She shivered under his hands. “Not what I meant. Two spies? How would that work?”
“One retired spy and one soon to be retired, I hope. Ve understand each other. And you can hold your own against me. I find that extremely attractive.”
He took her hand in his, kissed her fingers. “Come to bed vith me, Katja. Let me show you just how vell ve fit together.”
She let him lead her to the bed. He turned down the covers. It wasn’t lost on him the difference between having her on his bed like this from just a few hours ago fighting with her, tying her up. Leaving her. He wasn’t leaving her tonight. They were snowed in. No one could get in or out of The Edge of Reason.
Finally, they had time.
She lay on the bed.
“Stay.” He turned and stoked the fire, lit the candles on the mantle, and snuffed the lights. The glow from the snow, along with the fire, illuminated her ivory skin and turned her hair a darker red. She was stunning, lying on his bed, waiting for him. He had a moment wondering if he’d conjured her. So many nights he’d dreamt of having her here with him. It was hard to believe she was real. Their coming together downstairs, while it had rocked him, it had been frantic and over much too soon.
Tonight would not be the same.
He stripped bare in front of her, loving the way her eyes followed his movements, her breath quickening in the silent room. Only the moaning of the wind and flickering of the greedy flames added a wildness that complimented her the way no other music could.
He crawled onto the bed, up her body and settled his weight on top of her. The pleasure of her bare skin against his caused bliss to settle in his bones. The feeling was one so foreign, emotion thickened his vocal cords. Afraid of what declarations might come from his mouth—declarations she wasn’t ready to hear—he kissed her, expressing physically how he felt.
She groaned under him, her hands grasping his hips. He shifted his lower body away from her. The woman had a way of taking him in hand and getting him to lose control, like she had downstairs. That was not happening here.
Here, he was in charge.
She raked her nails up his back and then down to his buttocks, and his whole body hardened under her hands.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t in charge.
His mouth turned greedier even though he did his best to slow things down. He deepened the kiss, while his hands stroked her, trying to be careful, his touch tender, exploring. She arched under him, her leg anchoring over his hip as she pressed against him.
Bozhe moi. How did she fire his blood like this?
His hands rougher than he intended, yanked her hips against his, his shaft riding between her thighs along her slick folds, rubbing the sensitive area that had her wrenching her mouth free on a cry, and sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
He refused to enter her. Not yet.
“Sergei.”
How he loved a demanding woman.
His mouth captured the nipple of one breast, his fingers the other as he continued to grind against her.
She growled, losing patience with him, and tossed him over onto his back. The strength it took for her to be able to move a man like him, one who had expected her to make the move, so astonished him that he lay there on his back stunned for a moment.
A moment that was his undoing.
She straddled his thighs. He could see where they would have control issues. They both liked dominant positions. This was going to be fun.
And torture.
Retribution shined in her eyes as her hands teased their way down his body, her mouth following in their wake as she licked and nipped at his chest, his nipples, down the contours of his stomach, to grasp the base of his shaft in her hand.
Her tongue circled the tip.
He snarled, watching her as she took him in her mouth. Heat infused him, and colors painted the room. She knew what he liked, how to run her teeth, her tongue, enclose her lips over his flesh to where if he didn’t get her to stop he’d lose himself right then and there.
He had more planned for them.
He grabbed her shoulders and lifted her off him. She gave a startled cry as he tossed her onto her stomach, and twisted to hunch over her. His hands held her arms, his feet locking her legs down to the mattress. In a sense, he’d restrained her again. She couldn’t touch, tease, torment, or fight him this way.
“Sergei,” she warned, a little apprehension coming through in her tone.
He was beyond speech, overcome with need. He kissed her neck in a vain attempt to express regret for not taking this slower like he’d intended. Next time. Or the time after that. His teeth raked her skin, his mouth trailed down her back, all the while keeping her imprisoned within his dark embrace.
Spreading her legs, he pushed himself heavy between them and penetrated her from behind in one hard, deep thrust.
Air escaped her in a gasp while he growled with the intense pleasure, tightness, and heat as he sheathed himself deeply within her. His hips drove into hers, the power and weight of his body keeping her captive beneath him. He released her hands and burrowed his under her, one banding her chest, his hand holding her breast, the other snaked down her stomach to find and stroke her clitoris.
She screamed as she came, and he still rode her. Not giving any quarter as he took her, forcing one climax after another from her until he could no longer withhold his own.
A guttural sound escaped his lips as he gave himself over to the pleasure that had the power to bind him to her forever.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kate woke up...alone.
Memories of how devastated she’d felt the last time this had happened sank into her consciousness. Quickly followed by the heavy guilt of Perry’s death later that same morning. Her shame and culpabilities had been hard to explain to her superiors and herself. She’d promised herself that this wouldn’t happen again. And here she was.
Alone.
Sunshine sliced through the windows. The blizzard had blown itself silent much like the fervor she’d had for Sergei’s blood. By her calculations, since the sun didn’t rise early in Alaska this time of year, it was around noon. The aches and tenderness in her body bore testimony that she hadn’t dreamt last night or early this morning. She’d been well used. And had done an equal amount of using herself.
She tossed her hair out of her face and rubbed her eyes. How much ground had she lost? Each time they’d come together, she’d lost more of her heart to him until she didn’t know how much of it was actually hers anymore.
The door suddenly opened, and Sergei entered. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder and he held coffee mugs in each hand.
He paused in the doorway. “Dobriy den’,” he murmured, his tone gritty, slumberous.
“Afternoon,” she returned, understanding at least that much Russian. She didn’t want to think about how she looked as his eyes drank her in. She’d never cared about her appearance before. Just because this bear of a man stood there all hot and sexy didn’t mean she needed to add a bit of make up, though she suddenly felt compelled to do so. Sergei had dressed in another flannel shirt, this one a dark gray. His jeans had been black at one time but were worn more charcoal in color with a small tear above the knee.
How observant was she that she’d slept through his rising, showering, and dressing? She never let her guard down like this. It had only happened one other time, and that had been with him also. What kind of power did he have over her?
She sat up and curled her legs into her chest under the blankets.
He walked around to the side of the bed and handed her a cup of coffee. The dark, bitterness drifted toward her, awakening her muddled senses.
Sergei dropped her backpack onto the bed. “Time to make plan. Company is coming for dinner.” He seemed all business this afternoon and less the demanding lover of a few hours ago.
“How do you know?”
“No vay to really explain. I just know.”
She wasn’t about to question h
is sixth sense. He’d known she was behind him when she’d snuck up on him yesterday. Had that really only been yesterday? In a mere twenty-four hours her whole life had changed, changed so much she didn’t know what was up or down...or who to trust. So instead, she took a sip of coffee and swallowed.
Not only could he make love to a woman until she was ready to reveal state secrets, his coffee was sinfully addictive.
“I like that you are no longer trying to kill me,” he stated, taking a long sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on the night table.
Could that be her downfall? She felt as if she was barefoot trying to navigate an icy slope.
His eyes dark and brooding, stared into hers. “Do you have any more transmitters on you?”
“No.” That question—demand—she hadn’t expected.
He picked up the backpack and handed it to her, not taking his eyes off her. “Check bottom seam.”
She ran her fingers along the seam finding a quarter-size transmitter. Could this be one of Ivan’s backups in case the one in her bra had been found? But why wouldn’t Ivan tell her?
“Vhat vas your plan for getting off The Edge once you had killed me?”
“I was supposed to call on the sat phone.” There was a sharp stab to her heart. What if she had actually succeeded in killing him?
Sergei flipped open his handy switchblade and surrendered it to her, handle first.
She paused in taking his weapon. How could he trust her like this after all she’d tried to do and what he was accusing her of now?
Or was he accusing her?
He held her gaze for a long time. She slowly accepted the blade, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.
She cut into the bottom of the backpack, freeing the tracking device. It was small but effective, though the tracker wouldn’t find her unless they were within a twenty mile radius. Who was monitoring her besides Ivan? Had he planted this on her without telling her as a backup? But why wouldn’t her tell her?
“Why didn’t you destroy this when you found it?” She had no clue where this had come from, but didn’t try to defend herself. There was no way to prove her innocence.
“I vant whoever is tracking your movements not to suspect things have changed between us.” He paused as though waiting for her to object. His nostrils flared when she didn’t.
She handed the knife and the device to Sergei. He took them, stashing away the knife and the disk in his pocket. He then seized her face between his large hands and kissed her.
Something monumental passed between them without a word being said. Trust had been formed, reinforced and then sealed with a hard exchanging of lips and coffee-scented breath.
“Ya lublu tebya, Katja.” He released her, his eyes boring into hers.
She wished she was more up on her Russian, because whatever he’d just uttered sounded important.
Wait a damn minute. Had he just told her he loved her?
Before she could ask for the translation, he’d fished the satellite phone out of her pack and held it out to her. “Call and say job is finished.”
“No.” She slapped the phone out of her way.
“Katja,” he warned.
“In English. Translate what you just said.” Her lungs refused to inflate as she waited him out.
“You know vhat I said.”
Oh God. Her heart launched into hyper drive. “You love me?”
“Dah. Now make call. Ve’ll discuss feelings for each other once job is finished.”
“Oh, no we won’t. We’ll discuss it now.”
“Are you ready to tell me your feelings?”
She froze. What did she really feel for him? She’d hated him for so long, or was there more to it? Was the hate covering up how much he’d hurt her by leaving her to flounder like he had because she cared for him too? She didn’t know if she could use the word love, yet, or ever.
Sergei’s face hardened into an unreadable mask. “First vork and then ve’ll talk.” He gave her a hard kiss. “Make call.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sergei loaded his 12-gauge sawn-off Remington 870 pump-action shotgun, liking the feel of the weapon in his hands.
“Think that’s big enough?” Kate asked, securing the kerambit to her belt.
“Is back-up.”
“If that is your secondary weapon, what’s your first?”
“You.” He’d returned Kate her 9mm.
She reclaimed her weapon with one hand, and then traced her other hand down his chest as though she couldn’t help herself.
Damn this woman. He knew she cared for him. Telling her he loved her had been a slip. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much when they needed to focus on the job ahead. So he shouldn’t feel hurt that she hadn’t gushed out her feelings to him. She’d come a long way from wanting him dead to loving him like she had last night. He needed to be patient just a little longer.
Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans and drew him in. Her lips took his and desire clouded his focus.
“Katja.” He growled.
“Right. Battle first.” She nipped at his lower lip before stepping back. “Don’t get hurt. I have plans for you later.”
He uttered an animalistic promise, yanked her in for another kiss, and lingered longer than he should have. Now he was hard and hungry with the need to kill. A dangerous combination.
The afternoon had been spent fortifying The Edge since he’d demanded Kate call her contact. She was lethally outfitted in knives, Glock, and sheathed all in black, her deep red hair restrained in a tight bun. The woman was a stunning femme fatale, and he was completely ensnared.
Whoever thought he was dead would be arriving on the iced beach in full view of the lodge. The waters were still choppy from the blizzard stirring up the winds the night before. Since they had access to a helicopter, from dropping Kate in behind, he kept his ear attuned to the skies. He wanted this business over with. He’d waited too long already. Kate was within his grasp. This business needed to be finished. He just had to tie up these loose ends in order to secure a life for them. One where they wouldn’t constantly need to watch over their shoulders.
“Do the owners of the lodge know who you really are?” Kate asked.
“Nyet. They think I’m lonely Russian vithout country. Since there is Russian village outside of Homer, vhich I make time to visit vhen in town, it helps vith the pretense.”
“Are you content here?”
Not without you, was on the tip of his tongue. “Dah, I have been content.” By the evening he’d have a better idea where she stood. He heard the repetitive whoop, whoop of chopper blades. “Time,” he said. “Ready?”
She nodded, her face expressionless.
Now the real test.
Would they be allies or enemies? Would she lead with her heart?
Kate took up a stance next to the glass French doors, her back to the log wall. No bullets were getting through those thick walls. He was loath to leave her, but knew from experience she could handle herself. She’d been in dangerous situations before, though none of them with him or because of him.
She glanced over her shoulder and frowned, finding him still rooted in the middle of the great room. “Hide,” she hissed, motioning her hand low by her thigh.
It grated on him to secret away in the deep shadows of the stairs. He never hid. But in order to ferret out the players, he didn’t have much choice. Not since he was supposed to be dead.
Kate glanced out through the glass, her shoulders relaxing. She shared another look with him and then stood in front of the glass and opened the door. There was a hollered “Kate” and then she was scooped up in a burly man’s arms.
Sergei saw red. He wanted to tear the man to shreds. It took everything he had to stay put.
Ivan entered the lodge. His arm casually looped over Kate’s shoulders.
“So where’s the body?” Ivan asked.
Sergei waited for Kate to move away from him, but she didn’t.
“I told you, he’s dead,” Kate said, her voice monotone as though she didn’t give a damn.
“Don’t get me wrong, Kate, you’re good, but Sergei wouldn’t have let that happen,” Ivan said.
Sergei stepped out of the shadows. “Ivan.”
“Comrade.” Ivan let go of Kate and grabbed Sergei in a bear hug. “I was getting worried that she’d actually killed you. You said she wouldn’t, but you don’t know how much she’s wanted your head.”
Sergei glanced at Kate. Her expression confused, the kerambit already palmed. Light slowly dawned.
“Wait a fucking minute.” She turned to Ivan. “You two have been playing me?”
“For reasons you vill understand soon,” Sergei said. “There isn’t time. Are they coming?”
“Yes, brought them myself.”
“Brought who?” Kate asked. “What the hell are you talking about?” She glared at Sergei. “Talk fast.”
“I needed to know, Katja.”
“Needed to know what?” Her voice continued to harden, become deadlier.
“If I was still alive or not,” Perry said, entering the room from the kitchen, a gun pointed at Kate’s head.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kate stood perfectly still, the barrel of Perry’s Sig pointed at her forehead.
Perry was alive.
He stood before her, a cocky sneer on his modestly attractive face. She used to see that look as confidence, wishing she could be more like him. Average height, and average build, hid his muscled-physique and wrestler-prowess well, making him a formidable weapon. Part of her wanted to hug him. The other wanted to run a knife through him. Before she could decide anything, she had to know what the hell was going on, and why everyone seemed to know everything but her.
“You’re dead,” she said to Perry. “I indentified your body.”
A sick smile played over Perry’s mouth. How had she not noticed its cruel bent before?
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