The Professional (3 page)

In my doorway, gazing down at me with smoldering eyes.

Broad chest heaving as he gnashed his teeth.

Muscles tensed as if he was about to fall upon me.

I squinted through the haze. Surely my muddled mind was imagining this? Was I
that
drunk? I was right at the razor’s edge of coming, my toes already curling. As I met his mesmerizing imaginary gaze, my sneaky finger decided to give my clit one more shudder-inducing flick.

He exhaled sharply, big hands opening and closing. His expression said that he was about to seize my body and eat me up, bit by little bit.

So close . . . Then it registered that he was
actually
standing in the doorway of my bathroom.

The Russian had broken into my house and was spying on me, like some psycho!

I shot upright, drawing a breath to scream, but he cut me off: “Cover yourself, Natalie.” His voice was rough, his brows drawn tight. “We need to talk.” With a vile curse in Russian, he strode off.

Cover
myself? Talk?

Night-stalker-serial-killers didn’t say shit like that!

I was so confounded, I couldn’t manage a scream. My mouth moved, but no words came out. I scrambled from the tub, reaching for a towel, and secured it around me. Even in the midst of this turmoil, I hissed in a breath as the terry cloth rubbed my nipples.

Casting around for a weapon, I plucked off the cover of the toilet tank, hefting it over my shoulder in a batter’s pose. From the safety of the bathroom, I called, “I don’t know what you’re
doing in my house. But you need to leave
now
. Or I’ll call the cops!”

“I was sent here by your father,” he replied from my bedroom.

I swayed, and my makeshift weapon faltered. Considering his Russian accent—and the timing—I knew he had to be talking about my biological father. Still I said, “My dad died six years ago.”

“You know that’s not the one I’m referring to.”

In a rush, I demanded, “What do you know about him? Who
are
you? Why did you break into my house?”

“Break in?” Scoffing sound. “Your key was under a plastic rock. For anyone to find,” he added in a chiding tone. “Your father is a very important—and wealthy—man. He’s assigned me to be your new bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard! Why would I
need
one?”

“Anyone in a family with a ten-figure net worth”—I gasped at that—“needs protection.”

“You’re saying he’s a . . . billionaire?” Was I getting punked? Maybe that was in rubles or something.

“Correct. His name is Pavel Kovalev. He just learned of your existence a short while ago, through the investigator you hired.”

I now knew my father’s name.

I’d initially wanted to learn about my birth parents because I possessed an overdeveloped sense of curiosity. Then it had occurred to me that I might have gotten my sense of curiosity
from
my parents.

After that, I’d imagined a man and a woman in their forties, mired in endless wondering about the child they’d given up to a Russian orphanage twenty-four years ago. The thought had pushed me to take on yet another job, to keep digging relentlessly. I’d searched not just for my sake, but for
theirs
.

But he’d never known I existed? Then I frowned. “My investigator? Zironoff? He hasn’t returned my e-mails or calls.”

“He was made aware that we would be handling this internally going forward.”

“Oh.”
Thanks for the heads-up, dickwad
. At least I hadn’t gotten ripped off again. No, I’d . . . succeeded.

After six years of searching.

I tottered from shock—and residual tequila. I returned the tank cover to its spot before it dropped on my head like a cartoon anvil. “If you’re my bodyguard, then why were you spying on me in the bath?” I snagged my pink robe, hastily swapping it for the towel. “Huh?”

Silence. When I didn’t hear
anything
, I had a weird spike of panic that this man—a new source of answers, an alleviator of curiosity—had vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. “Are you there?”

Trying not to think of how short my silk robe was—and what he’d just caught me doing—I poked my head out of the bathroom; no sign of him. So I cautiously padded toward my room. “You didn’t answer my question. Hey, why are you in my closet?”

He emerged from the walk-in. “Where is your luggage?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I didn’t have real luggage. I’d packed for school in laundry baskets and boxes.

He raked his eyes over me in my robe, lingering on choice parts of me. Seeming to shake himself, he snagged my sizable book bag, dumping library books on the floor.
The History of Sexuality
,
The Boundaries of Eros
,
A Thorn in the Flesh
.

“What the hell, Russian?!” If he’d noticed the titles—my general field was the history of women and gender—they didn’t faze him.

When he tossed the empty bag to me, I barely caught it. “Pack necessities only. Everything else will be provided for you.”

I gaped down at the bag then back up. “I’m not doing anything, not until you tell me where you think I’m going. And why this can’t wait until tomorrow. For all I know, you could be a human trafficker!”

“And
this
would be my m.o.?” He exhaled with a kind of surprised impatience, as if no one had ever argued with him before—as if he’d done this to a hundred other girls, and every one of them had started packing with a
Yes, sir
. “My name is Aleksandr Sevastyan. Call me Sevastyan.” Like Sebastian with a
v
. “I’ve worked for your father for decades. Kovalev is keen to meet you.” He added almost to himself, “I’ve never seen him so eager.”

“How can he be sure I’m his daughter? Zironoff could’ve made a mistake.”

“Nyet,”
he said, enunciating a hard no. “You offered up your DNA. Kovalev already had his on file. There is no mistake.”

“If he’s so eager to meet me, why didn’t he come himself? Why not just call me?”

“As I said, he is a very important man in Russia, and at present, he’s caught up with work concerns that can’t be handled by anyone but himself. He trusts me implicitly.” Sevastyan moved to my bedroom window, peering out between the blind slats with the same wariness I’d noticed in the bar. “If you pack a bag and get on a plane with me, he will meet you at his estate outside Moscow in less than fourteen hours. This is your father’s wish—one I
will
be carrying out.”

My manalyzer might be cocked up, but my bullshit detector was still pinging clear; against all odds, I was starting to believe this guy.

Reality began to set in. “But I’ve got shifts tomorrow.” Which I wouldn’t need if my search could
end
. “And my classes!” As soon as the words left my lips, I felt silly. What would this towering, tattooed Russian understand about a Husker’s advanced degree? What would he care?

Surprisingly, he said, “Your schooling is important to you. We understand this. But your father wants you in Russia now. Not next month or next week. You leave tonight.”

“Does he always get what he wants?”

“Without fail.” Sevastyan checked his expensive-looking watch. “Our flight leaves in an hour. I’ll explain more on the way to the airport.”

Airport? Flight? I’d never been on a plane. Yet I could be in Russia in less than a day.
Don’t think of the postcards, don’t think . . .

Even Jess had never been to Russia!

Then I straightened. “Again, what’s the rush? And news flash—I don’t have a passport! How am I going to get into Moscow without one?”

“I’ll work that out. It’s not a problem.” Sevastyan shut off the lamp beside my bed, dimming the room.

“How can that not be a problem?” I glanced at the tattoos on his scarred fingers and had a sinking suspicion, but tried to ignore it.
Nope, not possible . . .

“I understand that all of this is a lot to take in. But things are different for you now, Natalie. Some rules . . . no longer apply.”

I squared my shoulders. “Not good en—”

“Let me make this simple for you,” he interrupted. “I’m walking out of this house in five minutes. You can either walk out with me, packed and dressed, or leave in that little robe”—his piercing eyes swept over me, over my nipples pressing against the silk—“thrown over my shoulder. Your choice.”

His tone and bearing left no doubt that he was dead serious about kidnapping me. This ruble-billionaire’s bodyguard was going to finish his job—period. Still, I dared another question. “Why haven’t you said anything about my mother?”

When his eyes narrowed, I again got the impression that not many people challenged this man.

“
Four
minutes.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “I can’t just sign on for this, Sevastyan. Not without more answers.”

“Which I promise you will get when we are under way.”

Worst case scenario: if I didn’t like what he had to say, I could run from him at the airport, straight into the arms of security guards.

Sevastyan crossed to stand in front of me. The soft light caressed his hard features. They were almost
too
masculine. His rugged jaw was wide, the bridge of his aquiline nose slightly askew, giving him a roguish look. But on the whole, he was devastatingly attractive, with that dangerous aura about him.

“You must trust me, pet,” he said as he reached forward to gently grasp my chin.

At his touch, that dizzying heat filled me once more. It was just the liquor at work, I assured myself, or exhaustion catching up with me. Or my unsuccessful bath time.

“You know my intent isn’t to harm you,” he murmured. “Otherwise, I could have led you from that bar earlier, taking you somewhere for us to be alone.” My breaths went shallow at that. “Would you not have left with me?”

In—a—heartbeat.

He leaned down to say at my ear, “That’s right,
Natalya
. You would have followed where I led.”

“Um . . . uh . . .” I was still recovering from the sound of my
name in his raspy accent when I felt his warm breaths. Oh, God, had his lips ghosted over my ear? If his scent and heat had affected me, this grazing contact made my legs weak.

He drew back, expression inscrutable. “So why don’t you stop acting like you haven’t already made up your mind to come with me.”

“P-pardon?”

“You were decided as soon as you heard the words
Russia
,
father
, and
go
.” His firm lips thinned, making that razor-slice scar whiten.

“That’s not necessarily true—”

“Time’s up, pet.” He bent down to loop an arm around my ass, hoisting me over his shoulder.

“P
UT ME DOWN!” I screeched, wriggling over the Neanderthal’s shoulder as he strode out the front door. Cold air swept up my robe, chilling me in unfamiliar places. “You can’t do this!”

He tightened his grip on my ass. “Doing it.” His tone was casual; he wasn’t even out of breath.

Another futile round of squirming. “Please put me down. We’ll go back inside”—
I’ll run away
—“and then I can pack, just like you said.”

Three passersby ambled down the sidewalk, huge no-neck guys in letterman jackets. Husker football players! They stopped and gawked.

Hanging upside down, blood rushing to my head, I opened my mouth to scream for their help—then hesitated. Did I believe what Sevastyan had told me? Was I dealing with an overbearing asshole of a bodyguard—or being abducted? If I screamed, the jocks would kick Sevastyan’s ass, which wouldn’t help me get to Russia—

This decision, just like the previous one, was yanked out of my
hands. Sevastyan turned to face them, slowly shaking his head. Whatever look he gave them made three massive football players
hotfoot the other way
.

As they vanished, I pounded on Sevastyan’s back in frustration, stunned to feel a holster. He was carrying a gun! I didn’t have time to register my shock before he was shoving me into the front passenger seat of a luxe Mercedes.

As soon as he shut the door, I lunged for the handle, but he’d already clicked the lock, holding it down with the remote.

At his door, he gave me a look of warning through the window. He knew he’d have to release the lock button to get in, giving me a chance to escape. The unlock game. I would time it perfectly, reflexes like lightning—

Shit! He’d opened his door, then jammed the lock button back down before I could open my side!

He slid his big body into the car. “Better luck with that next time.”

“This is kidnapping!”

“I told you my intentions. Gave you a countdown.” He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “Understand me, Natalie, I do exactly what I say I’ll do. Always.” He smoothly executed turn after turn, as if he knew this town as well as I did. “And right now I’m telling you that I will get you safely to your father in Russia.”

“How do you think you’ll get me through airport security like this?” I waved my hands to indicate my robe. “I don’t even have my purse!”