To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (17 page)

Robert turned to her when they were making arrangements to leave. “Ready to go? I’ll drop you off.”

Before Jessica could respond, Stephan blurted out, “I think you live close to my hotel. Can I offer you a lift?”

She hesitated, leaving him to think that maybe her attention had a different meaning, one he had not identified. “Lift…? Oh…ride, right? Sure.” She stumbled over her own words, blushing at the confused look he threw her.

The drive to her home had been made with a few casual words of conversation and tons of electricity passing between them. He parked in front of her townhouse and turned the engine off. He squinted in the bright sunshine reflecting off the hood of the car as he turned to face her and collided with her clear blue eyes focused on him with a mix of curiosity and humor twinkling in them. The air in the car was a livewire of attraction within the confines of the small space. His eyes strayed to her mouth and she parted her lips as if she could feel his gaze caressing the soft skin of her full lips. He wanted to touch them more than he ever wanted anything before.

“Will you walk me to the door?”

He frowned at her comment, since that was something a date would do. It took him a few seconds to organize his thoughts. “Of course.”

He climbed out and rounded the car to help her. He then followed her to the front door, keeping a safe distance from her, insulating him from the sensual aura she exuded. It evoked the mating call of yesteryear, leaving him wanting to thrum his fists against his chest to gain her attention and privileges. He shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t Tarzan and she sure as hell wasn’t Jane. The faster he could deposit her safely indoors and leave, the better off he’d be.

Jessica rummaged through her purse and pulled out her key. Smiling brightly at him, she cocked her head in a graceful feminine way that would knock any man to his knees at her feet. He was no exception. “Thank you for the ride. It was really nice seeing you again. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other, now that Cassandra is your pseudo-niece.”

The reminder of the age difference wasn’t purposeful, but it hit the spot. He shied away. “If you ever come to visit her in Ireland, I guess we will see each other. I don’t come to the States often and have no reason to come back to California.”

A small cloud billowed across her eyes but quickly dissipated. “Well, then you have to give me the pleasure of enjoying one last drink with you, since I won’t be seeing you again until my first visit to Ireland. It might take a while. How about you come in and have a drink or a cup of tea with me? I am curious about Brennan Enterprises and the technology you develop there.”

The reference to business caused him to pause. Maybe he misinterpreted the whole thing. Maybe, all this time, she was just curious about the business, the products he helped develop as interim president of the company. He didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. But that gave him an excuse to stay a little longer, soak up more of her, her presence, her scent. To capture images of her in his memory. “My flight leaves tomorrow, so I’m in no rush. I’d be happy to join you and discuss what we do at Brennan.”

She unlocked the door and he followed her in. The minute the door closed behind them, the air shifted and became charged like that of an oncoming electrical storm. She turned, and when their eyes locked, it was as if a billion kilowatts had been delivered straight to his cortex. As they stood face to face, wickedness filled her eyes, carrying the promise they had delivered the day before—a promise of caresses along his body that had driven him to a painful arousal.

One minute they were simply staring at each other—her eyes travelled to his mouth and her tongue moistened her lips as if she could taste him on them. In the next, she pushed him against the wall, wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, and captured his mouth in a hard kiss.

His mind went blank, devoid of any coherent thought but the taste of her, the feel of her against him, the heat of her skin against his. He dug his fingers into her hair, cupped the back of her head, and took control of the kiss. A moan escaped her as she reached between them, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. Mouths sealed together, they pulled and tugged at clothes, removing layers until skin met skin. She flung her bra over her shoulder and bared her breasts—soft skinned, pink-tipped nipples, engorged with desire for him—to his eyes.

Their frenzy paused for a delicious moment as he took in their beauty and, almost reverently, covered them with his hands. A deep moan vibrated low in her throat. “I want you.” Her eloquence triggered another onslaught of urgency. Mouth on mouth, tongues swirling, dancing, her hands touching his chest, cupping his face, combing through his hair. His blood coursed hot and fast in his veins and he felt alive. More alive than he had imagined to be, more alive than he had dreamed.

He grabbed her by her hips and pressed her against him, the bulge in his pants a clear demonstration of what she did to him. Her little moans and sighs with each touch and nip of his teeth drove him beyond any clear thought. He was so close to losing himself in her allure.

And then, she slipped her hand inside his slacks, circling his cock with eager fingers. The shock of her touch snapped him from his dreamy state. He realized how far they had gone, how much damage he had done. He thrust her away from him, keeping her at arm’s length. Taking a deep unsteady breath, he leaned back against the wall, heaving and trying to regain control of himself and his thoughts.

“Stephan?” Her desire-laden eyes widened and filled with questions.

“No.”

“But—”Her eyes showed the tortured dullness of disbelief.

“No, Jessica. We can’t be.” His voice was strangled, raw. There was nothing left to be said. That single sentence said it all.

Pain filled her eyes and his heart by proxy. He grabbed his scattered clothes and slipped into his disheveled shirt as he struggled to open the door. He kept his eyes averted. A single look could have destroyed his determination to leave. Without another glance, he walked out and closed the door behind him. He all but ran to the car, leaving behind the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Stephan downed another gulp of whiskey and set the glass on the side table. He was a dumbass of the biggest kind. He had done wrong by everybody in his need to keep his heart safe. He’d used Terese as a buffer, in hopes of dimming his memories of Jessica, to find solace by taking a safe road, one with no fiery emotions involved. But Jessica’s colorful and vivid image couldn’t be erased from his mind. In fact, the distance of the last months had enhanced his fantasy. The little taste he’d gotten only left him wanting more of her, like a thirsty man who had been given a sip of water and left to wander parched in the middle of a desert.

The best thing to do was to walk away, let her think the worst of him, hate him if she would, but he couldn’t. Stephan knew he was between a rock and a hard place. “Fuck!” He raked his hair with his fingers and, resting his elbows on his knees, dropped his head in his hands.

His mind went through all of the items on his emotional fuck-up list. He had loose ends to tie off with Terese. He had to make it up to her somehow, smooth things for the sake of the friendship they had developed over the last months.

Most of all, he had to find a way to deal with Jessica. First, he had to stop lying to himself. He wanted her. He inhaled a sharp breath at the realization. Was he willing to move forward with it, knowing where it would end? Could he train himself to withstand the blow when it came down to it? All for the opportunity of enjoying her presence and the pleasure of her body? It didn’t take him long to understand that he had crossed that line long ago. He would risk it all. He just wasn’t sure his heart would survive the impact this time around.

Rage Inside

I
N THE EARLY HOURS OF the spring morning, the streets of St. Petersburg crawled with the commuter crowd. The brisk northern cold air still lingered, forcing people to huddle in their winter coats for a little longer. Puffs of hot breath mingled in busy bus stops as ruddy-cheeked Russians found their way to work.

The café was a bustle of activity as patrons stopped in for a quick morning coffee or roll. It was a luxury still limited to the privileged in a country that had seen many changes in the last twenty years. From deep-rooted socialism to an emerging capitalist market, Russia was growing fast and taking giant footsteps on the playing field.

Yet corruption still reined free and, based on the growing influence of the criminal underground, was not close to coming under control anytime soon. The old country had its homegrown flavor of the mafia. It was spiked with the hardest vodka one could find. Throughout the decades, the government had initiated several projects to handle and control fraud and corruption within its thick walls. Each had failed at some point or another and morphed into the next-best idea.

The new country had become a capitalist version of the old. The gap between the rich and poor had widened, and those left with very little option on how to survive each and every day were easy pickings for the bigger fish.

Nikol Petrovna took a last drag of her cigarette and flicked the butt to the sidewalk. The server clicked his tongue and gave her a disgusted look. She shrugged. It was a nasty habit, one she had struggled to abandon many times in the past. What used to be a two-pack-a-day habit was now down to a stick. Her cravings surged each time she went undercover and she used that one a day as a relaxation moment, time to put her thoughts in check. Considering she had very little time to relax and let her guard down on a regular basis, she’d be damned if she would let anyone spoil her one vice. When she achieved her goal she could quit. All of it. The force and the habit. But until then, she would do what had to be done to keep her sanity.

She lifted her cup in the direction of the server and raised her eyebrows. At her demand, he retrieved the carafe and refilled her cup. She nodded and wrapped her hands around it in an effort to absorb its soothing warmth. The cup was overly hot to the touch, but the burn was better than having icicles for fingers.

Over the rim, she stared at the file spread out before her. Her eyes hardened and her mouth tightened into a grim line. She intently traced the features of the man in the mug shot on the dog-eared page. His features were as familiar to her as her own fingerprints. Very much so. For the last five years she had kept tabs on him. Followed the progression of his features over the years—each new wrinkle, each new crease added to her memory bank.

Rage flooded her insides, fizzing and bubbling like lava. A rage that had burned deep in her soul for a long while. An inferno that had grown over the years since her mother confided her story. It had taken years in the service for Nikol to reach that point, years as an underling, years of careful planning, pain, and abuse among the filthiest underground organizations peppering the country. But now, everything was within her reach.
He
was within her sights. Finally.

She glanced at the crystal face of the Mondavi watch gracing her wrist. “Fuck!” she murmured under her breath.

She would be cutting it close. She flipped the page of the file and grimaced as the deep steel-gray eyes stared back at her. Sergei Deminov was an unexpected complication. She studied his image. It was nothing like him. The mug shot was placid, just a snapshot of a second of the man’s life; it did not translate the heinous aura that bled from him. Up close and personal, the six-foot-two Siberian was a force to be reckoned with.

He was also a womanizer—she had seen women fawning over him in nightclubs. Granted, some would consider him handsome with his chiseled cheekbones, broad lips, and tight muscular body sculpted during his many stays at state-run prisons. But she knew better: he was a monster. Her mouth filled with the raw and bitter taste of bile each time his slimy hands touched her. His interest and possessiveness was a surprise even this early in the game. She hated how he often stated that she was the perfect fit for him. That she was as hard and cold-hearted as he was. What scared her most was that he could be right.

So far, she had been able to fend off his sexual advances, but he was becoming more demanding and forceful. That was fine with her, because now that she had him hooked, he would unwittingly help her accomplish her goal faster—he was her ticket into the organization. The reason she had been put through the most grueling hazing those last few weeks. She was determined to pass the initiation and be welcomed into their den even if it meant….