The Russian Seduction (20 page)

“That is so untrue,” she said coolly, feeling obliged to put him in his place. Even if his disdain for the rules secretly turned her on. “You’re a domineering tyrant, and I happen to prefer well-mannered men.”

“Is that so?” he growled, shooting her a look through those narrowed, sexy-as-hell eyes that turned her knees to jelly.

As the
provodnitsa’s
high-pitched tirade intensified, Victor unlatched the door and offered a conciliatory remark to the distraught matron, the burning cigarette still dangling from his fingers.

Judging by the woman’s level of agitation, Alexis figured he was lucky she wasn’t smacking him about the head and shoulders with her handbag. She’d seen it happen in Moscow to a guy making too much noise at the symphony.

While the
provodnitsa
continued to scold, gesturing at the cigarette with mounting fervor, Victor slung his coat around his shoulders.

“I’m going outside to finish my smoke,” he said wryly to Alexis. “Since it doesn’t appear that anything less will placate her. Stay here with the door latched until I return.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” she muttered, as her own frustration came crackling back. She was sitting on this train in the middle of the night without proper documents because this man insisted on it. Why was she letting him call the shots?

Suddenly she realized he was still looming in the doorway, watching her with a frown, his Slavic features serious.

“Are you going to stay?” he asked softly. “I’ll make it right with the authorities about your passport.”

She ought to tell him she was disembarking at the next station. She needed to leave a message for the Ambassador and tell him where she was, at least, though she wasn’t about to wake him in the middle of the night.

Yet Victor had given her a little space, asked her what she wanted instead of issuing commands for once. Like maybe he’d actually heard her when she’d called him a domineering tyrant.

“I don’t know, Victor,” she murmured, staring up at him.

Where you’re involved, I can’t seem to figure out what I’m supposed to do.

No, that wasn’t true. She knew perfectly well what she was supposed to do. She just couldn’t seem to make herself do it.

CHAPTER NINE

Victor’s smoke took quite a bit longer than Alexis expected. Maybe he’d decided to visit the dining car, or do a quick reconnaissance of the other carriages.

Or maybe he’s setting you up. Here you are, without a passport or MFA permission to travel. You could be reprimanded or even expelled from country. If that happens, you can kiss your ambitions goodbye.

Although she could always argue—truthfully—that the Ambassador had encouraged her to cultivate the captain’s trust. Perhaps that alone was sufficient justification for her continued presence on this train. Certainly, it was the only reason likely to fly in Washington if this fiasco exploded in her face.

The only problem, of course, was that she’d be lying to herself.

Despite the worries churning in her gut, Alexis felt her eyelids getting heavy. By now it was well past 1 a.m., and she’d put in her typical twelve-hour workday. And though she hadn’t wanted to admit it to Victor—wanted to make him work for it—she knew she’d be going with him to St. Petersburg.

If the Ambassador agreed, she’d accompany Victor to his meeting with the dean of the naval academy. Anyway, if she managed her time efficiently, she could kill two birds with one stone in St. Pete. She needed to coordinate with the U.S. Consulate about this presidential visit, for which there simply weren’t enough hours in her day to prepare….

Heaving a sigh, she curled into a comfortable position and switched off the reading light to rest her eyes.

She must have dozed off, because she woke when the cabin door slid open, and a brief flash of light from the corridor spilled over her legs. When she realized she’d forgotten to latch the door, a finger of cold slid down her spine.

Instinctively, she held still, watching through slitted lids as a big-shouldered man slipped into the cabin, shrouded in a coat and low-pulled cap.

The intruder eased the door silently closed behind him and engaged the bolt, locking them into the cabin. Now her only illumination was the pale wash of moonlight through the lace curtains. It illuminated the burly frame in his overcoat, but shed no light on his face.

Alarm spiked through her, constricting her chest, making it hard to drag enough air into her lungs. She barely managed to remain still under the coat she’d pulled over herself. Watching the intruder through a centimeter of vision, Alexis slipped a hand into her pocket and laced her keys through her fingers. Now the jagged metal teeth protruded between her fisted knuckles.

When the intruder bent over her, an inky silhouette against the moonlight, she knifed into an upright position and sent her reinforced fist shooting straight for his jaw.

A sweeping forearm knocked her blow aside.

“
Christ
,” Victor hissed. “I thought you were sleeping, goddamn it. Are you trying to disfigure me? Or is this your way to ensure I respect you in the morning?”

“I’ve asked you before to
stop sneaking up on me
.” Irritation made her voice sharp as she sat up, tugging down the cashmere sweater that had ridden up while she slept. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Up and down this train, if that’s acceptable to you, Ms. Castle.” Cold air emanated from his clothing as he slung his parka across the opposite bunk, the movement sharp with annoyance. “Trying to get a look at our fellow passengers, yes?”

“I’m sorry for almost punching you,” she murmured, getting her breathing under control. “Did you, ah, see anyone we know?”

“Unfortunately, many cabins are locked up tight—as ours should have been.” Despite the darkness, she felt his narrowed gaze.

“Well, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said defensively, smoothing back her sleep-tousled hair. “Would you like me to drop and give you push-ups?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Was it just her dream-fuddled imagination, or was that a grudging apology she heard in his tone? No, surely not.

“That wasn’t a bad punch.” He tugged off his cap and tossed it on his bunk. “You’re very quick. Studied a bit of Chinese boxing, haven’t you?”

“A bit.” She shrugged. “And I’d still like to see
you
spar someday. Seriously, though, do you think we’re being followed?”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Which is why we boarded two minutes before the train left. I don’t know if our comrades made it aboard. With any luck, they didn’t.”

“But if they guessed our destination—your destination—it’s only an hour by plane to Peter.” Alexis used the city’s shorthand name, like the Russians did, and heard him grunt in agreement. “If they can find a flight, they might actually beat us there. So what’s our plan?”

Despite her efforts, her voice was wavering, and she cursed herself for betraying nerves. As hard as she was working to handle this situation like an old pro, she was operating way outside her comfort zone: traveling through the Russian countryside without a passport, under probable pursuit, with a likely intelligence officer from a hostile power as her only backup.

“For now, we do nothing.” Victor hunkered down before her and caught her shaking hands in his. The rasp of his cold, stone-roughened skin against her sleep-warmed fingers sent a shock of awareness arcing through her.

“I’m not sure I like that plan,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his. Just until her heartbeat steadied, though she knew she shouldn’t. “Doing nothing really isn’t my style.”

“Don’t worry, Alexis. You’re in good hands,” he murmured. A shaft of moonlight slanted across his features, limned the strong line of his jaw. Outlined the sensual curve of his mouth, only inches away. “I’m going to take care of you.”

She’d never considered herself the type of woman who needed a man to take care of her. Geoff had always hated her independent streak, which was half the reason she’d divorced him. His infidelity, of course, had been the other reason.

Yet it didn’t stop this poignant ache of longing that rolled through her, the dangerous instinct to entrust herself to Victor. It didn’t stop her from leaning toward him, breath spilling out in a gasp. Didn’t stop her when their mouths fused together. Hungry, heedless, his lips so cold but his tongue so wickedly hot. The dry spice of his cigarette mingled with the bite of cognac.

He kissed her like the future of democracy depended on it. Like her mouth was an unexplored land, and he was sinking his flag. Like there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be, and she was all the woman he’d ever need.

Desperately she tried to remember all the reasons she didn’t trust him. He’d just admitted that his loyalties lay with Russia, that he’d worked for the SVR. But the Ambassador had encouraged her to get closer—

Then Victor’s cool hands slid beneath her sweater and eased up her back, sending sheets of gooseflesh rippling over her skin. Alexis forgot all her convoluted justifications on what was happening between them. With a stifled moan, she slid forward on the bunk, opened her knees to admit the lean muscled hardness of his body.

“Damn it, Alexis,” he groaned against her mouth, deft fingers finding the bra-strap stretched across her back. “I can’t get you out of my head. I thought if I slept with you…but it wasn’t enough.”

“Wasn’t it?” The prickle of painful self-consciousness swept through her. Hastily she turned her face away, feeling his sweater’s rough weave against her cheek. Her eyes searched the darkness, seeking the reassurance she’d probably never find.

They’d never discussed who else he might be seeing. Their involvement—sporadic and complicated, with every inch of terrain fiercely contested on her part—had never held room for relationship questions. But she’d never been enough for Geoff, had she? Never even close to it.

“Was it enough for you?” he said huskily, echoing her thoughts in that uncanny way of his, as he unhooked her bra. “How long since you’ve had Geoffrey Chase or anyone else in your bed?”

“It’s been, ah, long enough.” Audibly her breath caught when his hands found her breasts, stroking her nipples into aching peaks. Twin bolts of craving zagged through her, hitting right between her thighs. She tightened her legs around him and arched into the throbbing pulse of hunger, head falling against the scratchy backrest of her bunk.

God, she wanted him inside her, and right now she didn’t care what that would mean for her career. For once in her life, she wanted to take a risk. Experience one wild, out-of-control adventure before she laced herself into the concrete straightjacket of a life-long commitment to diplomacy.

“Alexis.” His jaw rasped against her neck, sent goosebumps skittering across her skin. “Does this mean there’s no one else? Tell me.”

She ought to say there was, or else state convincingly that she wasn’t looking and preferred to be alone. But then he’d know she was lying. He’d know it because she’d wrapped her legs around him, damn it, and was digging her heels against his tight derriere.

“Just you,” she whispered, her throat tight and aching. “For the moment.”

Meaning only for tonight—she couldn’t promise anything more. Between her knees his body tightened, bristling.

“Shall I thank you for fitting me into your busy schedule, Ms. Castle?” he said coolly. “It must have been quite difficult to clear your calendar.”

But she turned her head to nip his ear, a little flicker of savagery she knew would urge him on. With a muttered curse, he pulled her sweater over her head, the cool air hitting her overheated skin. Her demi bra fell away—a crimson silk special from Agent Provocateur, though she’d tried not to think about why she’d chosen the provocative lingerie.

Then he leaned over her, eased her back on the narrow bunk, crawled on top of her like he belonged there. His lips seared across her breasts, knowing just what turned her on. So she definitely wasn’t protesting when he unzipped her slacks and slid them down her hips.

Instead, she locked her legs around his waist and got her hands under his sweater, pulled it off him. God, he was gorgeous, moonlight gilding the planes of his chest, edging the bands of muscle across his shoulders. Defining the bulge of those luscious biceps, the taut pull of sinew at his waist.