integrity of the unit.
She had even less interest in embarking on an affair with a client. That crossed all kinds of boundaries and she wasn’t prepared to put her reputation at risk like that.
Abruptly the curtain was shoved back and this time it wasn’t Scott, but Alex himself. And as soon as he stepped into the small changing area, the curtain falling shut behind him, enclosing them in the tiny space, the discomfort inside her doubled.
She had the strangest feeling that she couldn’t breathe. His presence felt too large for the space, the subtle spice of his scent disturbing her on a level she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.
She fought the urge to shift away from him. Thank God she hadn’t undressed like the designer had asked her to; otherwise she’d be standing here in her underwear. The thought sent a prickle of unfamiliar heat through her for some reason.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked, keeping her voice level.
His barbed blue gaze swept over her. “Give me your gun.”
“With all due respect—”
“The gun.” He held out his hand. “Please.”
She took a silent breath. “And if an attempt on your life were to happen while I was in here without my weapon?”
“Your dedication to your job is commendable, darling, but since your weapon would be with me, I would be able to protect myself.”
“I’m sorry, but you do even know how to use it?”
“As your employer I am authorized to disarm you if I see fit. I see fit now.” He curled his fingers in a beckoning gesture. “Do as you’re told, like a good soldier.”
She didn’t want to, but now she had no choice.
You’re making this into a far bigger deal than it needs to be.
Yes, she was. And she needed to stop it. The mission to Monte Carlo would go far easier if she just accepted whatever happened. Then she could get on with the more important problem of rescuing Mikhail.
Reaching into her shoulder holster, she withdrew her Springfield 9mm without a word and placed it in Alex’s palm.
Alex glanced down at it a second. Then he gripped it, checked the magazine, the safety, and raised the weapon smoothly and pointed it at the wall above her head. His hand was rock steady, his movements totally confident. He held the gun pointed there for another couple of seconds; then he lowered it, his mouth curving in an odd smile. “Thank you,” he said. “And yes, if you’re wondering, I do know how to use a gun.” He slipped the weapon into the pocket of his suit jacket. “Now, put on the dress, there’s a good girl.”
Then he turned and left, letting the curtain fall back behind him.
A third curse was tempting, but that would be an indulgence. She’d put on that damn dress instead and get this ridiculous shopping trip over and done with.
Shrugging off her shoulder holster, she began undoing her shirt, taking it off and laying it on the chaise before doing the same with her pants. Standing in the changing area in her underwear, separated from the rest of the space by only a curtain, made her feel vulnerable. It wasn’t a feeling she was familiar with and she didn’t like it. She could kill a man with her bare hands, and yet standing there in panties and a bra, knowing Alex St. James was on the other side of that curtain, was … exposing.
She reached for the green dress. It had very thin straps and appeared to be made out of some kind of fine, silky fabric that looked like it would tear under the slightest pressure. Gingerly she stepped into it and pulled it on. God, it was tight.
The curtain twitched and Scott was suddenly behind her. “Here, let me zip you up.”
Katya inhaled as the other woman tugged up the zipper and the dress fastened around her like a straitjacket.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Scott said, putting firm hands on Katya’s hips and turning her around like she was positioning a doll. “Absolutely perfect.”
It didn’t feel perfect, though. It felt like she was trapped. “It’s tight,” she said stiffly.
“No, it’s not.” Scott reached out and began pulling the fabric here and there. “That bra is dreadful, though. You won’t be able to wear that.”
“But I—”
“Come on, child. Better go show your sugar daddy.”
Before she knew quite what was happening, Katya found the curtain being hauled back and Scott was propelling her out of the changing area and into the rest of the store.
Alex was sitting on the couch, doing something with his phone, and at the sound of the curtain being pushed back he looked up.
An expression she didn’t recognize flared in his eyes, a flash of intense blue. Then he put his phone away and got up off the couch, stalking toward her.
There was something predatory about the way he moved. A sleek, fluid motion that set off all kinds of alarm bells ringing in her head. She tensed as he came closer, her instincts going into fight mode, one hand already moving toward where her gun should be.
He’s not a threat. He’s your employer. Stand down.
God in heaven. What was she doing?
Katya fought down the urge to move into a defensive posture, clenching the hand that had gone for the gun instead. It left her arm at an awkward angle, but then that was okay, since everything about this was awkward in the extreme.
If he’d noticed her going for her weapon, he gave no sign, coming to a stop in front of her, giving her figure a long, slow scan.
She stood there, her awkwardness increasing, not knowing what to do with herself. Being the center of attention felt wrong on every level, since protection was all about remaining out of the spotlight.
Finally, Alex’s gaze lifted to hers. “You don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.
Well, her discomfort was probably quite obvious. “No. The dress is too tight. I won’t be able to run in this or fight.”
He smiled and it looked like–for once–a smile of genuine amusement. “Running and fighting isn’t generally a prerequisite for being my girlfriend, Katya.”
“I’m still your bodyguard, sir. That fact remains no matter who I’m pretending to be.”
His gaze dropped again, to the bodice of the dress. And he frowned. “You’re a soldier. Aren’t you supposed to be able to adapt to diffi
cult terrain? I’m sure you can figure out how to run and fight adequately in a dress. But first of all, that god-awful bra has to go.”
A prickle of irritation chased through her. She was wearing her usual–a black, utilitarian sports bra–and no, of course it didn’t go with the dress. But it gave good support and that was all she required from her bras.
“My sports bra is not ‘god-awful,’” she said. “It’s excellent under Kevlar.”
“Kevlar? Jesus. Since when do my girlfriends wear Kevlar?” He made a motion toward the huge gilt mirrors. “Go on. Go and see for yourself what I’m talking about.”
A strange reluctance gripped her. She hadn’t worn a dress since the last winter ball at the exclusive military school she’d attended. Wearing those frilly, frothy gowns that all the other girls had gotten so excited over had felt wrong to Katya. Made her feel like that little girl her mother used to take to the GUM department store in Red Square and spoil with pretty dresses. Or to the Moscow Botanical Garden to see the roses.
An indulged, weak little girl who’d fallen apart when her mother had died.
Katya wasn’t that girl now, though, her father had made sure of it, and it wasn’t as if wearing a dress would change the years of training that had gone into making her who she was.
Dismissing the reluctance, Katya went to stand in front of one of the mirrors, staring fixedly at her reflection. The green silk hugged her curves, her legs left bare by the mid-thigh-length hem, making her look … not like herself. Like someone softer, more feminine, vulnerable, weaker …
Katya decided to ignore the woman in the mirror, concentrating her attention instead on the bodice of the dress where the edges of her sports bra showed, the thick black straps over her shoulders spoiling the look.
“See what I mean about the lingerie?” Alex wandered over to stand beside her, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
“I don’t have to wear this,” she said. “I can—”
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