Red Midnight (11 page)

“Flattery, Sergei,” Jarod laughed. How could he appear so pleasant when he was practically breaking her collarbone? Erin wondered. She was thoroughly stunned when he continued with, “Well, Sergei, you wished to meet my fiancée. You have done so. What do you think?”

The Russian’s deep brown gaze focused with warmth and apparent humor on Erin. “I think, my friend,” he said with soft appreciation, “that you will not have to try very hard to find happiness. And I think, too, Jarod Steele, that although you have been so very secretive, you must still bring this exquisitely lovely creature to the dinner at my apartment this evening.” Erin once more found her hand gallantly enveloped by the Russian’s. “You will come, Miss McCabe, won’t you?”

“I …” Erin began to murmur, wondering desperately why Jarod didn’t come to her aid. Why didn’t he simply tell the truth? Surely this man, whoever he was, would forgive Jarod’s ruse to help her over the border. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Alexandrovich, but Jarod and Í haven’t had much time yet to discuss anything …” She allowed her voice to trail away with one of her best smiles. She didn’t wish to offend the Russian, but she did want Jarod to clear up the mess he had created.

“No problem, darling,” Jarod said with disgusting calm. “It’s a small dinner, not an affair of state. I should have mentioned it to you earlier. Sergei, Erin certainly shall attend with me. You see, we had been intending to keep our engagement a secret awhile longer. I’m afraid when I mentioned it to Nicolai at the border that I forgot to mention that fact.”

“Marvelous,” Sergei responded, true enthusiasm shining in his dark eyes. “Then I am the first to congratulate you!”

“Oh, that you are,” Erin murmured, managing to maintain her smile through bitterly clenched teeth. A sharp strengthening of the fingers around her shoulder blade informed her Jarod didn’t appreciate her dry comment.

Evidently finished with the business of dinner, Sergei turned to Tanya, who was a little overwhelmed to find her tourist such a subject of attention. “So,” he said, “how far has the tour gone?”

“St. Basil’s, sir,” Tanya murmured, collecting herself quickly. “We have discussed some history—”

“But not yet viewed Lenin or entered the Kremlin walls?”

“No.”

“Then we shall begin together.”

Erin was at long last relieved of Jarod’s hold as Sergei Alexandrovich politely slipped his arm through hers and started toward the black marble mausoleum before the red brick wall which was the shrine and tomb of the revered Lenin. Lines of people waited to enter; the viewing of their great leader was a pilgrimage taken very often by many of the Soviet people as well as by the burgeoning tourist trade. But apparently Sergei was important. He was greeted with the utmost propriety, and he and Erin—with Jarod and Tanya close behind—were led immediately to the front.

Moments later Erin was viewing the face of the great Soviet leader of the Revolution, specially preserved and shielded by the crystal of his sarcophagus. The experience was chilling—as awesome as that of watching the guards change before the tomb.

“You shiver,” Sergei commented as they returned to the crisp and cold daylight. “You do not approve?”

“Well …”

“Speak honestly, Miss McCabe.”

Erin laughed, strangely touched by the dark eyes of her escort. “Okay, honestly, Mr. Alexandrovich, I’m not much on open coffins to begin with!”

“Ahhh … but he is magnificently preserved, don’t you think?”

“That I will agree with.”

“Our scientists spend three to four days each week assuring that he will last the century and more. But you are right, Miss McCabe—viewing the dead can be a morbid experience. Come, I shall take you into the Kremlin.”

Within the triangular high brick walls of the Kremlin were ancient towers and palaces and the buildings that housed the Soviet government.

Erin quickly discovered that she was being given much more than the average tour. She was treated to many palaces and the museums therein, a recital on the furs and jewels that had belonged to the czars, and a discourse on the many fine bells that were a pride of the Kremlin, and she was escorted into a number of the guarded contemporary buildings.

Her mock engagement, she thought wryly, was proving to be beneficial to her in many areas. But why, she wondered, was Jarod taking it so far? The benefits were hers. What possible good could come his way?

And yet, from a certain standpoint, Erin was also enjoying a new view of Jarod Steele. He was capable of being a very charming companion. As part of their foursome, he appeared to be as pleasantly involved in touring as Sergei; his knowledge was no less complete. It was he who explained to “Darling” that wood walls had stood upon the site as early as 1156—the present brick had been installed between 1462 and 1505. His smile and his touch were excruciatingly pleasant.

He must be about to bust a gut! Erin thought with a certain amount of vindictive relish. Attempting to chastise herself for such thoughts of vengeance, she simply gave up. Mr. Jarod Steele had laughed at her discomfort one too many times for her not to appreciate his at this moment.

But just how uncomfortable was he? She was discovering that Jarod could handle her with apparent intimate affection and yet not think a thing of it while she still felt the mercury chills from the slightest brush of his fingers.

The group parted before St. Basil’s where Erin and Tanya had begun the day. Erin was more convinced than ever that Sergei Alexandrovich was definitely important when he informed Tanya that since Miss McCabe seemed to so enjoy her, he would arrange with her supervisor to have her guide Erin for the remainder of her stay in Moscow. Tanya seemed awed. Erin was aware that Tanya was dying to know just who she was to deserve such attention.

No one, Tanya, Erin thought. This is as startling to me as it is to you.

Sergei offered to drop Tanya off at the Intourist office, and Erin and Jarod were finally left alone.

“You can let go now,” Erin said dryly. Jarod still had his arm around her waist.

His response was none too complimentary; he dropped his arm as if he had touched a hot potato.

“Come on,” he said briefly. “I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

His stride was long and hurried. Erin was breathing so hard that she was unable to question him until they reached the long carpeted hall that led to her suite. Then, panting, she began in spurts.

“You really should tell me what’s going on. Who is Sergei Alexandrovich? And why did you let him believe in this farce? Just because a nasty border guard—”

He stopped and spun before her door—so quickly that, as was becoming usual, she plowed into his broad chest. His hands caught her shoulders; his eyes became the blue icefire that she knew far better than the gentler look she had seen during the day.

“There isn’t a damn thing ‘nasty’ about Nicolai. He was simply performing his duty. This is his country, madam, not yours, and you shouldn’t be here to begin with. I’ve warned you this is the U.S.S.R.—not the Côte d’Azur. Sergei Alexandrovich is a top party adviser. His expertise coincides with mine. He works with English-speaking tourists and handles the fiascos created by those who foolishly or purposely break Soviet laws.”

Erin felt tears sting her eyes at his icy rough treatment. It was an especially difficult pill to swallow after his forced—but dear God, almost believable—gentle amicability of the day. Why do I care, she wondered? I know him for what he is. And she would never allow him to see that a thing he said or did daunted her.

“Then please, Mr. Steele,” she bit out as he released her to slip her room key from her grasp and slide it into the bolt, “would you mind telling me why you are allowing this ridiculous charade to continue? I am leaving the city in one week, the country in two. Isn’t it going to be a bit embarrassing when two mature adults break off an engagement that quickly?”

He paused for a moment, dropping the room key back into her hand. His eyes rose to meet hers, crystal blue, glacially challenging. How on earth was it possible, Erin wondered, for eyes to appear so deathly cold while also giving the impression that they burned with all the intensity of hell? “Are you suffering from this, Miss McCabe? I would think a woman who tells me she is fascinated with history and people would sincerely appreciate this opportunity to come closer to the reality of the situation.”

Erin was determined to hold her own. “Mr. Steele,” she sighed with a great deal of patience, “I do appreciate this opportunity, and of course I’m not suffering, but—”

“Good,” he interrupted curtly, “then let me do the rest of the worrying.”

“But—”

Jarod had pushed the door open and ushered her in. As soon as she had entered and spoken, she felt his hand come from behind her and clamp firmly over her mouth. Before she could protest, he had spun her around until she nestled hard against his chest, painstakingly aware of the heat that radiated like a furnace, of the vital thundering of his heart, of her own.

Terror hit her in wave upon wave. If she had been free, if she hadn’t been frozen in panic, she would have screamed and screamed; her mind went back in a bolt of memory so strident it was crushing; it took her back.

He must have sensed a fear deeper than the obvious. He must have known, instinctively, something about her; he was aware he should have warned her before he had so roughly subdued her.

“Trust me, Erin.” His voice was a whisper of silk. “Go along with whatever I do. Please! Trust me, trust me….”

Trust him. She was incapable of trust. He didn’t understand …

Jarod had expected the microphone. It was, in fact, rather insultingly blatant. But were they also being filmed? He felt her shaking and realized it was rather understandable. She was being half attacked, but her fear of him was going beyond that, he thought with a jolt. She could really panic, she could create a hell of a mess.

“Erin … !” He put all the assurance he could into the whisper.

She stared at him, her lips parted to speak.

He shook his head at her in warning, then began to ease his hold on her mouth. But he didn’t simply release her; the action became a display of tenderness so provocative it left Erin stunned and trembling within his arms. His fingers moved caressingly over her lips, shaping them, parting them, finding the moistness within and sliding over them once again with a touch tantalizingly damp.

Erin held perfectly still, hardly able to breathe. It registered dully in her mind that his performance had been such that, had they been seen, it would have appeared that it had all been done in passion, rather than with a firm determination to shut her up.

There was certainly a motive behind his actions, a calculated motive. What the hell was going on? she wondered desperately. Why was he doing all this, whispering so only she could hear, acting out this charade which was so devastating to her?

Her realization that he had a motive did nothing to alleviate the devastating effect upon her. Instinct flared; her first panicked thought was to fight, but the force of his arms and that intangible strength in his eyes held her mesmerized even as an instinct more shattering overwhelmed that which had surfaced first. She was dimly aware that his heat was transferring, transfusing to her. The mercury aroused by his touch riddled through her in tiny laps of flame that dizzily titillated, leaving her weak, breathless, and pliant as she suddenly found herself lifted into his strong arms and carried through the suite into the bedroom.

A tidal wave of panic resurged as her body hit the softness of the mattress. But he was stretched beside her, a powerful leg draped over hers, even as she attempted to bolt. His hand slid into her hair, soothing and caressing as his head burrowed beside hers and his whisper found her ear. “Stop it, Erin,” he murmured, so softly that it was but a breath of air searing a new jolt of tingling flame against the sensitive flesh of her throat and lobe. “I’m not going to hurt you. I simply don’t want our relationship doubted…. Nod if you understand.”

She didn’t understand; she hadn’t understood a damned thing since she had incredibly collided with him on the train.

But she couldn’t talk; she couldn’t move; she was still struggling just to breathe. It was as if her insides had crumbled. She had no strength, no consistency. She was terrified, she was trembling and burning, alive with anticipation, feeling the heat of him, encompassed by the scent of him, aware—oh, so terribly aware—of the power that stretched beside her, of the fingertips that threaded her hair, of the lips, breathing seduction against flesh with nerves stripped bare.

“Erinnnn …” he whispered.

She felt her head move in a jerky nod.

The prize was sitting before her again and she was panicked. Something cried out to her that she had to fight. But still she stayed quiet, shaking now like the leaves blown by winter winds. She closed her eyes, she swallowed, and then she simultaneously felt several things … the agonizingly soft caress of his fingers over her cheek down the column of her throat, his mouth moving sensually from her ear to her lips, touching them, grazing them with his teeth, parting them and firing to deep and demanding passion.

His body pressed ever closer to hers. She could feel the crush of her breasts against the rock-hard and yet giving strength below the fabric of his shirt and jacket. The clothing was there, between them, and yet it was as if the burning touch of their bodies had melted the barriers that separated them.

His hands began to move, subtly trailing a path beneath her open coat, discovering the firm mounds of her breasts, fondling, grazing the nipples sensuously through the fabric until they hardened to his touch, seeming to stretch for more.

A gasp caught in Erin’s throat, smothered by the increasing plunder and demand of his tongue, intimately seeking deeper and deeper, cajoling, compelling, hungrily commanding response.

Erin still fought the panic. She trembled as if tiny earthquakes riddled her slender frame. But also still within her was that instinct which overwhelmed all others … primitive, essential. Her hands rose, her fingers dug into the fabric of his shoulders. But they didn’t ward him away. They simply gripped to help her ride out the storm and she realized dimly, very dimly, that she was reaching out to him, arching to his hands, against his hips, against the sinewed length of his thighs.