Bracing herself, she lowered her briefcase gingerly to the grimy oriental carpet and faced him down.
“You do realize, don’t you, that I can’t just go to St. Petersburg with you? This is an all-night train. As I’m certain you’re aware, my Ambassador’s country team meeting—which is a command performance—begins at 9 a.m. sharp.”
Victor stepped into the corridor to scan left and right, his Slavic features intent as he tugged off his muffler. When he ducked back in and saw her, hands braced on her hips as she glared at him, amusement flickered beneath his harsh visage.
“You’d better not be laughing, captain,” she warned him. “I’m not your faithful sidekick in this little adventure, brought along for comic relief.”
“You can get off at the next station, if you insist, and take the next train back,” he said patiently, slinging his backpack into the overhead compartment. The light ran like honey over his sun-streaked hair.
She supposed he was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Yet again he’d seized control and started making decisions for her. Just like her father, damn it. The only reason she was tolerating his high-handed behavior was the message from Washington burning a hole in her briefcase, the points Stu had asked her to deliver.
“Boarding this train without a passport violates the laws of your own government, Captain Kostenko, no matter whom you’ve bribed or intimidated,” she said stiffly, determined to make her point. Sounding just like the buttoned-tight, elite school hall monitor he’d once accused her of being. Although if he tried making that comparison again, he was going to regret it.
“Thanks to the unique possibilities offered by the Russian version of capitalism,” he said dryly, “I’ve taken care of that problem. So the provodnitsa won’t report it. You’re perfectly safe, Alexis.” Flickers of heat danced in his Nordic eyes. “Surely you must agree this train is a logical choice of venue for private discussion. I purchased these tickets at the last moment, and informed no one of our destination. Since this compartment was randomly chosen and we know it’s not bugged, we can speak confidentially, and at our leisure.”
Alexis couldn’t help glancing at the bed, though she tried to camouflage it by tugging off her gloves. Damn, it was stuffy in here, and of course the Russian-made window wouldn’t open.
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” she muttered, though she still wasn’t thrilled about playing fast and loose with the Russians’ rules. “I do have a rather serious message for you from my capital. Since we’re here, I suppose I should deliver it before I get off the train.”
“Wait,” he said curtly, eyes narrowing as he listened to the clunking sounds outside. A moment later they both swayed as the train jolted into motion.
She’d be getting off at the next station, she promised herself, as soon as she delivered her talking points. The captain adjusted his stance automatically, like a sailor on a heaving deck.
“You have your mobile phone?” he demanded. “Give it here.”
Sighing at his tone of command—please would go a mile, but no point telling him that—Alexis dug in her pocket and passed it over. She was disconcerted when he vanished with it down the corridor.
While she draped her coat reluctantly on the hanger provided, the clackety-clack of the train accelerated beneath her feet. Through the gauze-draped window, the yellow lights of Moscow blurred past.
Suspicion seeped into her brain like a narcotic. He could have abandoned her, set her up in here without her passport, phone or ticket. In Russia it was illegal to travel without the appropriate documents. But she had her diplomatic card, so they couldn’t arrest her, could they? At worst, she’d be expelled from country, but that would be bad enough. A disaster both diplomatically and professionally, the political equivalent of lobbing a hand grenade right at the President’s visit.
Before she could get seriously worried, the captain returned, slid their cabin door closed, and engaged the sturdy latch.
Fresh misgivings nibbled at her brain as she eyed his empty hands. “Are you finished with my phone?”
“Quite.” Somberly he met her gaze, but a trace of devilry lurked in his eyes. “I’m afraid it’s lying on the track behind us. Since it’s certainly bugged and traced, even when it’s switched off, you’ll understand that I had to get it off the train.”
“Off the train,” Alexis repeated blankly. “What the hell did you do—just toss it out the door?”
“No. I dropped it down the commode.” The bastard was definitely amused, that stern mouth twitching despite his grave expression. “You know where it all goes.”
“What?” she burst out. “That phone is the only way Washington or the Ambassador can reach me! Damn it, Victor, you can’t just—”
She stopped, because he obviously just had. “What about your phone? Forgive my suspicions, captain, but somehow I doubt it’s lying on the track with mine.”
“One presumes my telephone is also not clean.” He shrugged, since they both knew it couldn’t be. “Therefore, I left it at my apartment.”
“So we’re cut off,” she pointed out. Jesus God, he’d done it to her again. “That’s not the wisest strategy, is it?”
“Don’t get excited, Alexis,” he said calmly, shouldering off his coat. “I picked up a cheap model at the kiosk half an hour ago, and haven’t let it out of my sight. And I’ll buy you ten phones if necessary when we reach St. Petersburg.”
“I don’t need ten phones, Victor. I needed that one.” Gesturing in frustration, Alexis slumped against the door. “Honestly, I must be crazy. I don’t know what I’m doing here, embarking on yet another of your unorthodox adventures.”
“Perhaps you like them,” he murmured, closing in.
She plastered her back against the door, the alarm bells going off too goddamn late. Got her hands up just in time to hit the solid wall of his chest.
Her palms made contact with his battered gray fisherman’s sweater—probably something he climbed in. And she had to work like hell not to fantasize about getting him out of it. Especially when he rumbled like a Siberian tiger, one hand rising to smooth the tousled hair out of her eyes.
“Or perhaps it’s me you like.” His voice deepened, the tone that made her knees weak, eyes locked on hers like his life depended on it. And every thought of cell phones and country team meetings flew right out of her head.
“Can I hope for that, Alexis?”
“That would be a stretch!” she countered. He could probably see her heart jumping like a cartoon character’s, right through her cashmere sweater. “We agreed this wouldn’t happen again.”
“I never agreed to that.” He nudged up against her until her thighs slipped apart, until the bulge under his jeans bumped against her heated flesh. His voice dropped another octave, making her shiver. “To the contrary, I’m determined to change your mind. You’ve said it yourself, yes? What I want, I’m accustomed to getting.”
Alexis swallowed back a moan as her entire body yearned toward him, nipples chafing against his chest, sex aching for what she knew only he could give her. She couldn’t believe this was happening again.
“I know what you’re doing,” she blurted. Anything to stop him, even the stuff she knew she shouldn’t call him on.
“Then enlighten me,” he muttered, one hand wrapping around her thigh, snugging her up against him. He rocked into her heat until they both groaned. “Because I don’t have a goddamn clue.”
“It’s an easy call,” she panted, still struggling to clear her head. “I’m an instant thrill for an adventure junkie like you. One more rule for you to break.”
“You make me sound like a bloody playboy,” he growled. “And that isn’t it. For some damn reason, I’m trying to get inside your head, the way your ex-husband never did. Nothing conventional, nothing safe. Whatever it takes to get your attention. Whatever will stop you from holding back.”
Closing her eyes, she tightened her leg around him, dug her heel against his derr
iere. Gave in for a few heart-pounding seconds to what she wanted. God, he really could make her come in her camel wool slacks. But she couldn’t possibly afford to let it happen.
“Victor, you know this is crazy,” she whispered, moistening her lips. “We’re on opposite sides. For God’s sake, our predecessors couldn’t stand each other—even when they were screwing each other.”
“I gather it was a love-hate relationship.” He was so hard against her throbbing heat. She could smell the musk of her own arousal rising under the spicy tang of his cologne, mingling with the piney, outdoor smell trapped in his rough wool sweater.
“Once, now, right here,” he said thickly, as if they had to negotiate it. “Hard and fast. Later we’ll do it slow. Unzip me.”
The raw sensual shock of his words rolled through her, like the blast wave after a bomb goes off. Her fingers itched to feel the crisp denim stretched over his cock, ached to ease his zipper down and free him.
Knowing if she did that, they wouldn’t surface from each other for hours. It was that intense, whatever the hell this was between them. Now or never, she had to stop it.
“I know who you work for,” she said bluntly, without finesse.
His body froze against her, his hand tightening behind her knee, like maybe she’d just shot him. Her eyes flew open in time to see his chiseled features go blank. His eyes fixed on her like lasers, slicing through the pulse of sex between them.
Got you, she thought. But the triumph tasted like ashes on her tongue.
“I am an employee of the Russian Federation Ministry of Defense,” he said curtly, rigid and wary. “Seconded to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs—as you already know.”
So he’d lie to her face, even after they’d slept together, right in the middle of seducing her again. Guess it didn’t matter much to him, and she couldn’t afford to let it bother her, no matter how she really felt.
“You work for the SVR, the foreign intelligence arm of the former KGB.” And she had to overcome ten plus years of conditioning to say that out loud. Jesus, she could get fired for this. But she’d been aching to confront him with it, the lying bastard.
“You lived in my country and spied on my government for at least a year,” she breathed, “before they wisened up to you and turned on the heat. And you’ve been working with some success to compromise me since the night we met.”
His jaw clenched, but his face turned thoughtful as he released her. Held her steady until she got her feet under her and pushed him away.
She swallowed down the dregs of her own absurd disappointment. She’d known he was playing her, damn it. Then sat on her bunk and hunched to pull off her snow-caked boots. Anything to hide the stupid tears that stung her eyes.
“Yes, and no,” he said finally. Not a denial, obviously, and he was still towering over her.
“What’s the matter, captain?” she asked bitterly, with an upward glance. “Can’t keep your story straight?”
Apparently she’d hit a nerve, since he threw her a brooding look. He hunkered on the opposite bunk, elbows propped on his denim-clad thighs. Upset as she was, she couldn’t resist sliding an appreciative eye down his body.
Had to give it to him—the guy looked amazing even when he was slumming. With his powerhouse physique clad in faded jeans, clunky boots and that battered charcoal sweater, he looked every inch the rugged adventurer. Except for the gleam of stainless steel from his diving watch, you wouldn’t think he had two kopecks to rub together.
So the guy was a chameleon, like most agents. But he still wore that air of authority like a second skin. And he was still calling all the shots—a dynamic she needed to change right now.
“I don’t work for the SVR,” he said gruffly, “or any other intelligence agency. Not any more.”
“But you did once, didn’t you?” she whispered.
Once a spook, always a spook, she knew that as well as anyone. Sometimes Russian intel disemboweled their prey, but more often they relied on slow suffocation. And they never let anyone walk.
The tense silence was shattered by a brisk rap on their door that almost sent Alexis through the roof. But it was only the provodnitsa making her rounds: punching tickets, selling tea and linens for the bunks. Curtly Victor dealt with her, got their tickets stamped without any awkward questions about Alexis’s missing passport, sent the attendant bustling off for glasses of tea served piping hot from the samovar. Then he ensured they wouldn’t be disturbed again.
By the time they were alone, Alexis had gotten a grip. Looked like she was on this train for now, since the attendant had just told her the next stop was half an hour away. She curled up near the window and put her briefcase next to her, legs tucked beneath her as she sipped her scalding tea.
She’d always known Kostenko had to be more than he claimed, hadn’t she? She’d always suspected the presence of some ulterior motive for all the attention he’d paid her. She’d known before she ever slept with him that she was making a terrible mistake, letting yet another man behind the driver’s wheel of her life. Yet even that hadn’t stopped her.
“They approached me when I lost my command,” he said abruptly, tossing his silver teaspoon on the table with a clatter. “Offered me a chance to prove my loyalty to the Motherland after my father’s so-called crime.”
“And you agreed to do it,” she said numbly. Couldn’t believe he was actually admitting it. This had to be part of his game, didn’t it?
“Not at first.” His mouth tightened in a mirthless smile. “Initially, I declined their ‘invitation.’ Until they promised to use their particular resources to investigate my father’s death, and the sinking of the V.I. Lenin.”
Don’t trust a word he says. He’s just confessed to being one of their goons. Yet she couldn’t drag her eyes away from his inward-looking gaze, and the bleakness she saw there.
“Did they keep their promise?” she probed, when the silence stretched.
“What do you think?” He scowled into his tea. “They said whatever they had to in order to bring me on board. When I realized the truth, I wanted out. But they would never have allowed me to simply quit.”
“My God,” Alexis breathed, sudden insight flashing through her like the northern lights. He was way too smart to get tripped up the way Geoff had told her. “Did you—you wanted to be discovered and expelled from Washington, didn’t you? You blew your own cover.”
“It isn’t advisable to discuss the particulars. But your CIA caught me with…what is that charming expression...‘my hand in the cookie jar?’” His lips twisted in a mordant smile. “Due to my diplomatic immunity, of course your government couldn’t arrest me. But they could revoke my visa and expel me from country—a process they lost no time to initiate.”
“So you were expelled,” she said flatly.
“Not precisely. I left before your government could formally expel me. Which left my agency to disavow all knowledge of my actions and cut me loose.” He shrugged. “It’s the cost of doing business for an agent, yes? Since my cover was blown, they can never use me again.”
Well, that was convenient. And they’d just let him walk away? She gave him a skeptical look.
“As you can plainly see,” he finished, “I tried to play by their rules. And as usual, I wasn’t rewarded for it.”
As she replayed his words in her mind, she knew he’d confessed to nothing. No specifics on his misdemeanor, no identification of the ‘agency’ for which he’d worked. Was he working to establish plausible deniability, or just practicing the well-known Russian custom of covering his ass?
“Of course, I knew too much for them to let me go completely.” Clearly, he’d followed her thoughts. “And, after my rather spectacular transgression, certainly the navy was not prepared to give me another command. So they assigned me to the M.F.A.”
He uttered the acronym like three foreign words, his nostrils flaring in contempt. His words picked up tempo and spilled into Russian.
“And even th
at ladies’ tea club barely tolerates me. I am that renegade Ukrainian who lost his command. The traitor’s son. The so-called loose cannon who blasts holes through their precious procedures.”
She couldn’t let him manipulate her again. Couldn’t allow herself to feel compassion for his dilemma. Still, was it any wonder the guy’d become an embittered loner? He’d been one of their most brilliant and talented captains, and however you looked at it, the system had screwed him.
“What about your father?” she asked quietly. “Did they give you nothing to explain his accident?”
“They told me he was a traitor whose shortcomings were best forgotten.” He grimaced, as if the words tasted foul. “So much for the collective wisdom of their so-called intelligence. But I will not accept this! My father lost his life on their goddamn boat, and he deserves more from the Motherland than slander and infamy. Now that I’m back, I’ve taken the matter into my own hands.”
“Oh? And how is that?” she said cautiously.
Knowing she’d already edged past that line in the sand, that their discussion about intelligence and the sinking of a Russian sub was too damn risky.
Victor was scowling out the window, where their reflections floated in amber light against the blackness. He had her where he wanted her—dangerously exposed in a discussion on sensitive matters—if his goal was to compromise her. But she still wanted to hear the rest of it, these rare clues to the man and his enigmatic past.
“I’ve contacted my father’s closest comrade,” he said. “The one man he might possibly have confided in before he put to sea. The man who was once my own mentor. The dean of the naval academy in St. Petersburg, Admiral Pavel Germanovich Grachev.”
“Then I take it he’s agreed to see you?” she guessed. “This is why you’re going to St. Petersburg.”
Though it didn’t explain why he wanted her there.
The Russian Seduction Page 13