Body Checked (Center Ice Book 1) (16 page)

I want to forget everything that’s happened so far tonight.  

Instead, I want to remember this: Sergei’s hands on my thighs, pushing up my dress. 

My mouth on Sergei’s throat, sucking at his warm skin. 

Sergei’s body pressed to mine, all muscles and hard planes, striking the flint of my yearning and sending my pulse soaring. 

He kisses down my jaw and the hollow of my collarbone, then suckles at the top of one breast. His thumbs swirl in a circle around my hipbones. I toss back my head, moaning, as he coaxes one breast out of the neckline of my dress and teases my nipple between his fingers. 

“You deserve so much better than me,” Sergei whispers. He grazes the edge of his teeth against my nipple, then pulls away, cold air rushing against my skin and raising gooseflesh along all my exposed parts. 

“But you’re who I want.” 

I climb onto his lap, straddling him, and reach down between us to run my hand along the length of his erection. I’m trying to sit carefully, trying not to put any pressure on his stitches. He winces at first, but his grin grows along with his lengthening shaft. 

“And you’re who I want. Always.” He glances up at me, expression serious. “I’ll do anything to defend you.” 

But you shouldn’t have to
, I want to say. 

Instead, I raise my arms over my head as he tugs away my dress. I shove down the waistband of his sweats, freeing his thick cock, and grip it firmly. He moans as I give it a few brisk pumps, then kisses me again, deeper this time, drawing me in with renewed hunger. 

I push my panties to the side and angle my hips over his. He shudders and groans as I slide onto him. Waves of pleasure course through me as our hips come together, my pussy clenching hard around him. Yes. I need this. To remember what really matters—Sergei. To forget everything else.  

I bite my lower lip as he thrusts upward to slam into me. Sergei’s face is one of sheer concentration, his gaze boring into mine as he drills me, as he clutches at my hips like a shelter in the storm. We surge, up and down, up and down, wordless and ecstatic and lost. Safe. Free. 

Sergei reaches between us and teases at my clit in slow, steady strokes, matching the pace of his thrusts. “Oh, god,” I cry out, back arching.  

He grins, slow and confident, as he pushes me toward the brink. “Come for me,” he grunts. Sweat trails down his temples as he quickens his pace. “Let me feel you. Every part of you.” 

He thrusts deep, penetrating into me, goading me toward climax. His fingers pinching at my clit seal the deal. I scream his name into the night and let everything fade away except for me and my Sergei. Nothing exists but us, in love, desperate, frenzied. 

Sergei comes too, bucking into me, hot juices filling me up. No condom between us now, thanks to the pill—just flesh on flesh, melded as one. As our cries diminish, he sinks back into the couch, and I sink onto him. We kiss once more, laughing as we do. 

“I love you. Truly. You make me want to do better.” He kisses my cheek. “You make me want to be free.” 

“You set me free,” I say. 

We sleep in a tangle of limbs, too exhausted and numb from the night’s roller coaster to stay awake and listen to our demons. But even my dreams are filled with fear. Of a wrench, crashing into my skull, pulling free with bits of my brain clinging to it. Of a swarm of Vladimir’s goons surrounding Sergei on the ice. Of hidden agents within the FBI, laughing at me for trying to save Sergei—laughing while they pull the trigger on a gun. 

I have to do something. I have to tell Sergei. Then, maybe then, we can have a chance to beat his brother at last. 

I wake up to an all-too-familiar buzzing sound—my Tuesdays and Thursdays alarm. Class. Ugh. I’m so not ready for class. For anything related to normal life—not after the surreal world I’ve been occupying for the past twelve hours, of mob hits and hot Russian hockey stars. I shove the pillow back over my head and drift away. 

Then wake up again. 

Something isn’t right. The alarm’s stopped, but I didn’t shut it off. Wait. What time is it? The sun’s too bright for an early November morning—it fills every corner of Sergei’s bedroom. Sergei. Where’s Sergei? The bed is empty beside me. 

I roll over to my other side with a creeping sense of dread. 

Sergei is slumped against the far bedroom wall, mouth open, jaw shaking. He’s staring down at something in his hands. Hot tears burn down his face. 

I realize with a punch to the gut what he’s holding in his hands. 

My phone. 

His gaze flicks toward me, sharp as a knife. “What the hell is this,” he seethes. His entire body quakes with barely contained rage. 

“What?” I cry. “What are you talking about?” 

“I tried to shut off your alarm. But your phone—it was open to your recorder—I wasn’t trying to snoop, but as soon as I opened your phone, it was right there—” 

The world falls out from under me. Only one word fills my head, ringing frantically. 

Fuck.
 

“You—you’ve been recording our conversations,” he whispers. Then, with a twist of anguish to his tone, “All of them.” 

“Sergei.” I sit up. I try to stand, but my legs won’t support me. “Please, Sergei. I can explain.” 

“I don’t
want
your explanation.” His teeth rattle together as he says it. “For recording everything. For these photos—all these photos of my files, my
personal
files—” 

“Please, Sergei, let me explain!” I cry. 

His fist tightens around the phone. For a minute, I cringe, terrified he’s going to crush it, or throw it at me. But that’s not Sergei. He drops it and buries his face in his hands with an agonized cry that tears at my soul. 

“What possible explanation can there be?” He’s speaking so softly I have to strain to hear. “You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me. This whole fucking time.” 

“It’s not a lie!” I cry. “It’s just—” The words fall out of me, heavy as lead. “It’s my job.” 

“Your job,” he echoes bitterly. His tone is harsher than a slap. 

“I told you I had an internship.” I stare down at my hands. I can’t bear to look at him—can’t bear to see that raw look on his face, that rage and hurt and betrayal all knotted up under his skin. “I just couldn’t tell you . . . who it was with.” 

“You
couldn’t
? Or wouldn’t.” 

“I couldn’t! They begged me—they, the FBI. And it wasn’t until after I’d already met you. I swear to you, this isn’t a lie, they just—they wanted me to try to persuade you, since we’d already met, and—” Fuck.
Fuck.
It’s all coming out of me in a jumbled mess. If I can just explain it right, he’ll see, and he’ll understand why I did what I did. Why I had no choice. Won’t he? He has to. 

“Persuade me to do
what
, exactly?” Sergei snaps. 

“To inform on your brother. To work with them to bring him down. Can’t you see? They can help you—
us.
They can help us. All they need is a little more information, and they can bring Vladimir down. Stop him for good.”  

It all sounds so stupid, though, when I say it out loud. The words tangle up in my throat. I feel like I’m choking, drowning in my own stupidity. How could I ever think this was a good idea? 

“They gave me no choice,” I continue. Like if I can just keep talking, eventually, he’ll understand. “If I didn’t go along with their plan, they’d kick me out of my internship.”  

Heat washes over me as I feel everything I’ve worked for—my one-year, five-year, thirty-year plans—crashing down around me. This is what I’ve always wanted. To work my ass off for the FBI, make Special Agent, break up some organized crime rings, feel like I’d done something good for the world. My parents left Brazil because the crime and corruption had gotten so bad, after all. In the
favelas
, they said you couldn’t tell the cops and government officials from the criminals because they were one and the same. I don’t want that to happen here. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. 

Until I met Sergei. 

“All this,” Sergei asks, “over a fucking internship?” 

“Look, I thought it’s what I wanted, okay? And I thought—I thought the FBI could help you, I honestly thought that I could convince you—but it never seemed to be the right time—” 

“No. I guess it never was.” Sergei pushes himself to his feet, muscles coiling and then stretching, rising to his full height to tower over the bed. “I’ll make this very easy for you. Jael—or whoever you are.” 

I cringe, wracked with shame. It aches like a bruise inside of me. 

“Leave,” Sergei says. “And don’t worry—you won’t have to worry about Vladimir coming after you now.” 

“Sergei—” 

“Because you mean nothing to me.” He curls his thick hands into fists. “You are nothing.” 

“Please,” I whisper, fighting back tears. “The FBI can help you. They can protect you.” 

He snarls and turns away from me. The long lines of his back bunch up as he suppresses his rage. “You think I haven’t tried before? My mother did, long ago. But the police, the agencies—the people who are supposed to protect us—they’re every bit as corrupt.” 

“I promise you, the Bureau isn’t.” is it? I try to shake off Vladimir’s ominous warning as tears burn trails down my cheeks. “We can find a way to stop him.” 

“You’re wrong. Everyone’s corrupt. The world is full of crooks, and it’s useless to fight it. Violent ones like Vladimir.” Sergei turns toward me, eyes narrowed to slits. “Liars like you.” 

I wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth. No. No. But I can’t defend myself. He’s absolutely right. Oh, god, why didn’t I tell him before? It’s too late, now. I’ve ruined the best thing in my life. 

Possibly
every
thing. My internship, my career . . . and Sergei’s chances at getting out from under Vladimir’s thumb. 

I lost. 

“No one can protect me,” Sergei says at last. “Least of all you.” 

“Sergei . . .” 

“Get out of my house,” he says, quiet and tight, voice thin as wire. 

I can’t argue anymore. I dress quickly, stuff my phone in my purse, and head for the door. One last glance back at him, curled inward on himself. But there’s nothing more I can do or say. 

I head into the November morning with ice for blood and a hole in my heart. 

“Fantastic. This makes it really easy for us,” Chief Ha says. We’re gathered around a conference table back at the FBI headquarters. Now that Vladimir’s no longer interested in me as a way to exert pressure on Sergei, my life has been black SUV-free. One tiny speck of an upside in my massive downward spiral. 

“We should have the warrant done in a few hours,” Steve or Jim or whoever the hell he is says. “Gives us plenty of time to reach the Eagles plane before their late-night flight departs.” 

Frederica jots down a few notes in her pad. Apparently, she takes back-up notes, just in case she finds the notes
I
take for her to be lacking. Yes, trust in Jael Pereira’s competence is at an all-time high these days. “We’re certain the plane is the vector the Drakonovs are going to use?” she asks. “There’s nothing else we might have missed?”