Wild Men of Alaska Collection

by Tiffinie Helmer

  “Eat it,” Sergei drawled, looking at her as though daring her to. He took a large bite himself, the muscles in his jaw fascinating her for a minute until he arched a brow at her longer than necessary perusal.

  She picked up her fork and broke off a piece. It melted in her mouth. Rich, sinful chocolate coated her tongue while the wild raspberries with their tart sweetness stimulated her taste buds. This time she couldn’t keep in the moan. He grinned as though he had her number. And in this case, she had to admit he did.

  “You couldn’t have made this,” she accused. No way he was that good.

  “No, I did not. One of the best cooks in Alaska lives here on The Edge, and made this especially for me as a gift before she left.”

  “Where is she now?” How close were Sergei and this cook? And why the hell did she care?

  “Vacationing in the Northvest vith her children.” Another smile lit his face as though he cared for these children. How did a man who killed for a living care for children? It made him seem less heartless, more human, and she didn’t like that.

  “You talk about them with affection.” Who were they to him?

  “That is because I do have affection for them.”

  “I didn’t know you liked children.”

  “There is much about me you don’t know,” he murmured, taking another bite of his dessert while looking her up and down.

  She knew Sergei was trying to converse with her, to lower her guard. The intimate candlelight. Them alone together in the lodge. Feeding her dinner.

  It wasn’t going to work.

  Kate didn’t want to go down that sexually potholed-road so turned the conversation to something neutral. “This cook, she’s the sister to Mel Bennett?” Mel Bennett, part-owner of the lodge, intrigued Kate what with surviving one of the most publicized kidnapping and rescues.

  “Dah.” He leaned his forearms on the table, pushing his empty plate aside. “So, Katja, vill I need to keep you tied up all evening? I’m villing to, you understand. Vhile I haven’t spent hours in the company of a beautiful voman restrained, for my pleasure, I find I’m not opposed to the idea.”

  Every nerve, wrong and right, flared to life at his words. How did he do that? He’d done the same thing to her in Afghanistan, which is how he’d gotten her upstairs into his hotel room and in his bed. Just listening to him talk in that dark accent that had whispered equally dark promises to her in the deep of night, had her shifting in her chair. Promises that he hadn’t kept since he’d vanished from that hotel room before the sun had risen.

  “I am not restrained for your pleasure.”

  “Though, oddly enough, I’m enjoying it. How long vill you let me?”

  “You tied me up.”

  “You forced me to,” he countered. “Are you going to behave? If you promise to, I vill untie you.”

  Was he really that susceptible? Or was this a trick? “I’m willing to behave if you are.” For now.

  A grin spilt across his face. “I have bested you twice now. I vill best you a third if you try, and I von’t promise I vill contain myself like I have so far.”

  Really, contain himself? From what?

  His brow arched again as if he’d been able to read her thoughts and dared her to ask for an explanation. She didn’t want one. Nor, apparently, needed one when her insides heated as his gaze brushed over her breasts, her waist, her hips.

  She held her hands out as far as they would reach in their T-Rex knots. “Untie me.”

  “You must say the vords.”

  Oh hell, no. She was not saying please.

  “Promise me that you vill not try to kill me again until ve have talked. Really talked. Vhere you listen to my side of the story.”

  “Then I can try to kill you?”

  “If you feel the need, you can try.”

  So the man wanted to talk, attempt to sway her into believing what she knew was wrong. Not with the blood that had painted her hands, the deaths that weighed heavy on her soul.

  “Fine. I’ll hear you out.”

  “And?”

  “I promise not to kill you until after I hear you out. Better?”

  “Nyet. But good enough for now.” He stood, reached into his pocket, flicked open a switchblade, and came toward her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Something else fired in Kate’s blood as Sergei cut through her bonds. She held still, barely breathing with him so near, hoping he didn’t notice her pulse racing.

  “Have you had that blade on you this whole time?” she asked as he freed her hands and went to work on the ropes anchoring her to the chair.

  “This blade vas my father’s, and I’m never vithout it.” He let the reality that he’d been armed the entire time during her multiple attacks sink in.

  The last of her bindings fell away, and he slowly gathered up the rope, his eyes never leaving hers. She stood, massaging her wrists. The relief of being free washed over her. She wanted to stretch, bend at the waist and touch her toes, but, much like prey, she kept her eyes on Sergei as he flicked the switchblade closed and stashed it away in the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Do you need to use the facilities?” he asked, depositing the rope back onto the counter.

  Badly. She nodded.

  “This vay.” He gestured with his arm into the great room of the lodge, which she took time to catalog.

  There was a door in the kitchen that led outside and the French doors off the great room exited onto the large deck. He took her up the stairs that overlooked the stunning two-story room and the hand-laid rock fireplace. Tongue-and-grove pine covered the ceilings where log beams jointed together. Stunning place. One she would love to spend time in.

  Sergei brought her into a large bedroom, where he was obviously staying. She stopped at the doorway.

  “The lodge isn’t in use this time of year. I hadn’t planned on any ‘guests’. So the only rooms open are mine.”

  “You live among the others?”

  “No. Vhen everyone is here, I stay in bunkhouse. I like my privacy, and I don’t require much in vay of needs.” His words slid over her like a caress as though if he could have her, his needs would be met.

  She didn’t want to enter the bear’s den. The mammoth king size canopy bed was made of logs. Imposing, much like the man. A quilt in hunter greens and rich browns covered the bed. Books on multiple subjects were stacked on both night tables and piled onto the floor. One window showcased the impassable mountains with nestling glaciers in the distance, while the other looked out over the black cove. The room must be on a corner of the lodge to be able to see so much of the outdoors. She understood why he had picked it.

  Had he seen her coming? She’d come from the direction the mountain-side window faced. She could almost map her trail from here. If he had been gazing out of this window, he would have seen her inch down the mountainside. They shared a look, and she hated that he’d known. She was not this predictable. The man had to have a sixth sense.

  He cocked his head to the side as she continued to stand in the doorway. “I’m not going to jump you, Katja. Unless you make a move on me first, then all bets are off.” He gave her his back as though he didn’t fear her in the slightest.

  That burned.

  It was not a trust gesture. It was I-don’t-think-you-are-a-threat-to-me gesture. He flicked on the bathroom light. She ventured into the bedroom, her blood simmering. He gathered up items from the counter, and the drawers. A razor, scissors, dental floss, and spray cologne.

  “Feel free to shower if you’d like,” he said, carrying the few things he’d grabbed out of the room. “If you need more bandages there are some in the bottom drawer.”

  Like she was getting naked with him so close.

  “The door locks from the inside,” he added.

  One thing she knew without a doubt, if Sergei wanted into the room, a standard bathroom lock wouldn’t keep him out.

  He stepped aside for her to enter. “Don’t try the vindow. The drop
is too far and the terrain nothing but ice. The fall vould kill you and there is nothing inside here to assist in your descent. You have twenty minutes in case you’d like to shower. I promise not to bother you until the time is up.” He shut the door behind him leaving her peacefully alone.

  She didn’t waste any time.

  Sergei heard the shower kick on. He’d give anything to know what Kate was doing in there. Knowing her, she wouldn’t lay down her guard long enough to take the shower he’d offered. But she’d surprised him before. Hell, everything she did surprised him. From the first moment he’d “chanced” to meet her in the outdoor market in the eastern Afghan city of Khost.

  It was supposed to be a quick drop. Get in, get out kind of thing. That was until he’d seen her, talked with her. He’d fallen right then and there. The woman had an innocence about her he hadn’t encountered in years, if ever. What had she been doing as a spy?

  In the last two years, she’d lost some of that innocence. A fair share of it at his hands. Part of him regretted the necessary evil of that and another part did not. But what he regretted the most was the pain he’d caused her. Not killing Perry, but not being there for her the morning following their unbelievable night together and the resulting aftermath.

  He’d been able to do what he could from a distance, making sure she wasn’t court-martialled, by him turning state’s evidence. He’d given up his country for her, and she didn’t even know it.

  She would soon.

  The shower shut off. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes until show time.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kate hadn’t been able to resist the shower. It had been a few minutes of heaven to wash in the blue-green, fully-tiled slate shower outfitted with power nozzles and a rain faucet. How she would love to have lingered. A quick wash of her hair, scrub down of her body, and she felt like a new woman.

  Revitalized.

  She’d gone so far as to wedge towels under the door, not that it would have saved her from Sergei if he’d chosen to break through the lock. But it made her feel better doing something to make it harder to enter the room. The more reasonable part of her decided that if Sergei were initiating a truce of sorts, he wouldn’t waste what ground he’d gained by interrupting her shower.

  She grabbed a towel and began drying off when a knock came at the door. She froze, and then scrambled for her bra. There were still a few tricks sewn into the garment that Sergei hadn’t seen.

  “I have a change of clothing, if you vould like. I’ve left it outside the door.”

  Wow, he was making her feel right at home, wasn’t he?

  She listened and heard him step back. Was he still in the room?

  “My back is turned. Safe to go ahead and open door.”

  Seemed as if he’d thought of everything. Donning the bra, which she wasn’t about to give up, she wrapped the towel tighter around herself, moved the rolls of laughable barrier away from the door and opened it. True to his word, Sergei faced the bed. She snatched the pile of clothes and relocked the bathroom door. He’d found her a simple pair of jeans, her size, a warm, soft sweater in moss green, and a pair of woolen socks. No underwear. But then she didn’t want to wear some other woman’s under things. She went commando, rinsing her underwear in the sink and hanging them to dry over the shower’s glass door. She smirked, wondering what he’d think of her making herself so at home in his bathroom? Not that it would matter. She wouldn’t be here long. She had a stash of supplies in her backpack up on the mountain.

  The sweater was roomy and warm. She used his comb and left her hair to dry down her back. Time was up. She reentered the bedroom to find Sergei lying on the bed, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, reading a book. She doubted he was reading. He’d better not be reading. That meant he wasn’t worried about her in the slightest.

  The man had better worry.

  Sergei’s breath caught at the sight of Kate. No makeup, her deep red hair wet down her back, wearing the soft green sweater that did amazing things to her porcelain skin. Her eyes gleamed like cut stones. She looked soft and cuddly, fresh and beautiful. And dangerous. He wanted to gather her into his arms and tumble her down onto the bed. Stay with her for days, weeks, loving every inch of her. He hadn’t had enough time with her last they were together in a bedroom. He doubted a lifetime would be enough time to learn all that he wanted to about this woman.

  He climbed off the bed, and didn’t miss her need to take a step back. Good.

  He made her nervous.

  How about he make her a little more nervous?

  “Come.” He walked through the bedroom door and headed down the stairs to the great room. She paused before following him. He knew he confused the hell out of her. She’d expected him to conduct their “talk” in the bedroom. There was no way he’d be able to concentrate on anything but getting her out of her clothes and into his bed if they stayed there. Best to move the conversation to neutral territory. Plus, she wouldn’t expect it of him.

  He stoked the fire as she paced around the room looking at everything, all the while keeping him in her peripheral vision. She glided as she walked, and he found he could watch her all day.

  “How long have you been living here?” she asked.

  “Almost two years.” He set the red-hot poker back in the stand, seeing her eyes catalog his every move. He wondered how long it would take her to try and reach for the poker as a weapon to use against him? He hoped long enough for it to at least cool down.

  “Why here, other than the obvious comparisons to Mother Russia?”

  “I have no love left for Mother Russia,” he replied his voice cold. “But I do enjoy the fishing, the wildness, the freedom that Alaska offers me. Besides, your lower forty-eight is too damn varm.”

  “Why no love for Mother Russia?”

  He didn’t want to go there. “Answer me a question, Katja. Why has it taken you so long to find me?”

  “So the picture was a plant.”

  “A very good one, I thought.” Six months ago Cache Calder, the renowned photojournalist for World Events, looking for a “Where Is She Now” story, located Mel Bennett, and Sergei had made sure he’d been partly seen in one of the photographs that had made the magazine’s publication. No one else but Kate “No Mercy” Mercer would have the guts to come after him. He’d begun to lose hope she’d nibble on his bait, and had started to consider searching her out. Again, he asked, “Why so long, Katja?”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Yes.”

  She caught her breath, obviously expecting a sarcastic response to hers. She swayed right, away from him, as though retreating from his verbal tango.

  He wanted to take her into his arms, lock her tight in his embrace. Press her body up against the wall, spread those long legs of hers apart, and lose himself inside her once again. His mouth watered remembering how they’d exploded together that first time against the slammed door of their hotel room.

  Sergei waited her out, until she turned back around and regarded him with distain, those jade eyes narrowed with accusation. “Why did you kill Perry?”

  Here came the questions she’d been leading up to. While he’d enjoyed the promenade, it was time to get to the party. “Because he hired me to kill you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Perry had hired Sergei to kill her?

  Kate reached out and grabbed the edge of the bookcase shelf.

  “I don’t believe you.” She straightened away from the bookcase and stood strong, though her knees wobbled in her borrowed jeans.

  “Part of you does.”

  “Not Perry. Maybe someone else hired you. I’ve made a lot of enemies. But Perry was my partner, my mentor. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know. But he did.”

  Sergei stood there next to the fire, the bear rug spread at his feet, his stance relaxed, but his shoulders tight as though this discussion meant everything to him. Why would he care? What did he want from her?

 
; “Katja,” he spoke slowly as if to help her understand, “Perry vas a double agent.”

  She sucked in her breath. “No, he was not. He loved his country. He gave up everything for his country. His family, his wife, there was nothing the man wouldn’t sacrifice for his country.”

  “Including you, but it vasn’t love for country that drove him. It vas power, money, and most of all ego.”

  “He was my partner for six years. I would have known if he was crooked.”

  “You do know.”

  She shook her head. Was he not listening to her? No way was Perry playing both sides of the fence. He’d trained her right out of Quantico. He’d taken her under his wing and taught her everything.

  “Perry told me that you’d slept vith him. He’s exact vords to me vere, ‘A few Black Russians and she’s an easy lay’.”

  Everything in the room stopped. Even the softly falling snowflakes outside the glass seemed to suspend in mid air. One night. She’d slept with Perry once and it had been after a few too many Black Russians. Nobody knew about that. Nobody.

  Nobody but her and Perry.

  “You refused to drink the Black Russian I ordered for you.”

  And yet, she’d still slept with him, not needing any alcohol for him to seduce her into his bed.

  “You don’t get to say bad things about Perry. You killed him.”

  “I was not the one who killed him.”

  “You sent the person who did.”

  “Just as he sent a person to kill you. I vould do it all again too. Everything, Katja. Everything. Perry vas not this perfect man that you have raised on pedestal. He vas a very flawed man not vorthy of your love and loyalty. If you can’t believe vhat I say, believe yourself. Your ‘American’ gut. Ask yourself, vhy I vas brought into the operation?”

  “You were the Russian spy we were working with.”