Make You Mine

by Jackie Ashenden

  Familiar guilt began to break through the heavy sensual aftermath of the orgasm, a bitter, sharp feeling. Jesus Christ. Her lip … he’d bitten her.

  Alex moved, withdrawing from her carefully before shoving himself away. Moving from the couch toward the bedroom and the bathroom.

  He didn’t look back, going into the en suite bathroom and shutting the door hard behind him. He dealt with the condom, then leaned against the black marble of the vanity.

  His arms were shaking, his heartbeat frantic. It was like he’d run a marathon flat out and was still running.

  He’d tried to show her he didn’t care. Prove to both himself and her that he didn’t give a shit. That the emotions seething inside him weren’t there. He’d used her hard, showing her how totally in command of her body he was. Showing her that he was the one in control. Making sure she was the one screaming for release.

  It was how it had to be with all his lovers.

  But Katya was not like all the rest. And the look on her face … The shock, the blood—

  You said you wouldn’t hurt her.

  Alex took a shuddering breath, the guilt like a piece of broken glass inside him. He was under no illusions. Yes, he’d used her tonight, both in front of Conrad in aid of his plan and right now to escape the emotional fallout of the evening. But this wasn’t about her, not really. It was about himself. About all the things he refused to deal with, all the things he’d spent his life escaping.

  Excess was all about escape. The sex and drugs, the alcohol, were ways of putting distance between himself and his rape. His father’s suicide. Ways to make sure he didn’t feel, didn’t hurt. And now he’d drawn Katya into it. Now he was using her the same way he used everything else–to distance himself from his emotions, to prove that he was still the one in control.

  Which made him just as much of a selfish fuck as Conrad.

  Loathing rose inside him, flooding the back of his throat.

  Ah Christ, it wasn’t her fault he was a coward.

  There was a bottle of some kind of lotion sitting on the vanity near the sink. Before he could stop himself, he’d picked it up and hurled it at the mirror. It smashed beautifully, the mirror disintegrating into a shower of glittering shards.

  What a fucking mess he was.

  No matter what he did, he was still full of all these emotions that he didn’t want. That he couldn’t untangle. And she … Jesus, it was being around her that made it worse. She made him feel out of control. She made him feel, period. And that couldn’t happen.

  Which left him only one alternative: walking away.

  Alex turned sharply and strode out of the bathroom, only to find Katya halfway across the bedroom, still naked. She stopped as soon as she saw him. Her face was white, the blood on her lip in stark contrast, but the shocked look had gone from her eyes. She was frowning.

  “I heard something smash. Are you all right?”

  So, the bodyguard was back, was she? Just as well. The bodyguard was better than the vulnerable woman who’d lain beneath him. Who’d given him everything.

  Everything you don’t deserve.

  He didn’t stop, walking past her without a word.

  “Sir?”

  He kept on going, through the lounge to the door.

  “Sir, please.”

  He opened it, went through.

  “Alexei?”

  And slammed it behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Katya stared at the shut door. She could feel reaction beginning to set in, both from what had happened between them and from the adrenaline that had surged through her in response to the sound of breaking glass.

  She’d gone instantly into defense mode, shaking off the shock, confusion, and aching aftereffects of pleasure. Taking refuge in her bodyguard front. Rushing into the bedroom only to find Alex striding from the bathroom, apparently unharmed. And yet he wasn’t okay; that much was clear from the look on his face.

  His expression was a mask, his eyes opaque as glass. And he ignored her, walking past her as if she didn’t even exist. Leaving, slamming the door on her.

  Her throat tightened and she felt the prick of tears, a needle of hurt sliding beneath her skin. God, it didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense.

  The way she hurt. Like he’d stripped a layer of skin from her, leaving all her nerve endings exposed and raw. Was this what happened when you made love with someone for the first time? Was it normal?

  She hadn’t expected blood or pain, since with all her physical training she’d probably lost her hymen a long time ago. And yet there had been both. Blood on her lip from where he’d bitten her and the emotional pain of his withdrawal. As if the sex hadn’t mattered. As if now he’d taken what he wanted, she didn’t matter.

  You want to matter to him.

  Did she? That hadn’t been her intention and making love with him hadn’t been that kind of transaction. She’d offered herself to him, given him what he’d needed; that should have been enough. She wasn’t looking for more. And if he wanted to leave, then she wasn’t going to run after him.

  Crushing the hurt, Katya turned and went into the bedroom, pulling on a robe to cover herself before peering into the bathroom. There was glass everywhere, the mirror shattered. He must have thrown something at it.

  Blood on the tiles. Pink hair floating around white shoulders. Pink because there had been blood in the water too …

  Fear curled inside her heart, the jagged edges sharp, but she pushed it fiercely away. No, this had nothing to do with the afternoon she’d come home from school to find her mother’s body in the bath, her wrists cut. Absolutely nothing.

  Katya put the memory firmly from her head and went to the phone, making a call to one of the club’s staff about the broken mirror and organizing someone to come and clean up the mess. Then she dressed and waited while a staff member came to clear the glass away, another replacing the broken mirror. They did it quietly and with such practiced efficiency that she suspected things like this happened quite a lot in the Fourth Circle club.

  But as she waited, she still couldn’t quite get rid of the fear that had solidified in her chest.

  She took a breath, trying to calm it, but it wouldn’t go away.

  You weren’t there in time to save her. What about him?

  She was supposed to be his bodyguard, she was supposed to protect him, and yet she’d let him walk out. Because she’d felt hurt. How was that in any way professional? How was that doing her job?

  It wasn’t. It was letting her emotions compromise her mission. A mistake and one she had to remedy immediately.

  Grabbing her Springfield from the green purse still on the coffee table, Katya strode out of the suite.

  The bar of the Fourth Circle was still packed and it took her a while to search through the crowds, but Alex definitely wasn’t there. Nor was he in the casino area. Which meant he’d left the club.

  Katya tracked down Marc to the office behind the bar, trying to see if he knew where Alex might have gone. The man frowned. “I’m not sure. He usually either stays here or plays at the Casino de Monte-Carlo.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know. Mr. St. James doesn’t usually keep me up-to-date with where he is.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. If he didn’t keep in touch with his bodyguard, he was highly unlikely to tell the manager of his club.

  Which left her with two choices: She either searched through every bar in Monte Carlo or contacted someone else who might know. Luckily, she had an idea who might.

  Leaving the bar and the noise behind, Katya went through the foyer and out the double doors of the club, stepping into the frosty night air.

  Her breath steamed as she took out her phone, walking down the steps of the club and away from the crowd of people trying to get in. She had the number saved in her contact list, and after a brief check on the time difference she pressed the button. It would be late evening in New York, and sh
e hoped he’d answer.

  And sure enough, within a few rings a deep voice on the end of the phone said tersely, “Woolf.”

  “Mr. Woolf? It’s Katya Ivanova. Mr. St. James’s bodyguard. I need some information.”

  “Yeah, what do you want? Has Alex done something he shouldn’t?”

  “He left the Fourth Circle without me and I need to find him.”

  “Ran out on you, huh?” Gabriel Woolf’s voice was expressionless. “You gotta keep better tabs on him, Ms. Ivanova.”

  Katya ignored the jab. “I was hoping you might have an idea where he may have gone. If you’ve been with him in Monte Carlo, that is.”

  “Well, he can’t be far away because he called me half an hour ago.”

  “Oh?”

  “He told me about the game and the woman you guys rescued. Pretty good timing, since Zac, Mr. Rutherford, finally got some information about the other players.” A pause. “This is some serious shit, Ms. Ivanova. Alex needs to be careful. I hope you didn’t let him leave without backup.”

  Guilt clawed at her, but she stiffened her spine. “I’m afraid I did. But I take full responsibility for it. That’s why it’s imperative that I find him now.”

  “You’d better. Alex can look after himself pretty well, but this is looking bigger than any of us thought.”

  “Then if you have any information as to his whereabouts, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me now.”

  Another long pause. Then Gabriel said, “About five years ago, he and I were in Monte Carlo to find a good site for a Circles club. We went to this old place, a nightclub, not a casino. And we had a competition to see who could blow the most money in one night. I have no idea whether he’d go back there or not, but he won that competition. Blew a couple of hundred K in one sitting. It’s a good place to start at least.”

  “That sounds good. What’s it called?”

  Gabriel gave her the name of the bar and directions. Then he added, “Let me know when you find him. He may be a selfish bastard most of the time, but he’s also a friend and, with any luck, my future brother-in-law. If anything happens to him, there’ll be hell to pay. The Nine Circles look after their own, Ms. Ivanova; never forget that.”

  She didn’t miss the warning in his voice. “I understand, Mr. Woolf. Don’t worry, I’ll find him.”

  The nightclub ended up not being far, in the basement of one of the older buildings. There was a queue to get in, but she didn’t have to wait long. The bouncer gave her a once-over but didn’t search her. Luckily. She had a permit for her weapon, but she didn’t think she’d be able to get in even if she presented it.

  The interior was smoky and dim, the dance floor hot and dark and heaving with people. Music throbbed and, beneath it, the hum of people’s shouted conversations.

  Katya threaded her way through the crowds, trying to see. The tables were booths, which made it even harder, since she had to walk by each one to see who was sitting in them.

  She almost missed him in the end, because he was sitting right in the back of a booth, in among a large group of people, playing cards. Small-stakes poker by the looks of the coins sitting on the table.

  The air was sour with cigarette smoke, sweat, and spilled alcohol, the music a loud pressure in her ears. People brushed past her, the sheer weight of numbers meaning she had to withstand being pushed. But she didn’t allow the external distractions to get to her.

  Neither did she take any notice of the relief that flooded through her as she saw him, his cards facedown in front of him. He had his usual tumbler of vodka at his elbow and a cigarette in one hand, his gaze on the table. As she watched, he pushed a few coins into the center and said something she couldn’t catch.

  The man to his left cursed while the rest of the table laughed.

  Alex smiled and Katya’s relief began to change, alchemizing into something else. That smile held a wild, dangerous edge. He had his eyes half-closed in a sleepy look, but she could see the sharp glitter of blue beneath his long, black lashes. There was purpose in that look. Determination.

  He was here on a mission too, and whatever that mission was, she had a horrible feeling it wasn’t anything good.

  There was a crowd of people clustered at one end of the booth, watching the game. Katya shoved some people aside, ignoring the curses, getting close to the table. A couple of the players looked up to see what the stir was, their gazes settling on her, then looking away without interest.

  And then Alex saw her, surprise flashing across his face so quickly that if she hadn’t been looking directly at him she would have missed it. Then it was gone, his features wiped clean of all expression. He didn’t say anything, only looked pointedly away from her, back down to the table and the game.

  So he was going to play it this way, was he?

  Well, she could wait. She was very good at doing that.

  * * *

  He knew she was there the moment she stepped up to the table. And once again, she surprised the hell out of him. He wasn’t expecting her. Because when he walked away no one came after him. That was the beauty of being alone. You had no one to please but yourself.

  But not tonight. Tonight Katya had come after him.

  And she shouldn’t have. It wasn’t fair to be angry with her, not when all of this was his deal, but he was so angry already that he couldn’t stop more from joining the bitter, seething mass eating a hole inside him.

  How the hell was he supposed to put distance between them when she fucking followed him?

  He sat back against the sticky vinyl of the booth seat, ostensibly looking at nothing in particular, a technique he’d perfected over the years. But in reality watching Katya.

  She looked like she’d dressed in a hurry, yoga pants, a black top, and one of Scott’s fancy suit jackets. Her hair was untidy, hanging over her shoulders in a golden mass. She looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced in the dim downlights of the bar.

  And underneath all his anger and guilt, another kind of emotion gathered tightly in his chest.

  He’d taken her virginity and then he’d left because he couldn’t deal with the consequences. With the emotional fallout. This was all new to her and he’d acted like a complete prick.

  But that’s what he did, wasn’t it? He walked away. He escaped. From the night in the Lucky Seven when he’d resolved never to come home, staying away when his father died, that’s what Alex had been doing his whole life. It was selfish, but he’d always embraced that, accepted it. It was his armor, his protection. It kept him safe and he’d never felt bad about it.

  Until now.

  Alex sat there for a moment, looking at her. She had her bodyguard face on, the impassive one that showed nothing. But he could see past that now. He could see the woman behind that mask. And that woman was worried. And hurt. And confused.

  She’d given him a gift tonight. She’d saved him from the wave of emotion that had threatened to drown him, and instead of treasuring that gift, he’d flung it back in her face.

  You petulant little boy. You’re not sixteen anymore. You’re a man. Start acting like one.

  Alex threw down his cards and shoved the rest of his money into the middle of the table. “I fold.”

  The others looked at him in surprise, but he ignored them, extricating himself from the booth and coming to stand in front of Katya.

  He didn’t speak, reaching for her hand and beginning to lead her toward a quieter area near the back of the bar. She stiffened momentarily, then went with him, her hand motionless in his.

  When they reached a relatively quiet space, he let go and turned. And before she could move, he stepped in, gripped her upper arms, and pushed her gently up against the wall.

  Her eyes widened, but she made no effort to get away. In the dim light he could see the beat of the pulse at her throat–it was fast.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded softly. “How did you find me?”

  “I called Mr. Woolf to see i
f he could shed any light on where you’d gone.” Her gaze was very direct. “And as to why I’m here … I’m your bodyguard, sir. And especially after tonight, I need to be wherever you—”

  “Bullshit.” His hands tightened on her upper arms. He didn’t want to hear she was only doing her job. That he was only a client, only a mission. It shouldn’t matter, he shouldn’t care, but that didn’t change the fact that he did. And for the first time in nineteen years he wasn’t going to run from it. “You’re here for me, aren’t you?”

  Her throat moved. Beneath the smell of cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and the spilled alcohol, he caught the scent of oranges. Katya’s scent. He bent his head, inhaling her.

  “The truth, Katya. Give it to me.”

  “Of course I’m here for you.” Her voice was hoarse, yet he could hear the strength in it. “What we’re getting involved in with South is dangerous. I have to protect you.”

  The tightness in his chest constricted and suddenly he felt desperate. “You want me to say it first? Okay, I will. Fucking you on that couch was the most intense sexual experience I’ve ever had. And I would give anything at all to have it again.”

  Her jaw lifted, her eyes shadowed in the darkness. “Stop playing with me. Stop—”

  “It was special,” he interrupted roughly. “It mattered.” He moved closer to her, their bodies almost touching. Saying the words out loud made him feel dizzy, as if he were drunk. “And I left because I’m a selfish, fucked-up prick and I have too many excuses. Because running away is what I do. Because the game with Conrad got to me and I was angry, and I used you so I didn’t have to feel it.” He paused and let the rest of it spill out. “But the real truth is that I left because being inside you laid me open and I had no fucking idea how to deal with it. I still don’t.”

  Shock crossed her face. She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Silent.

  “Say something.” Desperation gripped him tighter. “Tell me you came for me, Katya. Tell me you came because I matter to you and not just because I’m your fucking client.”