Oceans of Fire

by Christine Feehan

  "We?" She tilted her head, hesitating before slipping onto the seat. "Do you have someone else working with you?"

  "It was a figure of speech."

  "Was it?" He closed the door and Abigail felt trapped. That feeling intensified when he entered on the driver's side. His shoulders nearly touched hers. His hands were large, fingers wrapping around the steering wheel and reminding her of too many things. She turned her head away from him to stare out the window. Why was she thinking about his touch, his kiss, the taste and feel of him instead of betrayal and lies? She inhaled, breathing him in, taking him into her body when she should have been stiff and resistant. Immediately she held her breath, trying to avoid the scent and feel of him. Trying not to notice her hands were shaking and, inside, her stomach was curling into tight knots of anticipation.

  As the vehicle pulled onto the main highway, Aleksandr reached for her hand again, lacing his fingers through hers. "You're not breathing. If you keep that up, I'll have to give you mouth-to-mouth and you know where that will lead."

  His voice was so low and sensual it seemed to vibrate through her entire body. The thought of his mouth on hers was dangerous. She remembered the first time he kissed her. It felt like a brand, as if he'd stolen a part of her and left his mark on her forever. "I'd probably faint," she managed with a small smile. "And then where would I be?"

  "In my arms. Safe."

  Abigail allowed silence to stretch between them for a few minutes. The thought of being in his arms actually made her feel faint. It was dangerous. "What do you want me to do tonight?"

  He pressed her hand to his thigh and held it there. She could feel the shape and strength of his muscles beneath the thin material of his trousers. "Just have fun. Nikitin likes music and the Caspar Inn has great live entertainment so it stands to reason he might be there. He'll recognize me, of course, and he'll have bodyguards, so we'll all be amicable. I want to see who he talks to, who is with him. And afterward, I'm going to follow him. They have to be holed up in a house somewhere. They wouldn't risk a hotel. They would have had an intermediary rent them a house."

  "My family will probably show up," she warned him. The temperature seemed to be going up in the car, at least straight up her arm and burning over her face.

  He shrugged. "That will help with the appearance that we are on a date."

  "Will there be any danger to my sisters?"

  "Nikitin would never publicly start trouble. He maintains the illusion of being a very upstanding businessman."

  "Aleksandr, do you think this man Nikitin is the one responsible for putting out a contract on you? Do you think he'll make a try for you?" There was no way to conceal the anxiety in her voice so Abigail didn't even try.

  "Not with everyone around. And Nikitin is a middleman. He takes the money and makes the arrangements, but he never pulls the trigger. He really does conceive of himself as a businessman, not a criminal." He flashed a brief smile. "In my country there is sometimes a fine line."

  "In any country there is sometimes a fine line." She found herself beginning to relax, not a good thing when she needed to keep her armor on around him. He was wearing the aftershave she loved so much; it smelled rugged and tempting.

  "Leonid Ignatev is behind the contract. Unless I manage to neutralize him, I'll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. I knew that, though, Abbey. It isn't news. He sent others for me, but they missed and I didn't." He shrugged. "That's life."

  She shook her head. "No, it isn't. That's no way to live. Sooner or later someone's going to be waiting for you and you won't be ready."

  His teeth flashed in a faint smile. "I thought I'd be safe for a while in the United States investigating stolen art, but it seems I walked into a hornet's nest."

  "It seems so. I don't believe in coincidences. If there's stolen art from Russia here, they have to be involved in some way, don't you think?"

  He nodded as he turned into Caspar off the main highway. "I don't believe in coincidence either, Abbey. In any case, nothing much gets out of Russia without Nikitin eventually knowing about it. And he'd want his cut."

  "Aleksandr." Abbey waited until he parked the car in the side lot of the Caspar Inn. "You can speak without an accent, yet you don't. Why not?"

  "It is expected of me, baushki-bau, and I would not want to appear different in any way."

  "No, of course not." She sighed softly. "Why do you call me baushki-bau? Where did you ever come up with that?"

  For the first time since she'd met him, Aleksandr appeared almost vulnerable, if such a thing could happen. "It's just a term of endearment. There's no translation."

  "I know that, but where did it come from? Why do you use it?"

  He turned toward her and in the car he seemed to take up all the space. His fingers tightened around hers. "It's silly, really, Abbey."

  "Well, tell me anyway."

  He swept his free hand through his hair, another gesture of nerves. Aleksandr Volstov, the man with nerves of steel. Now she was really intrigued. She maintained steady eye contact, refusing to allow him to get out of an explanation.

  "This is ridiculous, Abbey, it's just a silly name." When she kept looking at him he made an attempt to shrug casually. "When I was in the home where I was raised, there was one woman who was really good to us. She sang us a lullaby at night, or when one of the younger boys was hurt or afraid. She would sometimes use that particular term."

  "And that's the lullaby you always sang to me." There was a lump in her throat. For the first time she thought of the difference in how they were raised. A little boy in a home with many other little boys. No parents to dote on them and no house filled with love and laughter. She framed his face with her hands. "I love that song."

  Relief flashed briefly in his eyes. "I do too, but I know it's one of those leftover childish things we all try to get rid of."

  "It makes you human, Sasha. I think you try very hard not to feel emotion. That's really not a good thing."

  "It's sometimes necessary for survival."

  She ached inside for him. For both of them. His life was so different and yet, the same as hers. "I'm going to hate it if you were right."

  "About what?"

  "That we should be together." She nearly clapped her hand over her mouth, but the words had escaped before she could stop them. It had to be the red panties talking. She certainly couldn't be so close to him and not feel his breath on her skin and ache for his body in hers.

  "I am right."

  A small smile curved her mouth. "You always think you are. Let's go in before I get into any more trouble." She opened her door quickly, sliding out into the cool night air before he could stop her.

  He quickly got out, too, and his gaze swept the parking lot, the building, and street, the way it always did. Careful. Meticulous. Noting every detail. Committing the layout to memory. Aleksandr swept his arm around Abigail and drew her to the wall behind one of the many large bushes. His body pressed against hers, his shoulders blocking out the light from the porch. He pinned her wrists to the wall on either side of her head.

  She seemed small and light, her soft curves tight against his chest. Memories flooded him. The warmth of her skin, the feel and texture like satin. Her hair pouring over his body like a silken waterfall. Her touch. Her taste. Her mouth teasing his senses into a terrible craving. Her body moving with perfect rhythm under his.

  A man had only so much discipline. He'd been too many months without laughter or sunshine. Too many nights without the comfort of her soft body. He couldn't wait until he'd convinced her. He even knew he was rushing her, but it was too late. With a small groan, he bent his head to hers.

  Her lips were cool and soft and seemed to melt beneath his. He teased her mouth with his tongue, running over the seam of her lips to coax her to open for him. Need was hot and greedy, clawing at his gut and spreading lower, racing through his veins with a kind of voracious hunger to harden his body into an intolerable ache.

 
; He kissed her again and again, unable to get enough, unable to tear himself away from her. His body pushed aggressively against hers and he gathered her into his arms, dragged her so close there was barely room for clothes between them. He felt starved for her. He shook with desire. With a ferocious need to just hold her to him forever.

  "I want time to stop, Abbey. I want everyone to go away and let us just be together." He whispered it against her ear, returned to her mouth. Fire and honey, a combination he could never resist. She turned his world upside down and made him feel as if he had everything. As if everything he did was worthwhile. "How do you do it?" he murmured, bringing her hair to his lips. "How do you make me feel so out of control when my entire life is all about control?"

  "Don't talk. Kiss me." Abigail slipped her arms around his neck, her mouth moving over his, back and forth, tiny teasing kisses designed to drive him crazy. "Again, Sasha. Kiss me again."

  Her voice slipped past his guard and went straight to his heart. Damn her for her ability to bring him to his knees. He'd always been a strong man, able to stand alone, until he met her. Now he felt incomplete, lost even. He'd never felt alone or had really known the meaning of the word until she was gone from him.

  He kissed her with every fiber of his being, every emotion in his heart. Anger and lust and mostly love, all mixed together so he couldn't separate them. Abigail Drake had given him his soul and then she'd walked out of his life and taken it with her.

  "Oh, my," Inez Nelson said. "Don't look, ladies. These young people have no sense of decorum anymore."

  Abigail pulled back, trying to flatten herself against the wall, her gaze jumping to Aleksandr's. She tried to make herself smaller in the hopes no one would recognize her. A chorus of giggles followed Inez's declaration.

  "Abbey! The ceremony is working!" Carol shouted gaily and waved.

  Color crept up Abigail's neck into her cheeks. She didn't look away from Aleksandr, even when she knew she looked guilty. "It certainly is, Aunt Carol," she replied and was mortified when she heard whispers and another chorus of laughter, which meant her aunt had explained just what the ceremony was all about.

  "What ceremony?" Aleksandr asked.

  "You don't want to know," Abigail said. "Do we absolutely need to go in there? You have no idea how bad those ladies can get."

  He smoothed back her hair. "I think I'll have to hear all about this ceremony that has you so worried. Come on, let's go in before things really get out of hand."

  "Were things getting out of hand?" Abigail was acutely aware of Aleksandr's palm burning through the thin material of her tank top as they walked up the ramp to the wraparound deck leading to the bar entrance. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her skin tender from his five o'clock shadow. Her body burned, every nerve ending alive. The red panty ceremony was a killer and she was planning on blaming her response to him entirely on that. "I thought things were moving along nicely." With no responsibility she could be as bad as she wanted to be. And she wanted to be very bad.

  She went through the door as if in a dream, greeting so many familiar faces, waving at old friends, hugging a couple of the older women, a smile on her face, and all the time fear was creeping into her mind, drowning out lust. She could live with lust. She could live with his kisses and his body and be perfectly happy if she could walk away unscathed, but as she weaved her way through the crowd with Aleksandr so close, she realized she was standing on the edge of a great precipice. One wrong step and she would be lost forever.

  She had never stopped loving Aleksandr Volstov. Not ever, even when she hated him and was so angry she lay awake night after night in her bed with her fists clenched, thinking up endless tortures for him. She had known all along if she were alone with him she'd be kissing him, wanting to see his gaze grow hot, feel the heat of his skin. She had thought she was so angry she could wrap it around her like armor and be protected, but her love welled up unwanted and scared her to death.

  "Is something wrong?" He worked his way through the crowd, protecting her from the crush with his larger body as they made their way toward the smaller, more intimate tables at the back of the room.

  It was impossible not to remember how he did that, the small things, making her feel so safe. So loved. Abigail turned her face away from him, wanting to weep with the memories of what she'd lost.

  "Abbey." He curved his arm around her waist. "Tell me."

  "I'm too afraid to love you again, Sasha." She made the confession in a low voice. The lump in her throat nearly choked her. "I can't lose you a second time. I can't lose myself a second time. I'm just not that strong." It hurt so much she couldn't explain, couldn't find words to describe the razor sharp cuts still so raw in her heart.

  Aleksandr drew her closer, moved onto the dance floor where he could safely hold her. He kept to the shadows. The tears shimmering in her eyes broke his heart. She fit so perfectly, her body moving with the rhythm of his, her face buried in his shirt.

  "Let the past go, baushki-bau, you have to let it go or we'll both lose. My life is better with you in it. Your life is better with me in it." His chin nuzzled the top of her head as his arms enfolded her close. "If you reach out to me, just a little, Abbey, we can make it."

  She shook her head, denying something she knew was inevitable. If she didn't step off the cliff and reach for him, he was already lost to her.

  "I'm tired, moi prekrasnij. I stopped sleeping the day they took you from me. Do you remember what it was like together? My body curled around yours, holding you as we drifted off to sleep. I thought at first I'd be unable to allow anyone to sleep in my bed. I have no trust, but, with you, it was natural. You belonged with me. The moment my arms were around you, I was at peace. Do you remember the feeling, Abbey?"

  His whispered words slipped inside her, hovered there, brushing against the fragile barrier she tried to erect between them. The music was slow and dreamy, a soft blues number that matched her melancholy mood. She could feel the touch of her sisters and knew that they had arrived, worried as they felt the strength of her emotions. She slipped her arms around Aleksandr's neck, trying not to weep for her lost trust in him. He had not only shaken her faith in him, but in herself and her magic. The past wouldn't let her go, not her love for him and not her memories of his betrayal.

  "I remember." She choked out the words against his throat. "Can you hear me screaming in pain? Can you, Sasha? It's so deep I can't ever get it out and it's locked inside me forever."

  He crushed her to him. "Yes. I'm screaming too." He held her, staying to the shadows, his face buried in her silken hair. He was screaming, deep inside where no one else could hear. Where it hurt so much he couldn't find words to let it out. He had never needed anyone before Abigail had brought love and laughter into his bleak world. His duty had been his life and in that barren existence there had been violence and deceit and even treachery. Abigail had been an unexpected treasure, precious beyond even his understanding until he'd lost her. It hurt like hell to know he was responsible for their pain. "I'm sorry, Abbey."

  She didn't respond and he'd spoken the words so softly he wasn't sure she'd heard him. He leaned over her and put his lips against her ear. "Did you hear me?" He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd said those words to anyone. When he meant them. And now he knew he would say them again and again until he put right what he had made wrong between them. He brushed his lips against her ear. "I'm sorry, Abbey, I'm sorry."

  "I heard." Her fingers curled around the nape of his neck, stroked bare skin until he felt her touch burning through his body like a brand. "I heard you."

  Lights flickered as the last notes of the song faded away and Aleksandr turned her toward the back of the room and the small tables. Fitting her body beneath his shoulder protectively to prevent others from seeing her poignant expression, his gaze shifted around the room, a slow, unhurried examination, noting the placement of furniture, exits, and most of all the faces in the room. Several fishermen sat at the ba
r. A group of locals laughed together in a larger group at the far end of the bar near the entrance. Couples held hands, some standing, some sitting. Abigail's sisters sat together right next to the table where Carol and her friends were gathered. Deliberately, Aleksandr chose the small table between Abigail's family members and he took the chair facing the entrance, pulling hers around so she would be sitting beside him rather than across from him.

  "Do you see the men at the table behind the partition?" He brought her hand up to his mouth and nibbled on her knuckles, smiling at her as he did so. "Just glance over at them, Abbey, and see if anyone is familiar to you."

  She had all but forgotten why they had come to the inn. Abigail rested her head on his shoulder and shifted her gaze. People came from the various surrounding towns, and she might not know them all by name, but she knew their faces. Camaraderie was strong on the coast and she nodded and smiled at those she made eye contact with. Most of the younger men were staring openly at Joley and Hannah. A few strangers hung out at the bar, around the dance floor, and in small groups at a couple of the tables. Behind the low partition a larger group of men sat together and they didn't look as if they were enjoying the music all that much.

  "They aren't blending in," she said.

  "No, and it's probably annoying the hell out of Prakenskii." There was a wealth of satisfaction in Aleksandr's voice. He opened Abigail's hand and pressed a kiss into the exact center of her palm. "He likes to be the chameleon, never noticed."

  "Prakenskii? The man you said was a..."

  He drew her finger into his mouth, distracting her. Her gaze jumped to his face. She looked wary. Excited. Interested. He smiled at her. "You taste good."

  "You better pay attention to your job. Which one is Prakenskii?"

  "He's standing up against the wall, one hand in his jacket, very aware I'm in the same room with him. I'll have to go over and acknowledge Nikitin. It would be poor manners not to do so." He kept his gaze firmly on hers, the picture of a man enthralled with his date.