Kissing My Killer (27 page)

“It’s okay,” said Alexei. “We’re downwind of it.”

I cannot be doing this. I cannot be crouching in a bush in a party dress trying to sneak past a guard dog.

I held my breath as the guard walked past. I couldn’t help noticing that he wasn’t some aging, overweight guy in a cheap uniform, but a muscled, six-foot-plus Russian thug with a bulge under his suit jacket. There was a very real chance of getting shot, if this went wrong.

As soon as he’d passed, Alexei ran to the fence and cut a flap just large enough to squeeze through. The storm that morning had made the ground muddy and I had no idea how I was going to crawl through without getting filthy, but then Alexei unfolded a tarpaulin and placed it beneath the hole. I crawled through and he followed. He bent the flap of fence back down, folded up the tarp and shoved it under a bush and there was no sign anyone had entered.

“You’re good at this,” I whispered.

He looked guilty, then grim. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

He took my hand and ran with me towards the mansion—a huge old place built of stone, with warm light spilling out of every window. There were plenty of people already inside but more were still arriving: a non-stop procession of limos crept past the entrance, disgorging their passengers before making way for the next. Meanwhile, a stream of Lamborghinis, Ferraris and Aston Martins swept past us, heading for the parking at the rear of the mansion. Alexei had been right about the wealth on show...and everyone did seem to be in a couple.

We crept along the house to a side door—it was ajar, but I could see a guard just beyond it, standing with his back to the door to prevent any guests going through it.

Alexei flattened me against the wall. “It’s time,” he said. “Ready?”

I shook my head.

He smoothed my hair and then ran his hands down my body. Despite my fear, a rush of heat blazed out from everywhere he touched. “It’s just acting,” he said. “That’s all it is.”

I glanced sideways at the door, my breathing starting to speed up. I’d never been much good at acting.

He put a finger under my chin and gently turned my head so that I was looking at him. “I’m some Bratva gangster,” he said, “and you’re my American girlfriend.” And then he leaned in and kissed me, a kiss that started slow but quickly turned heated and urgent. His tongue plunged into me, finding mine, while his hands slid down over my bare shoulders. I squirmed against him.
I’m his American girlfriend.
I could do that.

He started to move, backing towards the door while he kissed me. He kissed my jaw and then my throat, his hands sliding down to my ass. He pulled me hard against him just as he opened the door. I had my eyes closed, lost in what he was doing to me. He took my lower lip between his teeth and bit gently, drawing a groan from me. Then I felt one big hand slide all the way down between my thighs, cupping my groin through the tight fabric of the dress—
Oh my God! What’s he doing?!

“Hey!” An angry voice with a heavy Russian accent. Alexei must have backed right into the guard, pretending that he didn’t even realize he was there.

I kept my eyes closed. My breath was hitching faster and faster, both from fear and from what Alexei was doing to me.

“What?” snapped Alexei. I imagined him glaring at the guard with that sub-zero gaze I knew so well. He had the palm of his hand hard up against my groin, the heel grinding against my clit while the fingers rubbed at my folds. Since I wasn’t wearing panties, the silky material of the dress rubbed right against my naked flesh. My legs weakened and I began to pant, my hips moving helplessly in response to Alexei’s touch. I knew that the guard was right there behind my closed eyelids, close enough to touch, staring right at me—

The guard’s voice faltered a little. “You’re not supposed to be out there!”

Alexei didn’t apologize or attempt to explain. He kept backing up, pushing past the man and into the house. “I’m taking her upstairs,” he said.

“The other floors are closed off!” the guard said quickly. Through the haze of pleasure, I realized what Alexei had done—he’d given the man a new problem to think about, jumping ahead before he had time to ask what we’d been doing outside.

“Then we’ll find a bathroom!” Alexei snapped. And he led me away, one hand still massaging my groin, the other now cupping my breast. My whole body was throbbing with adrenaline. The fear and the excitement had twisted together and become something else, now, the pleasure thrashing and whipping inside me, dangerously hot. My cheeks were flushed and I was glad my eyes were closed. I didn’t know how many people were watching us but, from the murmured conversations around us, it was a lot.

Alexei walked me out of the room and into a hallway and it was only then, when we were leaning against a wall, that he released me. “There,” he said with satisfaction and a hint of lust. “Not so difficult.”

I opened my eyes and stared at him for a second, then grabbed his face between my hands and kissed him hard, venting all of the tension as violent, scalding lust. He returned the kiss just as hard, then looked at me with hooded eyes. “Let’s find Konstantin...” he said, his voice thick with need. He left the rest of the sentence unsaid:
...and then I’ll take you home and…

I nodded quickly.

We joined the flow of people passing through the hallway so that it didn’t look as if we were skulking around. I grabbed a couple of champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed one to Alexei. We moved into the next room and I caught my breath.

The room must have been eighty feet long but the vaulted ceiling and the huge expanse of polished wooden floor made it seem even bigger. It was full of people dancing and talking: men in tuxedos and women in—

Alexei had been right about the dress. Mine was tame compared to some of what I saw. I heard some of the women chattering away in Russian while some had American accents, but all of them wore similar things—lots of leg, lots of cleavage or both. Clearly, rich Russian men had very specific ideas when it came to how they wanted their women dressed. And yet, at the same time, the huge room and the waiters with their trays of champagne gave the party a classy feel. Some of the couples were even dancing to music from a string quartet.

Alexei nudged me and pointed to the quartet. “Konstantin got the idea from Luka. They’re always trying to outdo each other.”

“So they’re enemies? Or just rivals?”

He thought about it for a second. “Just rivals. The families aren’t at war with each other. Konstantin keeps mostly to St. Petersburg and Luka keeps mostly to Moscow. But…”

“What?”

“This is the Bratva.
Just rivals
still means you have plans in place to kill each other. Should the need arise.”

I gave a little shudder. “Jesus.”

He jerked his head. “Come on. Let’s find Konstantin’s poker game.”

We threaded our way through the crowd, passing an elaborate ice sculpture and a cocktail bar. I was still trying to get used to the sheer amount of money that was evident. From what I could overhear of the conversations—at least, those few that were in English—there were CEOs and even politicians at the party. Anyone who could help Konstantin out with a favor, back home in St. Petersburg or here in New York.

We were heading towards a doorway. I could see a hallway beyond and, at the end, a door that led into a smaller, dimly-lit room. I glimpsed the circular green baize of a poker table, but most of the doorway was blocked by two guards. And these ones didn’t have their guns hidden under their jackets like the one we’d seen outside: the both had sub-machine guns across their chests.

“We need to get in there,” muttered Alexei. And he took a step towards the doorway.

“Are you
nuts?”
I squeaked. I grabbed his arm and steered him to the side. “They’ll recognize you—correct?”

“Probably,” he growled.

“And shoot you before you’re halfway down the hallway!”

He scowled at me, but nodded. I succeeded in towing him away from the doorway and over to a quiet corner where we were hidden by the crowd.

“Okay,” I said. “What was your plan when you were going to assassinate him?”

“Sniper rifle, from the bushes.”

I winced. “Not all that useful if we want to talk to him. Did you have a backup plan?”

He sounded almost offended. “Of course. Sneak in like this, with a woman—”

“Wait. What woman?”

He flushed. “A prostitute. I was going to hire one for the night.”

“Oh.” Now
I
flushed. And felt oddly, irrationally jealous. I didn’t want to think of him with someone else, even if it was just for show.

“Konstantin would leave the poker table to take a break and mingle. But the woman would meet him and tell him she was a gift, sent by Vadim. She’d tell him she was his, for the night.”

“Vadim does that? Sends call girls as...gifts?”

“Many men do. It’s well known that Konstantin has certain...tastes.” He looked embarrassed, as if those tastes weren’t suitable for my ears. “He only accepts a few of these women, though—he only wants the best. The others, he just sends away.”

“Arrogant bastard!”

“So I was going to hire the best call girl I could find and have her throw herself at him. If he liked her, he’d take her downstairs—”

“
Down
stairs?” Who had their bedroom in the basement?

“Yes. Downstairs, he has a—” Alexei wouldn’t meet my eyes again. “Anyway, upstairs is heavily patrolled by the guards but it’s easier to get downstairs. I’d sneak down there ahead of them and be waiting when they walked in. And then…”

I nodded quickly. I didn’t want to think too hard about what he’d planned to do then.

“Neither plan is any use tonight,” Alexei said. He looked towards the poker room. “Maybe rushing them is the best option.”

I felt my chest tighten. “There’s got to be a better way. We have all evening.”

Alexei looked around and I could see the worry on his face.

“Will the guests recognize you?” I asked.

“Probably not. The guards, yes, but not the guests. But if we start talking to them...”

I could see what he meant. Most of the guests seemed to know each other—everyone was kissing each other’s cheeks and swapping gossip. They were going to spot us as outsiders in about three seconds if we tried to mingle. The only people
not
talking were the ones—

“We have to dance,” I said.

Alexei went through a number of expressions very quickly. Bewilderment. Realization. Horror. “I don’t—” he started.

“I don’t either.” I put our champagne flutes down on a table and grabbed his arm. “But it’s better than nothing.”
Better than him just storming into the poker room and getting shot.
Maybe it would give us time to come up with a new plan.

I had to almost drag him onto the dance floor. That at least meant that I didn’t have time to get nervous. It was only when we reached the edge of the big, open space and everyone looked round at us that I stumbled to a stop.
I have no idea what to do!

Everyone else was dancing as if they did this every day, twirling around the floor in couples. It seemed to involve a lot of sliding your feet around without stepping on each other’s toes. I had a suspicion it might be a waltz.

“This is not a good idea,” muttered Alexei.

“Just do it,” I whispered. “It’s not possible for you to be any worse than I am!” And I pulled him into a gap and—

Uh oh.

I’d massively underestimated how fast everything was moving. We were meant to be spinning around in a couple while also moving in a big circle, keeping pace with everyone else. That alone was difficult enough, never mind trying to actually do the footwork or fit it all to the music. I grabbed his hands and tried just spinning around and around, but that just looked stupid. Then I tripped over my own feet and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed me.

“I told you,” he growled. His whole body was tense with embarrassment—this was way, way outside his comfort zone.

He was right. It had been a terrible idea. Now everyone was looking at us, which was exactly what we didn’t want. “Umm...” I said, worried, and looked up at him.

And something happened. For some reason, me saying
umm
seemed to have an effect on him. His face softened.

He grabbed my hand, put his other hand on my back and started to—

I blinked and then gaped as he started to haul me into the right steps. “You can
dance?!”

His cheeks reddened. “My grandmother made me learn,” he said. “When I was a child.”

I still had no idea what I was doing, but he was big enough and strong enough that he carried me through it. With a lot of looking down at my feet, I eventually managed to figure out the footwork, and soon I was only stepping on his toes every other beat.

We meshed with the pace of the other dancers...and disappeared into the dance. The people who’d been looking at us turned away and we both relaxed.

The feel of it changed. I knew we were still in danger, knew we were just doing this to stay concealed, but...
I was with Alexei.
Dancing the waltz at a lavish party. It was the most romantic thing we’d done together and I was blown away by how
right
it felt. I’d missed all this, hiding in my apartment. I’d nearly missed
him.