“Bozhe moi.” He released her, swiveled away, and paced to the fireplace. Bending, he tossed another log on the fire and stirred the coals with a poker. He stared into the flames for a long time before turning back to face her. His heaving chest was the only giveaway to the kiss he’d stolen from her. “You aren’t leaving here until you and I come to understanding.”
“What would that understanding be?” She held her breath as she severed through the last of the rope, grabbing the bindings in her hands, keeping them tight, so he wouldn’t know she was free.
“I care for you, and you care for me. There is more between us than hate, Katja.”
“The only thing I care about is killing you.”
She lunged.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sergei registered shock as Kate launched herself at him with a knife, and then excitement.
The woman was incredible.
He liked that she wasn’t afraid of him. Though this hate of hers needed to be refocused. He couldn’t keep defending himself, worried that his training would kick in and he’d hurt her without meaning to. It had bothered him deeply to choke the air out of her earlier. But he was prepared for this attack. Somehow he knew she’d get free even though he’d tied some serious knots.
But where the hell had she gotten the blade?
He’d patted her down after stripping her of her snowsuit and boots. What he’d liberated had more than surprised him. Multiple knives, two other guns, mace, and a retractable baton. Where had she hidden this pretty little beauty? And was there anything else on her person that he’d missed?
His hand blocked hers on the downward stab of the knife. She twisted out of his grasp and flirted away before he could get a better hold on her.
Wasn’t she something? Fearless.
He was twice her weight and at least a foot taller. She came at him again, lower this time, and he got lucky and immobilized her knife hand. He yanked her close, wrapping his other arm tight around her, bringing her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his heavy hard-on this time.
He had his own hidden weapons.
Her eyes widened as she got his point, and she tore herself free of his embrace.
“Nice moves,” he commented, his nostrils flaring with anticipation for her next one.
“Why won’t you just die?” she gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Vhat vould be fun in that?”
She growled and lunged for him again. This time he used her momentum to swing her past him. She went flying across the room, falling into a bookcase that held an impressive assortment of books. A few tumbled and clattered to the hardwood floor. But she hadn’t dropped the knife.
“Nyet, Katja. I don’t vant to hurt you.”
“Well, you’ll have to kill me to get me to stop.”
She circled him, her hand locked around the small blade, her stance low. The blade was only a few inches long, but razor-sharp. Blood stained her fingers and dripped down her forearm, proving that it was wicked enough to take seriously. The blood angered him. She’d cut herself.
“You really going to fight me with that little thing?”
“Anything I have to do I will.”
“This vill end badly for you.”
Like a dance, they circled each other. Rapid blocks followed. Forearms, elbows, shins. Exhilaration heated his blood. There was no way he wasn’t getting “personal” with her in a knife fight. He’d yet to be bested; had, in fact, learned his skills at the hands of necessity on the streets of St. Petersburg.
She advanced, and he fended left, letting her slash at him, getting close, but never close enough. There were many things he could teach her. First, she needed to take the emotion out of the fight. It made her sloppy. This he knew she was aware of, but couldn’t seem to stop herself, which gave him hope. It didn’t help when his smile widened as her scowl deepened.
She jabbed, and he took a step into her attack, deflecting the strength of her blow, though she did get in a lucky lick of the blade to his forearm. He twisted, wrapping his arm around her middle, hoping to cage her in, but she was quick and side-stepped him, kicking him in the back of the leg. He went down on his knee, and she had him by the throat, her chest to his back, knife at his jugular in one hand and her arm tight around his neck.
“Nicely played,” he murmured right before he flipped her over his back onto the bear rug.
Bastard.
This was the second time today Sergei had knocked the wind out of her.
Kate gasped soundlessly like a bear-flung fish hurled onto the shore. And then Sergei’s body crushed hers into the fur, his forearms digging into her biceps, his heavy thighs anchoring her legs so she couldn’t kick him again.
The ache to fill her lungs consumed her. Her head pounded, her fingers burned with the shallow cuts, and the upper ribs in her back smarted from the toss over his shoulder. All of this was his fault.
“A knife is a very intimate weapon,” he drawled over her, his breath a spicy mix of coffee and cinnamon.
Oh shut the fuck up, she wanted to hurl back at him, and would have if she’d had the air to do so. Spots circled her vision, and for a minute she wanted to give in. Fearing she’d wake up tied to a chair again had her holding onto a thread of consciousness.
“Let it go, Katja.” His fingers squeezed around her wrist like a vice.
Her diaphragm stopped spasming, and air rushed like a wave into her starving lungs. She gasped, clawing her fingers and trying to cut at his hold on her wrist. He swore as she nicked him, and he twisted the knife free of her bloodied fingers. He flung the blade up to the ceiling where it embedded itself into a log beam.
“Vhat else do you have hidden?”
He cupped both of her hands together in one of his while the other snaked under her shirt. His rough palm splayed over the sensitive skin of her stomach as though daring her to object.
He couldn’t mean...and why couldn’t she stop urging him on?
“Get your hands off me,” she gritted out through her teeth.
“Tell me vhere the knife came from? I patted you down.”
Like a spy gave up her secrets.
“Fine, have it your vay.” He yanked up her top until it covered her face, sheathing her in shadows.
She could see nothing, but felt the heat of his eyes as they took in her bare torso. Only the custom black bra covered her breasts...then she felt his deft fingers dive into the cups. She squirmed in his hold.
“Stop,” she ordered, “or so help me I’ll—” Her muffled warning had no effect on him.
“Vhat? You’ll kill me? Getting old, Katja.” He clicked his tongue when he found the razor blade taped between her breasts. “I knew these things were dangerous.”
She growled, and he chuckled.
Carefully, he peeled the tape with the razor blade off her skin, smoothing down the chafed area with his fingers.
Why was he being so gentle with her? The hand holding hers together was locked tight, but not painful. His body restraining hers was heavy and hard, but not smothering. It was like he was doing everything he could not to hurt her, while she was doing the opposite.
She didn’t like the comparison.
He was a killer. Dangerous, sinful and sexy in that dark way mothers warned their daughters against. His touch on her breasts as he continued to see if there was anything else hidden, was almost...worshipping. He could have stripped off her bra, manhandled her, bruised her, and yet...he hadn’t.
Her nipples beaded, mortifying her.
Don’t notice, don’t notice.
His fingers brushed over the peak of one and halted.
“Katja,” he whispered her name. His fingers hovered over her aroused nipple, and the pebble tightened and hardened further.
She felt him grow heavier on top of her. This was bad. She didn’t want to be here again. Didn’t want his touch, didn’t want to be consumed with him. She...did...not.
Was that the brush of his lips over th
e flesh above her bra? The caress was so slight she wasn’t sure if it was him or a sudden draft in the room. But it knocked the air out of her again.
She didn’t want to investigate how it made her feel to have this man desire her, still, after all the time that had passed. He’d pursued her hard in Afghanistan. But that had been to get information from her. He hadn’t really been enamored of her. Had he? And why the hell should she care? She wanted him dead...she did. Damn it.
He smoothed down her top, and his dark eyes stared into hers. If fire could shoot out of them she wouldn’t have been surprised. She’d been unable to catch her breath waiting for him to strip her of her bra and was more than a little surprised that he hadn’t. His eyes, with their sultry flecks of amber within the dark coffee depths, hunted for something within hers.
“You have beautiful breasts, Katja. They have haunted me these many years.”
That she hadn’t expected. She flattened her lips in an inflexible line. What did he want her to say? Thank you?
“You are a pawn being used in a game of not your making.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Don’t be such. You must let this go.”
“I am not a pawn.”
“I saved your life the night you gave yourself to me.”
Gave herself to him?
“Just as I gave myself to you,” he added in a softer more dangerous tone that rubbed areas inside her she didn’t want resurrected.
He had not given himself to her. Those were soft, romantic words, and he was neither of those things.
“There vas mutual loving on both sides, Katja.”
She still refused to respond. He confused her, and she didn’t like it. Her hate for him had fueled her for a long time. Kept her going when she didn’t know if she could go on. She liked it, craved it. Whatever mind game he played, she would not be suckered in.
“You seduced me in order to set me up,” she bit out.
“You let me seduce you, and I saved your life that night. It isn’t me you should hate. It’s Perry.”
“Sure, attack a dead man. A man who can’t defend himself.”
“Perry vasn’t defendable vhen he vas alive.”
“Stop.”
“The sooner you realize that the sooner ve can get past this and explore vhat ve discovered about each other in that hotel room.”
“There is nothing I want to explore with you. I want you out of my life, and off my radar. I wish you had never come across me.”
“Now who is coward?” His eyes turned cold, and she knew she was in the presence of The Bear. The one who killed, maimed, destroyed. She tensed, and then when nothing came, she didn’t know what to feel. He wasn’t doing anything she expected of him. Was that another way of toying with her? Keeping her off balance?
“Vhen vas the last time you ate?” he asked.
Too long. “I’m not hungry.” Her stomach stirred making a liar out of her.
“Right. You’ve been on the hunt, therefore eating rations or vhatever you could kill. And since, you no doubt, didn’t vant me alerted to your presence, you vouldn’t have lit a fire and cooked anything.”
She hated that he knew so much about her and her activities.
“Since you entered The Edge from behind, you vould have hiked in from either Tutka Bay or parachuted in. Vith your skills, I’d bet on the drop. Either vay, you must be starving. And I can alvays eat.” He murmured the last words like it wasn’t food he wanted to consume. “Come.” Sergei rose to his feet without letting go of her hands. He pulled her to hers, and dragged her into the kitchen.
Birch cabinets lined two walls with stainless steel countertops and a wall of windows taking up the other where a table sat overlooking the bay. There was nothing but black outside the window testifying to the deadly landscape. The ocean was a mirror of darkness, and it took no imagination to think of the souls it had already claimed. Would hers be next? What better way to dispose of a body than to sink it somewhere out here off The Edge, knowing the sea scavengers would digest the remains? No moon was out tonight to help illuminate or soften the harsh landscape.
Sergei sat her in one of the kitchen chairs—grabbing another length of rope he conveniently had resting on the counter—and tied her up.
“Is this really necessary?”
“Vell, let’s see. You’ve shot at me, kicked me in balls, and come after me vith knife. Dah. I believe it’s necessary.” He looked at her. “There are a lot of sharp things in a kitchen, as I’m sure you are vell avare. I’ve been alive this long for a good reason. I plan. Prepare. Study.” He tightened the rope around her hands, this time keeping them in front and then wrapping the rope around her middle, anchoring her whole body to the chair.
Yeah, this would be a bitch to get out of. She had to wonder why he hadn’t secured her like this to begin with. Had that been some sort of test?
She could get out of this, too, if she wanted. Being double-jointed came in handy for someone like her. But she’d save that for later. For now, she’d let him relax, which as she looked back on it, was something she should have done before. Now he was on guard—or at least, more on guard—and she had a feeling the man never completely relaxed.
He finished checking her bindings. “Stay.”
Sergei disappeared, and she wondered how long he’d be. Did she have time to get loose? She could, given enough time. Only a few people in the world knew she was double-jointed. And most of them were dead. The few who were alive weren’t in her life much anymore. She had a martial arts coach who probably didn’t remember her, and a brother in prison. Their parents had passed away in a car accident when they’d been in high school, and Kate had entered the military rather than head down the self-destructive path her brother had taken.
She could hear Sergei rummaging in a room not far from the kitchen. Now was not the time to make another move. She should have waited when she woke from the choke hold to cut herself free. The moment of surprise was a precious one, and she’d squandered hers. It was always good to have one’s opponent have low expectations of one’s abilities.
So she waited.
Sergei didn’t keep her waiting long. Again, making her glad she hadn’t attempted to get free.
He plunked a first aid kit on the table, swiveled a chair around in front of her, and sat. Taking her bound hands in his, he opened the package of antiseptic wipes. Cursing under his breath, he cleaned the dried blood from her fingers.
Why was he doing this? Some Stockholm Syndrome shit to relax her? She didn’t give a damn if her wounds were tended to. But the shock of having him clean the blood off her hands sealed her mouth shut and caused her heart to pound with feelings she refused to put a name to. He applied anti-bacterial cream to the cuts, and then covered them with band aids. She said nothing and neither did he. Once he was done, he doctored the shallow cuts she’d inflicted on him, and then bundled up the supplies, depositing them to wherever he’d procured them.
When he returned, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a marinating salmon. She could smell soy sauce, brown sugar, and something spicy. Her stomach rumbled again, and he flicked a glance her direction from under his brows. A slight smile split his lips. “I’ve always vanted to make you dinner. I never figured you’d be my captive audience though.”
“Funny man.”
He arranged the salmon on a baking pan, preheated the oven while he started rice to cook on the gas stove.
“Coffee?” he asked, pouring himself some in a mug painted with funny moose faces.
Oh God, yes. “I don’t care.”
That smile reappeared as he set the mug in front of her and poured himself another. He’d tied her in such a way that she had use of her hands and arms, T-Rex fashion, so that she could feed herself and drink, without struggling too much.
How freaking thoughtful of him.
She waited for him to drink from his cup first before picking up her coffee and sipping. She cut off the groan before he heard it. The coffee was dark and
rich and strong, just how she craved it.
He seemed satisfied and went about preparing dinner. While the rice simmered, he added the salmon to cook in the oven, and grabbed canned vegetables from the pantry.
“Sorry, no fresh vegetables this time of year and store is too far.”
Like she cared one way or the other. She’d been eating MREs. Right now food was food, and she’d gladly eat it, but didn’t plan on thanking him for it. If she’d already killed him, she could have raided the pantry, eaten anything she wanted before she was picked up. She had two days to finish this.
But it would be done tonight. One of them wouldn’t see morning.
CHAPTER FIVE
The salmon was so good Kate wondered if Sergei would give her the recipe. But then every time she cooked it she would be reminded of him and this secluded retreat with its homey interior, the rustic log walls, the million dollar view. He’d lit candles and placed them in the middle of the table, adding a romantic element to the meal that she didn’t appreciate. When she’d mentioned it, he’d pragmatically pointed out that fuel and energy were scarce on The Edge and they used them sparingly. Even less in the winter. Darkness encompassed most of the hours this far north.
She hated viewing his chiseled bones, his aristocratic nose, and the close-cropped beard lending him a roughness she found too appealing in the caressing light of the candle. Time slipped away as she ate. She cleaned her plate and didn’t object when he filled it again, barely biting back the thank you.
It was hard to measure this man by the one who had killed Perry and seduced her. She’d sent Perry to his death because of Sergei, and that was something she couldn’t live with.
By feeding her, Sergei was in fact making it easier for her to kill him. She had to remember this. He was restoring her strength, fueling her. Now if she could separate the assassin from the man in front of her.
Without asking if she wanted any, he set a slice of dense, dark chocolate cake in front of her with wild raspberry compote. She should refuse any more food, but this dark dessert whispered to her like salvation. She hadn’t had anything so self-indulgent in years.
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