The Professional (4 page)

“We’re going to a private airport. And by the time we land in Moscow, you’ll have all new clothes brought to the jet.”

New clothes? Jet? Was he serious?

His gaze landed on my legs, on my half-bared thighs. And
with that one dark glance, my skin flushed. I couldn’t help recalling the way he’d looked down on me in the bath.

Like a hungry predator eyeing tender prey.

Like I was already a caught thing, his to enjoy. I shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “You look . . . chilled.”

Chilled? Oh. Because my nipples were still jutting. Yes, I was cold, but my body was also suffering the aftereffects of my foiled masturbation attempt. To be so close, drawing in on myself . . .

In some ways, I felt the same now. Tense, drawn, my skin prickling with awareness each time he looked at me.

When I didn’t answer him, Sevastyan turned on the heater, and hot air blasted against my chest, over the hypersensitive tips of my breasts. I nearly yelped when I felt the seat warmer toasting the cleft of my ass. In the close confines of the car, I got another hit of his mind-numbing scent.

So much stimulation. Could he see me trembling?

Once we were on the main highway heading out of town, the car purring along at eighty miles per hour, he commanded, “Put on your seat belt.”

I didn’t like this tone at all, heard it constantly at my server jobs. “Or
what
?” I narrowed my eyes. “And did you really call me
pet
earlier?”

“When I tell you to do something, it’s in your best interest to do it,
pet
.” Without warning, he reached over to yank my seat belt into place, roughly grazing my breasts with his forearm, filling my head with his scent. I squirmed on the hot seat, feeling dazed by this arrogant man.

I remembered one time when I’d been written up for public intoxication after a football game; I’d been mentally yelling at myself to sober up, willing myself to recover my wits so I could talk the cop out of the expensive citation.
Stop chuckling, Nat, and
answer the nice officer! Not OSSIFER, dumbass! Do NOT touch his shiny, shiny badge, do not—DAMN IT, NAT!

I felt like that now: under the influence.

Sevastyan affected me in a way I couldn’t shake. I was experiencing a bewildering attraction to him, some inexplicable connection.

And no matter how bad an idea it was, I kept wanting—metaphorically—to touch his badge.

No, no, no—I needed to concentrate on getting information out of him. “Do you keep your promises, Sevastyan?”

“To you and your father alone.”

“You promised me answers.”

His hands tightened on the wheel, those sexy rings of his digging into the leather. “Once we are on the plane.”

“Why not now? I need to know more about my parents.”

He didn’t deign to respond, just monitored the rearview mirror with that wary alertness.

I remembered his earlier demeanor, checking the street through my bedroom blinds. “What’s up with this paranoia? We’re in Lincoln, Nebraska; the most dangerous thing that’s ever happened here was when this Russian asshole kidnapped an unwitting co-ed—
in her robe
.”

The speedometer hit triple digits.

“Are we . . . are we being followed?”

Another glance into the rearview. “Not at present.”

“Which indicates we might have been in the past—or perhaps could be in the future?” This was too bizarre. “Am I in some kind of danger?” Questions about my parents and past faded as dread about my immediate future surfaced.

With reluctance, he said, “Kidnapping for ransom is always a fear.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t buy that. What you just described sounds like a
chronic
problem, or a theoretical one. Yet you broke into my house and demanded that we leave in five minutes, which sounds like an
acute
problem. So what happened between the time I saw you in the bar and the time you entered my home?”

Sidelong glance. “I think you have your father’s cunning.”

“Answer me. What happened?”

“Kovalev called and gave me the order to get you on a plane. Which means it’s as good as done.”

A sudden thought struck me. “How
long
have you been my bodyguard, Sevastyan?”

“Not long,” he hedged.

“How—long?”

He hiked his broad shoulders. “A little over a month.”

And I’d never known. “Have you been following me around? Watching me all this time?”

A muscle ticked in his wide jaw. “I’ve been watching
over
you.”

Then he would know me better than I could even imagine. So what would a man like him think of me?

When he turned off the highway at an obscure exit, I cried, “Wait! Where are we going? There’s no airport out this way. Not even an executive one.”

“I had to arrange an alternative departure point.”

Alternative? I’d promised myself that if I didn’t like his answers, I’d flee into the arms of a security guard. I’d gotten no answers, and now had serious doubts about running into any guards.

After a few miles, he turned onto a dirt road that bisected a cornfield. We drove and drove until a clearing appeared ahead,
what looked like a crop-duster airstrip. At one end, a jet awaited, beacon lights flashing, engines radiating heat in the night air.

To take me to Russia. This was all . . . real.

Sevastyan parked near the jet, but didn’t open his door. “I understand you have questions,” he said in a milder tone. “I’ll answer any I can when we’re in the air. But you must believe me, Natalie, you won’t regret taking this step. You’ll enjoy your new life very much.”

“New life?” I sputtered. “What are you talking about? I happen to enjoy my current life.”

“Do you, pet?
You
sought
him
,” Sevastyan said. “Relentlessly. Something was driving you.”

I glanced away, unable to argue with that.

“And now you’ll never have to work again, can buy anything you like. You can travel the world, see all the places on those postcards on your refrigerator.”

My dream. “This is a lot to take in, and I don’t like making big decisions under pressure.”

“Will it suffice for you to know that Kovalev is a good man, and he wants to make up for all the years he’s missed with you?”

“If our situations were reversed, could you take this step?”

He nodded easily. “When I first started working for Kovalev’s organization, I trusted that my life would be better with him in it. I’ve never regretted my decision.” He must’ve seen I was still unconvinced. Exhaling with frustration, he ordered, “Just stay here.”

He climbed out of the car and crossed to the jet with long-legged strides. The pilot—a tall, muscular blond in a uniform—met him at the bottom of the stairs, gesturing and speaking heatedly. I caught the cadences of Russian, but couldn’t make out the words over the humming engines.

Out of habit, I surveyed the man, noting that his well-worn belt was cinched tighter than its regular notch and his shoes were meticulously polished. Recent illness? Lots of downtime? Then I saw his hands, saw the same kinds of tattoos that marked Sevastyan’s fingers.

At that, my niggling suspicion couldn’t be stifled. I’d studied all aspects of the land of my birth enough to know about the Russkaya Mafiya—and how they favored tattoos like that.

And really, what were the odds that a billionaire over there
wasn’t
tied to organized crime in some way? Not to mention that Sevastyan had kidnapped me, with the intention to smuggle me—passportless—into the country. How could somebody do that without a shady, look-the-other-way bribe?

Had I scrimped and toiled and searched, only to connect myself to a mobster?

The pilot continued to vent. My thoughts continued to race.

Then silent, menacing Sevastyan took one ominous step forward; the pilot backed down, hands raised.

A single step had cowed that big pilot. Maybe Sevastyan could’ve taken those three jocks. Because he was dangerous.

And he wanted to drag me into his world.

Follow the chain of logic, Nat.
If Kovalev was
mafiya
, then no good could come of this hasty midnight jaunt to the motherland.

Did I believe I was in some kind of danger? Maybe. Did I trust Sevastyan to protect me? Not more than I trusted myself.

At that moment, I decided to
decline
the “new life” that some strange man on the other side of the world envisioned for me. If Kovalev wanted to talk to me, he could pick up the phone!

And Sevastyan? I still felt that bewildering attraction to him, that weird sense of connection. I forced myself to ignore it.

With him occupied, I cracked open my door and slipped
outside. I drew my robe tight, stealing closer to the cornfield. Naturally the one night I needed to escape the mob, the moon was a bright ball in the sky. At least the field would provide cover. This close to harvest, the stalks were tall and dense, the leaves lush.

Almost there. My breaths smoked. Almost—

“Natalie,” Sevastyan bellowed, “do not run!”

I took off in a sprint, charging into the rows.

C
orn leaves slapped my face, raking my hair. My bare feet kicked up loose soil.

How much of a head start had I managed? Was he already crashing behind me?

“Stop this, Natalie!”

I gave a cry. My God, he was fast! I’d felt like prey before; now I literally was. This man was running me down, bent on capturing me! I dug deeper, sprinting even faster—

One second I was fleeing at full speed, the next I was flying. He’d lunged for me, snagging me around the waist. At the last instant, he twisted and took the impact on his back, crushing stalks beneath us.

“Damn you! Let go of me!” I struggled against him. Like fighting a steel vise.

Before I could blink, he’d flipped me to my back onto a mat of leaves.

“Get off me!” I battered his chest with the bottoms of my fists.

Huge and furious above me, he wedged his hips between my
legs, snagging my wrists in one big hand. “Do not ever run from me again.” The moon shone down on him, highlighting the tight lines of his face. He seemed to be grappling with his fury, drawing on some inner iron control.

“Let me go!”

Over the familiar scents of rich soil, fragrant crops, and cold night, I detected his scent: aggression and raw masculinity. His shirt had gaped open, and I could see more of his skin, with the edge of another tattoo just visible past the material.

“Sevastyan, release me.
Please
.”

At that word, his grip on my wrists loosened a degree. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Only to protect you.” Behind that inscrutable mask, so much was going on, but I could read so little.

Under the moonlight, his prominent cheekbones shaded his lean cheeks. His collar-length black hair gleamed like a raven’s feather, the ends tripping across his jawline. Wavering almost hypnotically.

“You must remain with me,” he grated, his gaze on my lips, his brows drawn tight. He looked like he was struggling not to
kiss
me.

Kiss? What was happening here? Confusion began to drown out my panic; I had nothing to draw on as a reference for my predicament—because I’d never been in a situation like this.

A sexual situation I didn’t control.

I was embroiled in dangerous circumstances with a mysterious stranger, but I felt no fear. I felt . . . anticipation. And I suspected the lack of control was fueling it.

Was danger turning me on? The tension between us seemed to shift; as smoothly as a machine switching gears, my confusion
morphed into hazy heat. I hadn’t known I had this in me!
Who am I??

When my gaze dropped, I spied the shadowy bulge in his pants. He wasn’t indifferent to me! He might’ve disdained me in the bar, but he couldn’t disguise his erection straining to be freed.

At the sight of it, arousal muddled my thoughts like a fog rolling into my mind. I’d heard the expression
stupid with lust
. I was getting there.

“Sevastyan?” That feeling of connection surged within me. Desire, need, and something more. “What do you want from me?”

No answer. All I could hear was our breaths.

In this position, he could unzip his fly and be inside me in a heartbeat’s time, covering me on the ground. Like animals in the dirt.

Him. Inside me. Here.

The mere thought made my body vibrate with a need so strong, I suspected I might allow him to do anything he wanted to me. My staggering level of arousal began to unnerve me more than this entire situation. I had no control with him, needed to get away!

I shook my head hard. “You let me go
now
.” I squirmed in his grip, digging my bare heels into the ground to propel myself back. Managed maybe a foot.

He looked at me like I was insane to defy him. So why wasn’t I terrified of him? No, I was
furious
—at him, at my out-of-control body. Another heel-digging lunge back.

With his free hand, he gripped my waist and yanked me back against him, forcing my thighs wider.