Through the binoculars, she could clearly see the black stubble peppering his jaw and tried to suppress the shiver as she remembered how it felt to have that rasp of beard against her bare skin. She adjusted her position slightly where she lay prone in the snow above him.
She’d planned well, done her homework. Waiting until she knew the lodge would be closed for the season and the owners scheduled to be away, vacationing for Christmas. Only Sergei was left as caretaker. She didn’t understand how a man with his skill set was content to play guide, fisherman, and handyman of a rustic lodge in Alaska. Living here, she got. He was, after all, Russian, and Alaska was as close as he could get to Mother Russia in topography after his defection.
Defecting or not, he still had to die.
A final swing and he sunk the ax in the stump he’d been chopping against. Good, she needed that ax out of his hands before she made her move. He stretched his arms over his head, fingers linked as he arched from side-to-side. She tried not to appreciate the breadth of his shoulders as the muscles bunched under the red and black flannel of his shirt. His tanned forearms, revealed by rolled up sleeves, were bigger than her biceps, and sprinkled with dark hair and heavily roped with veins. The cold didn’t seem to faze him at all.
He turned and glanced her direction. Hawk-like eyes, arched with heavy brows, swooped over her where she hunkered down in the snow. She caught her breath and held still. His eyes continued to sweep the landscape, not settling on anything in particular. Seeming at ease, he bent and loaded his arms with firewood from the large pile at his feet.
Time to make her move.
She couldn’t shoot him from here. It was too far away for accuracy. Besides, this was a personal kill. He needed to know who had taken him down, and she needed to look into his eyes and watch the life drain out of them. She stamped down that little part of her that bemoaned the thought of this big, magnificent man no longer walking the earth. That weak part of her had ended up in his bed when she’d been sent to neutralize him the first time. And if she hadn’t, Perry would still be alive.
Stowing away her binoculars, she slowly rose to her feet and crouched toward deeper shadows within the spruce trees. Silently, she crept down the mountainside.
Gloves off and zipped in her coat pockets, she unclipped her 9mm from its holster and clamped it with both hands, ignoring the sweat coating her palms.
Sergei returned to load his arms again, and Kate remained under the heavy snow-covered branches of a spruce. He never looked her direction. No more than a hundred yards from him, she waited as he overloaded his arms, stacking the firewood up to his chin. He gave her his back and headed toward the woodpile. She inched closer, stopping when he paused, and cocked his head as though he heard something. She waited until he resumed his trek and then snuck up behind him.
She raised her gun.
“Hello, Kate,” Sergei said, not bothering to turn around and face her.
She jerked at his words. How had he known she was here? And why the hell didn’t she just pull the trigger?
Sergei took his time piling the chopped firewood in place before facing her. The impact of him looking directly at her had her locking her shaky knees. No, she wasn’t falling for that slumbering, come-hither look of his.
Not again.
“Sergei,” she greeted, her voice as cold as the sea foam lapping the shore and icing over.
“Come to kill me again?” He arched a brow.
Why didn’t he seem concerned? She had a gun trained on him, and he didn’t even seem surprised to see her. It had been two years since he’d turned her life upside down. Two years of planning, of living with regret, and being fueled with the promise of vengeance.
He took a step toward her.
“Stop right there.” She raised the gun a little higher, not realizing she’d lowered it a tad. He had however, if the lift of his lips was any indication.
“You don’t vant to shoot me.” He purred the words and continued his slow cat-like stroll.
She shot off the 9mm toward the empty beach and swung the weapon back to aim at him. The sound echoed over the waters like ice calving off a glacier. Sergei froze. Good, the man needed to take her seriously. She was deadly serious and she wasn’t leaving until he was good and dead.
“Katja.”
He said her name in that sexy, dark Russian accent of his, reminding her of how he’d trailed his lips over her skin, whispering her name during the midnight hours as his hard, powerful body made love to hers. No, fucked hers. There had been no love between them. She tried to crush the memories of the night that seemed carved into her consciousness. Now was not the time for thoughts like this. They’d just distract her from her mission.
“You know that I’m sanctioned,” he said.
“The United States Government might have pardoned you, but I haven’t. There are still crimes you must pay, deaths that must be avenged.”
“And you’ve set yourself up as my executioner?”
“Yes.”
“Gone rogue, have you?”
“Isn’t that what you tried to get me to do?”
“Dah.” His dark eyes traveled down her white snowsuit. She doubted he could tell anything different about her by the way she was bundled up. So bundled up to protect herself from the harsh elements she’d failed to take in account that seeing him, talking with him, would have her sweating in the get up. She envied him his casual clothes, with the cold breeze ruffling his half-opened shirt. She could see the definitions of his pectoral muscles, the soft sprinkling of chest hair that she remembered nuzzling her cheek against after experiencing the most intense climax of her life within his protective embrace.
“Rogue looks good on you, Katja.”
“Shut up.”
“Kill me, then. You’ve come a long vay to do it.” He spread his arms out to encompass the imposing terrain.
Kate squeezed the trigger.
CHAPTER TWO
Sergei ducked and dived for Kate just as she fired. The bullet whizzed by the side of his head. He swiped the gun out of her hand before she could get off another shot and took her down hard to the frozen ground. He had to have knocked the air of her, but damn if she didn’t still fight him. She was everywhere, hands, arms, limbs, and feet, getting all nasty with how they pummeled him.
You’d think the woman held no appreciation for him. Not that he blamed her. He’d never treated a woman worse than the one currently under him.
And how he regretted it. Not just because she was here to kill him, but because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her since he’d last had her beneath him.
“Oomph.” His hold slipped as she got in a lucky punch to his kidneys. “Derr’mo!”
She scrambled for her gun. He grabbed her feet before she could reach it, and yanked her back to the ground.
She pulled a foot free and kicked him in the chest. This time he was the one fighting for breath. She’d gotten better at hand-to-hand combat.
He was pissed. And impressed as hell.
His hand clamped around her calves, and he crawled up her back, locking her legs down with his and pushing her face into the snow.
“Cool off.”
“Go to hell, you bastard,” came her muffled reply.
“Already been there, Katja.” He flipped her over, grabbing both of her hands and anchoring them down on the sides of her head.
Bozhe moi, she was beautiful. His memory hadn’t exaggerated her sexiness. Her hood had come off in the struggle, and dark auburn hair splayed over the white snow beneath her. Her jade green eyes flashed daggers at him. Hate and something else shined in their depths. Rosy, plump lips tempted him to nibble.
He’d better not.
There was only so much of living on the edge he was willing to risk. If he kissed her, she’d kill him for sure. He saw it in her eyes. It was in the lines of her tense body, the anger and hurt infused in her flushed skin.
“Settle down,” he said.
She hea
d-butted him.
He saw stars. It was close, she almost knocked him out, but he had one thing going for him that she didn’t. Not only was his head harder, he weighed twice what she did. He slumped over her, letting his weight smother her into compliance as he compartmentalized this new bout of pain she’d inflicted on him. He bit down on his tongue, not wanting to say something in the heat of anger that would make the situation worse.
Worse?
She wanted to kill him.
She struggled under him, muttered words that burned his ears with their intent, and then she must have realized she wasn’t going anywhere and suddenly became calm. A little too calm. More like she lay in wait for an opening. He gave her a few minutes for the gravity of her situation to sink in. Not that it seemed to do any good.
Somehow he needed to neutralize her without hurting her. The way she was going, they would both end up dead. He’d kill her on accident, and he’d be dead on purpose. There was too much that needed to happen between them before either of them stood before the Pearly Gates. If they’d even make it that far with all their sins.
He let up some pressure, and she inhaled a deep breath, and started all over with her struggling.
“Hvatit, Katja.”
“Fuck you.”
“Keep it up and I vill.”
The threat had her swallowing, but she didn’t seem as put off by the idea as tempted. Could she still desire him after all he’d done to her? Now that he had her on The Edge, he wouldn’t rest until he found out.
Flipping her onto her stomach, he adjusted the contact of his body against her so she didn’t feel his sudden hard-on. He needed things back down to size and the thoughts of stripping her bare and taking her from behind out of his head. He kept a hold of her hands and pulled them behind her back, wishing he had something to secure her with. She thrashed in his grip and his hold slipped. Damn, but she was tenacious...and talented. Either he was rusty or she’d been working hard-on her self-defense skills. She hadn’t been a slacker in the department to begin with. It had been a while since he’d grappled like this. Well, never like this. He’d never been sexually turned on while fighting for his life before.
“Ve’re going to stand up and go into the lodge and...talk,” he growled in her ear.
She shivered under him.
“Got it?”
She gave a shaky nod.
Slowly, he got to his feet, keeping his hold on her hands, yanking them high up her back, increasing the strain on her shoulders. “To your knees.”
She brought her knees up under her. The action raised up her ass. Damn, but she had a nice ass. Even covered in the white snowsuit, it was a shapely ass.
“Let go,” she muttered through her teeth. “I’m not going to try anything.”
He scoffed. “I don’t believe you.” Keeping her hands locked behind her, he allowed her to stand. “Take it slow. No sudden moves.”
And then he was flat on the ground.
She’d swept her foot behind her, tripped him onto his backside. Tearing free of his hold, she swiveled and kicked him square in the groin.
Son of a fucking bitch. He grabbed his balls.
She gave him a smug smile before twisting around for her gun.
All right, that was it.
He was done playing nice.
Fighting through the fog of pain from where she’d kicked him, Sergei lunged for Kate just as she reached for her weapon. Wrapping his arm around her neck in a rear naked hold, he cut off her oxygen. Her nails scraped his forearms, drawing blood. She sank to her knees, and he went with her, not letting up the pressure of the choke. Frantically she struggled in his grasp, unable to breathe. He held her that way until she slumped and passed out in his arms, her head rolling back against his shoulder. He checked for her pulse, and then cursed with relief and frustration.
Damn, this woman. Would he ever get back in her good graces?
CHAPTER THREE
Kate woke tied to a chair.
Pain sliced through her brain matter like ice in a blender. Head hanging forward, she didn’t move, taking stock of her condition and what she could see of her surroundings. She was in a great-type room, with comfy leather furniture to her left and a cheerfully burning fire in the stone-laid fireplace to her right. Glass windows took up the opposite wall overlooking a large deck and the view of the ocean. A thick bear rug lay at her feet.
She sat in a rough-hewn wooden chair made of logs with her hands tied behind her back. Sergei hadn’t restrained her feet. The chair was heavy and large enough that she wouldn’t be able to stand and use her body weight to break free from it. Hence the reason he hadn’t restrained her further.
His mistake.
She hadn’t been tied up long because other than the strain in her shoulders, and fighting with Sergei earlier, she wasn’t stiff. He’d stripped her of her outerwear and boots, leaving her wearing only black Polartec base layers and Smartwool hiking socks.
Her hair hung loose curtaining off her face from his view. But she knew he was there, watching her. She could smell him. A fiery mix of danger and sex as potent as the Russian vodka he liked to drink.
She remembered everything that had happened in sharp detail before he’d put the choke hold on her. The man had to have balls of steel for being able to function after how hard she’d kicked his privates. Part of her was surprised Sergei hadn’t killed her. Maybe he wanted to torture her some more. But the joke was on him. Nothing could hurt her worse than what he’d already done to her.
“I know you’re avake,” he murmured from her left. “How’s your head?”
Slowly she raised eyes to glare at him from under her brows. “How do you think it is?”
“Probably pounding like son of a bitch.”
Yeah, that about summed it up.
“I brought you aspirin and vater.”
“What is this? Nurse the prisoner back to health so you can break her kind of thing?”
“I don’t vant to break you. I love how you are, Katja. How do you Americans say, ‘All piss and vinegar’?”
“Very attractive.”
He cocked his head, and his eyes turned slumberous as they traveled up and down her form fitting outfit. “I think so.”
“Untie me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Afraid?”
“I don’t relish you trying to squash my balls again.”
“Coward.”
He inclined his head as though giving her a point. “Call it vhat you vill. I have plans for my manhood, and I’d prefer to keep things civilized between us.”
She’d yet to experience anything “civilized” where he was concerned. But keeping him talking held his attention on the conversation and unaware of the blade she’d sewn into the modified elastic back-strap of her bra.
Carefully with small movements, she pushed the blunt end of the knife, slicing through the hidden pocket in her bra and her shirt, freeing the weapon from her clothing. She turned the blade, painfully nicking the side of her finger, and started sawing through the bindings.
“Vhat took you so long to find me?” Sergei sat on the low coffee table in front of the leather couch, kitty-corner to her, and flicked two aspirin out of the bottle.
“What do you mean? It wasn’t like you sent me an invitation.”
“Pretty much, that’s exactly vhat I did. Do you really think you vould have found me othervise?” He held two aspirins in the palm of his hand, showing her the bottle to prove he wasn’t slipping her something else. Like she’d trust anything he offered her. “Take.”
“No, thank you.”
“There is no reason for you to suffer.”
“I’ve been suffering since I met you.”
He leaned forward and trailed a finger down her jaw line. “Katja,” his voice hummed his pet name for her deep from within his chest. “Tis no good, lying to one’s self.”
Memories flooded her at his touch. Yearning shook her hands, and she almost lost ho
ld of the blade. She couldn’t let him distract her. Her body might crave his touch, but it was mind over matter. And it mattered more than anything for her not to lose herself in him again.
“How long are you going to keep me tied up?” she asked as the first twist of rope gave way. She made sure not to move her arms and reveal what she was doing. She also needed to get him away from her. He was too close. For many reasons.
His eyes bored into hers, as though sifting secrets from her soul. “That depends more on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Still vant to kill me?”
The scathing look she sent him had him smiling. “You’ll be restrained until you no longer desire my blood on your hands.”
“I’m surprised a big man like you, skilled in all the ways to subdue someone, is afraid of a woman like me.”
“Katja, you scare the shit out me.”
His response shocked her into asking. “Why?” At every turn, he’d been able to best her. Physically, emotionally, he’d been the master.
His hand dove into her hair, and he tipped her face up, his lips coming within a hair’s brush of hers. “Because of this.” His words rumbled over her lips as he kissed her. His mouth took hers, his tongue sliding past with no struggle as the shock of his possession, and his need, froze her into responding. She didn’t fight, so stunned she almost lost the grip on her blade. She cut her fingers clutching it in her grasp. He plundered, growling like the bear he’d been nicknamed as though he’d waited forever to feast.
What sick game was he playing now? Just as something tingled to life in her stomach—she prayed it was nausea—he tore his mouth free.
Wild Men of Alaska Collection Page 27
