Wild Men of Alaska Collection

by Tiffinie Helmer

  “That is vhat you vere supposed to think. It’s vhat I thought. But Perry handpicked me to keep you occupied and paying attention to me instead of the deal happening right under your nose.”

  “I am not that gullible.”

  “I didn’t think so, but you are proving yourself othervise.”

  She snarled at him, faced him full on and he couldn’t help the arousal that heated his blood. She stroked his inner beast to life with her aggressive ways.

  “Perry brought me in to seduce you,” Sergei continued. “In his vords, you like them rough-looking.”

  That seemed to be the last downward chop of the ax that freed the tree from its roots. She roared through her teeth and came at him, arm raised with a kerambit.

  Where the hell had she procured a kerambit?

  It was curved and resembled a two-sided cat claw, with finger holds making it impossible to knock out of her hand. The black, highly sharpened blade was more wicked than anything he’d had slicing his way in a long time. An Indonesian weapon, arched to maximize cutting ability, and typically a last resort weapon, but she wielded it with swift finesse and deadly intent. He barely had time to prevent her stab. His armed blocked, but the nature of the knife sliced his forearm as she parried his move.

  “Son of a bitch, Katja. Nyet!”

  “You nyet.” Her teeth were clenched, and bottomless pain had tears swimming in her eyes. Sergei deflected another swipe, but not the kick to his instep or the punch to his ribs. The truths he’d been hurling at her had stuck in tender places, and she couldn’t accept it. He hadn’t wanted the truth to break her. He’d wanted the truth to heal them.

  He knew what it was like to be betrayed and had tried to temper his responses to her with that in mind, but the woman was seriously going to kill him if he didn’t do more than defend her attacks. Blood from the wound in his arm smeared the hardwood floor. She’d been holding back in their earlier skirmishes. Either that or her rage was a hell of a motivator for his throat.

  He took her down, tripping her, but she was back on the balls of her feet dancing away from him, only to sucker punch him from behind.

  “Katja,” he warned.

  He was stronger, but she was faster.

  And one of them would regret tonight.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kate had to take her opening.

  Twice now she could have taken him out, sliced through his neck, cut open his belly, and yet she hadn’t.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  His mind games had not worked.

  Perry was innocent of all Sergei claimed. Sergei was the dirty one. The double agent. The killer. Not Perry. Never Perry.

  Sergei reached for her, and she slid away, and then bounced back in easily. She could have sliced through the upper muscles of his thigh, but she didn’t. She growled in frustration as tears blinded her. Then he took her down. It was almost a relief to have him slam her hand to the hardwood, forcing free her grip on the blade.

  He growled as he picked it up and looked at it. Then her. “Ivan made you this?” One arm was across her throat, his other hand locked around her wrist, while his body pressed her into the floor. “How the fuck did you get one of Ivan’s kerambits?”

  She flattened her lips. He growled again, deeper within his chest, sounding so much like the bear he’d been nicknamed by his enemies that fear scuttled up her spine. Still, she refused to answer.

  She’d survived water-boarding. What could he possibly do to her?

  The dare must have shone in her eyes, because he lost his last thread of control. No longer the cool predator, he was the untamed animal, and she was about to meet his wrath.

  He stood and jerked her to her feet. Twirling her around and wrapping his arms around her middle, he hefted her onto his side. From this angle, with both his arms anchoring hers around the middle, and her feet to the side, she couldn’t get enough leverage to kick out at him. She squirmed as he mounted the stairs, hoping to throw him off-balance. He squeezed those bands of muscled-steel tight enough around her ribs, preventing air into her lungs. Stars twinkled in her vision as she fought to breathe. Next thing she knew, he swung her onto the bed and followed her down.

  Cursing in Russian, and keeping a tight hold of her, he opened the night table and pulled out a length of rope.

  Did this guy have rope planted in every room?

  “No,” she gasped as he looped an end over her wrist and tied it to the log bedpost.

  “No is too late,” he gritted out, grappling for her other hand as she fought and bucked under him to no avail. He quickly had her other hand tied to the opposite bedpost. He tested the knots, seeming satisfied with her spread before him.

  “I vant to see you escape these,” he taunted. His dark eyes were mere slits in his chiseled face. His jaw was a rigid line of verdict, and his nostrils flared with exertion. A final growl and he crawled off her.

  He didn’t speak as he stalked into the bathroom. She heard water running, realizing when a drawer opened and closed with a slap, that he was bandaging the wound she’d inflicted on his arm. A seed of regret bloomed to life, and she did her best to stomp it out of existence. Pretty easy to do with her strung between bedposts like she was. While Sergei was cleaning himself up, she took stock of her situation.

  The nylon rope was tight and strong, not giving her any leverage to even move off her back, the knots out of reach of her fingertips.

  Sergei reentered the room, not looking any calmer, though no longer bleeding. His brows were a line of condemnation. A few short, determined strides and he was back at the side of the bed.

  “Vhen you blame me for this, just know I vould never have treated you so given the choice.” He reached for her leg, and she kicked at him. “Don’t make me tie your ankles, too, Katja.”

  Her heart pounded hard in her chest. She had to have her feet free or there was no chance of her ever getting away. Sergei fished his switchblade out of his pocket, and her muscles tightened up like wire. How had she forgotten that he still had that on his person? Why were her emotions flying so wild that she made costly mistakes like this?

  Hello, she was currently tied to a bed with The Bear standing over her.

  He flicked the knife open, climbed onto the bed, and straddled her hips. “Mel is going to kill me for ruining her sweater,” he muttered before slicing the cable knit from her body.

  She lay there on the bed in her black bra. She’d gotten her breath back, but couldn’t draw air to save her life. His fingers grabbed a shoulder strap and sliced through it and the other, then he carefully slid the knife between the valley of her breast and cut through the middle of her bra, baring her breasts. They received a courtesy glance as though he couldn’t help himself, but it was the bra itself he was focused on. She squirmed underneath him and he squatted farther on his haunches, anchoring her lower body to the mattress.

  He turned the modified bra over in his hands, his fingers searching and finding the other kerambit she’d hidden in place of the underwire. He arched a brow at her. “Ingenious. I don’t believe this is standard issue.”

  She refused to speak. Not that he cared as he investigated further, mutilating the bra with the switchblade. He suddenly went very still, and she knew he’d found the tracking device.

  He held up the small round disc the size of a quarter that had been in place of a nipple cover. “Who is monitoring your movements, Katja?” he asked, his voice more deadly than she’d ever heard it.

  A chill skittered over her skin and it had nothing to do with being bare from the waist up.

  “I need you to answer me,” he said.

  She met his eyes. “Go to hell.”

  He stared at her for a very long time. She glared silently back at him. Finally, he dismounted her hips and got off the bed. Crushing the homing device with the blunt end of his switchblade on the end table, he slipped the knife back in his pocket, and examined the remains, making sure they were no longer in working order.

/>   Slowly he turned back to her, his hot gaze traveling over her body, her nipples hardened because of the cool air, not because of the intense scrutiny of his eyes.

  “Vhat else are you hiding?”

  He smoothed his hand over her knee, down to her calf to her ankle. Her muscles jerked in her legs as one by one he rolled down her socks and inspected them. He tossed the socks to the floor, and then leaned over her and released the button to her jeans.

  “Don’t,” she said, the word more of a dare than a warning.

  He met her eyes for a moment, and then they flicked down to her waist as he lowered her zipper.

  “Sergei.” She hated the want laced within his whispered name and prayed he hadn’t heard it.

  He shut his eyes, and then tossed his tousled black hair out of them. Both of his hands fisted around the fabric at her hips, and he yanked off her jeans in one hard move.

  She’d gone commando.

  He cursed. It didn’t matter what language he’d sworn in, she knew that word, but somehow he made it sound more dark and seductive than it should have been.

  Heart pulsing in her throat, she’d never felt as naked as having this man strip her bare.

  CHAPTER TEN

  For one glorious night two long years ago, Sergei had worshipped her body, labored over her for many hours, until she responded with just the slightest touch, look, a mere whisper of words.

  She lay naked before him again, yet tied to his bed. Defiant.

  Bozhe moi, how he loved her. And she’d hate him for what he had to do next. By the green fire shooting at him from her eyes, she already hated him. She’d come to kill him, but she hadn’t. There’d been a couple times she could have, and for whatever reason she hadn’t taken the kill. Did he dare hope that she didn’t hate him as much as she wanted to?

  Guess he was about to find out.

  When he finished his search, she’d surely hate him afterward. He’d be violating her, but then she’d attacked him time and time again, and the latest attack had been her last. The tracking device had him returning to the bed after stripping off her jeans.

  She could have another device hidden anywhere.

  The act of touching her naked skin again had blood boiling through his veins and hardening the region of his body he didn’t think could get any harder.

  He sat beside her on the bed and started with her arms. Slowly he smoothed his palms from her tied wrists up to her shoulders, feeling for anything taped to her skin and examining her for injection sites were a micro chip could have been inserted.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “I have nothing more concealed on me. You’ve taken it all.”

  His eyes met hers, and he swallowed at the anger and dread reflected there. “You’ve forced my hand, Katja,” he returned softly.

  She looked away. Her skin flushed, turning a rosy hue, and goose bumps appeared under his fingers. Inwardly he groaned as her nipples tightened to buds. Buds he wanted to lick and suckle.

  He had to keep this quick, impersonal, clinical, for the both of them.

  His hands traveled over her shoulders, around her neck, and under her hair. Even believing that nothing could be planted in her hair, he fanned the strands over his pillow, the red vibrant color like flames against the icy white of his pillowcase. Her eyes shuttered closed as his fingers gently traced where her neck met her spine, and he took a moment of her not watching him to scrutinize her expression. Eyes shut and lips parted, her breathing became shallow as the tips of his fingers tenderly trailed forward from her neck and around the delicate shell of her ears. He spent a lot of time there remembering how sensitive her ears were.

  Some things hadn’t changed.

  Her pulse quickened at her throat, and it was all he could do not to cover the area with his mouth and lick his way down—

  He couldn’t think this way.

  Over her collarbone and down the sides of her ribs, his hands continued as he tried to shut down his physical responses to finally touching her again. Two years had been a long time to go without. Kate had been a hell of woman to try and get out of his system. After a few lack-luster attempts with other women, he’d done some serious soul-searching, and realized how much Kate had meant to him. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t spent a lot of time together in the classical sense of getting to know one another. Sometimes a man just knew.

  Heart recognized heart.

  He ventured closer to the sides of her breasts, wanting to cup them, caress them, nibble them. But there was nothing to search that his eyes couldn’t see, and she wasn’t packing anything around these beautiful breasts anymore. There was nothing tapped or strapped, or pierced to mar the perfection of the aureoles with their tight dusky peaks.

  He started to shake.

  His hands splayed across her stomach. She sucked in her breath, and he flicked a glance back to her face. Her eyes were wide, her lips swollen from being nervously bitten. He locked his gaze with hers, as his hands caressed over her belly down to the sides of her hips.

  What he wouldn’t give to grab those hips and thrust his body deep into hers. She recognized the need that had to be reflected in his eyes, for the shock of it had her trembling under him.

  He didn’t hold anything back. He let all his frustration, his want, his love for her show through, praying that she’d somehow understand and be able to forgive him for what he was about to do next.

  Kate hated him.

  Hated what he was doing to her, what he made her feel. How could she want him until she shivered with it? Part of her rejoiced in being tied up, the choice he was taking from her. Finally she’d be with him again, experience the ecstasy only he’d been able to call forth from her body.

  For the last two years she’d been consumed with him. Vengeance had been her religion. She understood the need for retaliation. This yearning, she did not. She felt betrayed by her own body. If anything, Sergei tying her up and strip-searching her should fuel her hatred and need to kill him. But all she could think about was his touch, how he’d felt between her legs, deep within her body, and how long until he would be inside her again.

  His hands clasped her hips, and she couldn’t help the slight arch of them. Oh hell, what was she doing? She couldn’t enjoy this. What kind of woman did that make her?

  An animalistic sound from deep within him reverberated throughout the room causing her blood to burn in her center and melt toward where she wanted him most. Instead of his hands searching her depths, he cupped them under her buttocks, his fingers clenching around them, his eyes closing for a moment, before he splayed his hands up her back. Searching for any abnormalities on her skin that she knew he wouldn’t find, his movements brought him closer as he leaned over her, cradling her within his arms as his hands smoothed up her back to her shoulders. His nostrils flared, and her inner muscles clenched in response. His lips were mere inches from hers. The kiss he’d given her downstairs had been shocking. She hadn’t expected that he would desire her after all this time. Why would he when he’d already gotten what he’d wanted from her during that night in Afghanistan?

  But he wanted her now. She could see it, feel it in the very air vibrating around them, and her body responded in ways she wished she could shut down.

  His hands caressed down her spine back to her hips, his fingers curling around the front, pausing before tracing the line from the tops of her thighs to the heart of her sex.

  Oh God, she was not going to make it.

  Why hadn’t he gagged her too? She bit hard on her bottom lip, trying to keep in the appeal for him to take her, ride her hard, give her some sort of release.

  His fingers traced her folds before dipping into her wet center.

  “Oh, Katja.” He groaned as though in torment, his head falling forward, his hair grazing the sensitive skin of her stomach.

  Unable to stop her herself, she shifted her legs, giving him more room to probe her further. Deeper. She arched her hips into his hand, wishing for him to
deepen his stroke.

  “Fuck.” He suddenly growled and surged off the bed. Grabbing a quilt that was draped over the leather chair next to the fireplace, he covered her with it before slamming out of the room, leaving her there writhing with want.

  Oh yeah, he was a dead man.

  Sergei unscrewed the top of the vodka bottle with a shaky hand and slung back a huge swallow.

  Bozhe moi, he’d barely made it out of the room without burying himself inside her. He’d had to know that she wasn’t packing anything else that could kill or maim him. He hadn’t taken into account her body alone was enough to do him in. And what he’d just done set back any chance he had of reconciling with her. That is if there had ever been a fucking chance to begin with.

  He took another swallow, relishing the burn of the bitter liquid down his throat. Recapping the bottle, he set it on the table. He’d need more vodka when he returned. She’d had a tracking device on her. There had to be more somewhere. He’d already shredded her snowsuit and boots. And since he’d stripped her bare, after finding her deceptive—brilliantly constructed—bra, that left her base camp.

  He opened the door from the kitchen and went outside to gather more wood. The weather had already turned blustery with the storm front moving in tonight. Cold slapped him, dropping things back down to size in a flash. He hadn’t bothered with a coat, and wood bark scraped his forearms as he gathered logs. Once back inside the cabin, he banked the fire downstairs to burn slow and even and then headed upstairs.

  A deep breath and a stern pep talk to himself not to get near the bed, he entered the room. Kate hadn’t moved, but then how could she when she was trussed up like she was? The temptation she offered almost buckled his knees. Her eyes were slumberous, the jade having deepened to granite and heated with fire. She probably wanted to kill him even more now. Luckily the quilt covered her nakedness, but her image was tattooed into his brain, and it took some prodding from him to head to the fireplace rather than join her under the covers.