Make You Mine

by Jackie Ashenden

  Shock moved through him, slow and thick. He took a breath, struggling to get his head together. “What? When was this?”

  “Earlier in the evening. Just after we came down. I’ve been watching her all evening. She tried to get into the VIP area but was denied.”

  Holy shit, he hadn’t even noticed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “You were in no immediate danger and I had the threat under control.”

  Fucking hell. “Did you get any hint of a name?” he demanded. “Any clue as to who she was talking to?”

  “No, sir,” Katya answered crisply, fully in soldier mode now. “I only heard her as she was leaving the bathroom. By the time I followed, she’d already ended the call.”

  Alex turned, stalking toward his desk and running a hand through his hair, needing to move. Needing to think. His thoughts felt sluggish, the alcohol sitting like acid in his stomach.

  So, clearly that woman had not been after a random hookup. She’d targeted him for a reason. But why? And who had sent her? What did they want? No one had known he was even in Monaco until this evening, so whoever had sent her had to be someone in Monte Carlo—

  Fucking Conrad South. It had to be.

  Alex’s heartbeat accelerated, his mouth drying. He put his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned against it, trying to hold on to something because, Jesus, it was clear he didn’t have a good grasp on anything else at the moment.

  You fucking idiot. You weren’t paying attention, were you? You were too busy playing with her …

  Behind him Katya said, “I’m here to protect you, sir. But I can’t protect you if I don’t know the direction the bullet might come from. Which means I need that briefing. I need to know why we’re here and I need to know now.”

  * * *

  Katya stared at Alex as he leaned over the desk, his shoulders hunched, his arms rigid. This was about more than a poker game; she was sure of it. Because if she didn’t know any better, she’d have said that Alex St. James was afraid. He’d never appeared afraid of a game before, which meant there was something about this game that was getting to him. This was personal in some way.

  He didn’t say anything, his posture so full of tension he was practically vibrating with it.

  Outside the office the bass thump of the music was so deep she could feel it in her chest. But the room must have had some kind of heavy-duty noise dampening going on, because that was the only sound. It was strange to be in here in the quiet while outside a party was going on.

  The office was as opulent and excessive as the rest of the club, lots of wood paneling and deep red velvet curtains over the windows. Tall bookshelves and a claw-foot armchair near the desk, the décor reminiscent of a Victorian gentleman’s study.

  Alex didn’t say anything and she thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to get her explanation. Then he said, “We are here for a poker game. But…” He paused.

  She waited, watching him, the light glancing off his inky hair.

  He’d been silent with her ever since he’d walked out of the bedroom. Even when they’d gone downstairs and he’d introduced her to people as they’d sat on that overblown red velvet couch, his arm around her in a possessive show. But he hadn’t spoken to her directly or made one of his subtle digs. He hadn’t even looked at her.

  It was clear her victory up in the bedroom had changed things between them, and she could take a guess as to why: Alex St. James didn’t like to lose. So now he was putting distance between them, as if he’d decided he didn’t want to continue the game they were playing. And that was disappointing. Because for some insane reason, she wanted to keep playing it.

  The silence was so loud. Deep as the bass of the music.

  “The organizer of the game is a man called Conrad South,” Alex said finally. “He owns the Four Horsemen casino. He’s … an old enemy of mine.”

  That she knew already due to her research, but not the personal connection. An enemy. Interesting.

  Katya frowned at Alex’s strong back. “You don’t want to play.” It came out more as a statement than a question, since it was obvious to her that he didn’t want to.

  “No.” His voice was soft. “I don’t.”

  “So why are you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I would like to hear it.”

  He didn’t turn, but she could hear the soft outrush of his breath. “We think there’s something more than gambling going on in Conrad’s casino. I’m taking part in the game as a bit of reconnaissance, since no one else can play poker as well as I can.”

  “We?”

  “My friends … Zac, Eva, and Gabriel.”

  Katya studied the rise of Alex’s broad shoulders, his bent head. “How do you know there’s something more going on?”

  Slowly, he shifted, turning around to lean back against the desk, his long fingers curling over the edge of the wood. His jacket was open, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. The light from above shadowed the flawless bone structure of his face, leaving his eyes in darkness. He wasn’t smiling now and she had the impression that she was seeing yet another layer of him. Perhaps the man he truly was, not the debauched playboy he showed to the world.

  A deeper, more thoughtful kind of man.

  Curiosity twisted inside her. As if he were a jeweled box she wanted to open to find out what was inside.

  “Like I said, it’s a long story. Around a month or so ago, Gabriel got involved with my sister and found out a few of my family’s nasty secrets. Like the fact my father and some friends of his were involved in an underground casino years ago. Not just gambling, but drugs and prostitution too, all kinds of shit. Dad owned the casino, ran up a lot of debt. He … committed suicide after it all got out of hand.” Alex’s voice was weirdly flat, toneless. Like he was reciting a story. “One of his friends stepped in to cover up his links to the casino and ended up marrying my mother. Gabe discovered this guy–my damn stepfather–was still laundering money for this fucking casino. We were hoping to discover more about it, but my stepfather had the bad manners to get himself shot before he could give Gabe any information.”

  It took a moment to process. Alex’s stepfather shot. Drugs. Prostitution. She hadn’t known what to expect as an explanation, but it wasn’t that.

  His father dead by his own hand … Like Mama …

  “Sir, I…” she began, then stopped. What could she say? She had nothing to add and certainly didn’t want to get into comparing their losses. From the sounds of it his father had been weak like her mother, and there was nothing Katya could say to that.

  Yet she was aware of a dull, sympathetic anger inside her.

  He was betrayed too.…

  “You don’t know what to say?” Alex finished for her. “Well, you don’t have to say anything. And you don’t have to be sorry. My father’s life was complicated and…” Another hesitation. “I guess you could say he chose the easy way out. Anyway, that’s got nothing to do with what’s going on with this poker game.” The words were level, but she could hear the undercurrent of anger beneath them. It was obvious Alex’s father’s death had hurt him.

  Like your mother’s death hurt you.

  Katya’s jaw firmed. No. She was not hurt and she did not grieve. Not anymore. “I understand,” she said.

  “I don’t think you do. But it doesn’t matter. My father’s long gone and I barely knew my stepfather. In fact, I haven’t seen my family for nineteen years.”

  “I haven’t seen mine for five.” The words came out before she could stop them, and the look on his face sharpened.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  She wasn’t prepared for the shift in focus, though she should have expected it. But it was too late to avoid the question now, especially when he got that searching look in his eyes. Except … it didn’t look like he was hunting for a weakness this time, only being curious.

  “My father is a soldier and a government man,” she said, reluctant. “And h
e refused to help me find Mikhail, even when I begged him to. He told me that the needs of our country outweighed the life of one man and I should forget him.”

  She still remembered the iron in her father’s voice, the stony expression in his brown eyes.

  He’d always taught her that loyalty was more important than anything else. More important than love or hate. Yet he’d been prepared to put politics ahead of the lives of his countrymen, his ambition ahead of loyalty. That knowledge had been the first crack in the bedrock of her unthinking obedience to him.

  “Outweighed the needs of his daughter too,” Alex said quietly. And it wasn’t a question.

  Katya ignored the unease that bit deep at the softly worded statement. “No, my needs were not relevant. He was supposed to be loyal to his fellow soldiers. And he wasn’t. He put his own political ambitions ahead of lives.”

  “Is that why you left Russia?”

  The dull anger in her chest sharpened. “Yes. If he wasn’t going to help Mikhail, I would find someone who would.”

  “And Mikhail is that important to you?”

  “Loyalty is important to me. But what has this got to do with the poker game?” The change of topic was graceless, but she didn’t care. Exchanging the truths of their lives with Alex was even more uncomfortable than the games he played with her.

  If he was disappointed with her change of subject, he gave no sign. “Tremain–that’s my stepfather–shoved a pair of silver dice into Gabe’s hand after he got shot.”

  “Silver dice?” She stopped. “Oh, the ones on your table?”

  “Yes.”

  She studied his face. There was no expression at all on it. “What is their significance?”

  “The Apocalypse game is by invitation only. And those dice are the invitation.”

  “And why is this game important? What do you hope to find?”

  “Conrad South is one of my father’s old college buddies. He has links to the casino my father used to own. Links with my stepfather. Something’s going on with them and whatever it is has hurt my friends.” He paused. “Has hurt my sister.”

  The woman Gabriel Woolf was involved with. The woman Alex hadn’t seen in nineteen years if what he’d said was true. “But I thought you didn’t…” Katya stopped, knowing what she was about to say was harsh.

  His expression was impenetrable. “I didn’t what? Say it, Katya.”

  “Forgive me, but why should you care? I thought you didn’t have any loyalties to anyone.”

  Unexpectedly he looked away. “Yeah, well, I thought I didn’t either. Turns out I do after all.” He let out a breath. “But don’t worry. Playing in Conrad’s fucking game is for my own selfish needs too. I wouldn’t want you to start thinking I actually gave a shit.”

  She frowned at him. That was a lie; she was sure of it. “And what are your needs?”

  “That’s my business.” There was no room for argument in his voice. “All you need to know is that Conrad probably isn’t after my blood, so I doubt that woman was going to kill me. I suspect what she wanted was information.”

  Katya didn’t argue. The conversation she’d overheard the woman having in the ladies’ room had been enough to prompt Katya into action to protect her employer. But the woman herself hadn’t seemed dangerous. Then again, sometimes it paid to be over-cautious, especially if you were unsure of the situation. “So if Mr. South isn’t after your blood, why do you need me?”

  “Because someone connected to him might be. Especially when I turn up at this game and they figure I’m after some answers. They took a gun to my stepfather in order to protect their secrets; I don’t imagine they’ll think twice about doing the same to me.”

  She turned the information over in her head. It all seemed very vague. “And what answers do you hope to find at this poker game? You didn’t answer me.”

  Alex lifted one shoulder in a simple, elegant movement. “That’s because I don’t know yet. We have this reception in two days to meet the other players. Perhaps we’ll find out more then. At the very least we’ll find out what kind of situation we’re walking into.”

  “We, sir?”

  His gaze settled on her. “Yes. We. You’ll be attending.”

  Someone fumbled with the door handle to the office all of a sudden and Alex tensed. “Come here, Katya,” he ordered curtly.

  She was already moving, responding to the order automatically, coming over to where he stood near the desk.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But there’s only one reason I bring a woman into this office and it isn’t to talk.”

  Before she could respond, he reached for her, jerking the hem of her dress up to her hips. Then he gripped her, turning her so the edge of the desk pressed against her thighs, and pushed her down over it, pulling her leg up around his lean waist.

  She had no time to prepare. No time to protest. One moment they were talking about the poker game; the next she was on her back over the desk, the wool of his tuxedo pants brushing against her inner thighs, his arms braced on either side of her head, his eyes dark as he looked down at her.

  The door opened, the sounds of the party going on outside rushing in. And then a startled, “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. St. James, I—”

  “Fuck’s sake, Marc,” Alex said. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “Yes, of course,” came the other man’s voice. Then the sound of the door shutting, the noise of the party once again muted.

  Alex didn’t move. Staying exactly where he was, his hips pressing between her thighs, his hands braced beside her head, staring down at her, a strangely intense expression on his face.

  And for some reason she didn’t move either. Because it felt like she was drowning in a flood of sensation. The press of his body between her legs. The brush of the prickly wool of his pants. The hard wood of the desktop beneath her. And heat. So much heat.

  Her breath was starting to get short, coming faster, her mouth drying, her heartbeat accelerating wildly. And she was beginning to ache. Down between her thighs, in her sex. A pressure slowly building. It was … God … unfamiliar, overwhelming. Too much.

  All she needed to do would be to lift her hips, flex them a little, and that would bring her into contact with his zipper. She could press herself against him, relieve that ache.

  His breath caught as if he’d read her exact thought, his gaze shadowed as he looked down into her eyes.

  The tension between them became dense, like they were fathoms deep underwater.

  She didn’t speak and neither did he. They stared at each other.

  He was getting hard; she could feel it, the heat of him like a furnace she wanted to get closer to. Burn herself on. And God, she wanted to move. Tilt her hips just so and her clitoris would be pressing against all that hardness. All that heat.

  Her thighs began to tremble, her breathing coming faster, sharper.

  Get up. Move away. Stop this now before it’s too late.

  But she didn’t do any of those things. She lay still instead, caught on the edge of something intense. Something that would change her if she moved, if she did what her body was desperately urging her to do.

  She couldn’t do that, though, couldn’t cross that line. And yet … she couldn’t move away either. Because this feeling, this exquisite, unbearable ache, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and she just couldn’t bring herself to end it.

  He knows you want him now.

  Of course he knew. Perhaps he’d even known before this. It didn’t matter now, though, because now there was no hiding it. The fact that she hadn’t protested or made a move to stop him had announced it as clearly as if she’d said it out loud.

  But she wasn’t alone. He felt it too.

  His eyes glittered a deep, intense blue, red staining his perfect cheekbones, and he was looking at her like a starving wolf looks at prey. Hungry. Almost … desperate.

  She’d never seen him look at any woman that way before.

  And still he didn�
�t move. As if he couldn’t bear to tear himself away from her and the heat that was building between them.

  This was power. This was strength. She could feel it inside her, growing. And she knew that if she wanted to take it, she could have it. And that she could use it over him.

  “Alexei…” His name in Russian, half a prayer, half a plea.

  Abruptly he cursed, a vicious sound in the silence of the room, and shoved himself away from her, taking a few steps, then turning so his back was to her. The tension poured off him in waves, his shoulders tight. “I’m sorry,” he said in a rough voice that didn’t sound like his. “I’m sorry about what happened up in the bedroom. And I’m sorry about now.”

  Katya pushed herself up on the desk, her arms trembling, her thighs aching. Dizzy at the sudden break in the atmosphere. “I don’t—” she began thickly.

  “You go up to bed if you want,” he interrupted, his hands moving as he adjusted himself. God, he had been hard for her. “I’m going to stay down here for the party. Don’t wait up for me.”

  Then he strode to the door, pulled it open, and went out.

  She sat on the desk after he’d gone, waiting until the weakness in her arms, in her legs, had faded. Until the painful ache between her thighs had subsided and her breathing had normalized. It took a lot longer than she’d expected.

  Afterwards she let herself out of the office and back into the club.

  It was noisy and even more packed than it had been before. And she knew she should stay, that it was her job to do so. But for the first time in two years, she couldn’t face being with her client. Sitting in close proximity to him for another few hours, her body gripped by this strange hunger.

  It was better to put some distance between them. Give her some time to remember her place. Remember who she was and what she was supposed to be doing.

  Being his bodyguard, not his lover.

  No matter how much the thought of that intrigues you.

  Katya did not let herself think about that. Instead she threaded her way through the crowd and out of the packed bar, returning to Alex’s private apartment.