I swallowed. “What about you?” I looked around. “This place is huge. Are you here with someone?”
He gave a slow shake of his head, still circling and watching me. “She is... indisposed.” His English was perfect. If he’d wanted to, I think he could have gradually eliminated the Russian accent and passed for some CEO from Boston or New York. But I got the impression he had no desire to pass for anything. He was proud of what he was.
I looked into his eyes. Was he missing Christina? He didn’t look sad, exactly, more frustrated that she wasn’t there. Surely he must be worried, thinking of the woman he loved lying in some Italian hospital. A pang of guilt went through me. Isn’t this wrong? We were lying to this guy. And soon, when Alison went undercover as Christina, we’d be deceiving him on a whole new level. He was a criminal. The end justified the means... right? I pushed my glasses up my nose as I debated—
And saw him abruptly stop circling and just look at me. What? What did I do?
Whatever it was, it ended his suspicion. He marched across the room to me. Closer and closer. Okay, he’s going to stop now. Closer. Closer—
He came to a stop with his calf pressed against mine. Leaned forward—
I held my breath.
He plucked the phone from the desk behind me and straightened up, leaving me red-cheeked and flustered. What did you think he was going to do?!
But he didn’t back away as he made the phone call. He stayed right there, his leg touching mine, the heat of him throbbing into me. I listened as he explained to reception what had happened. She’s locked out of her room. 503. I stood there drinking him in, seeing all the little details I’d always been too far away to make out. I’d known that he wore a ring on his right hand, for example, but now I could see it was old and worn, the engraved silver dark with age. The style of it didn’t go with his crisp, modern clothes at all.
The receptionist must have asked him a question because Konstantin put his hand over the phone and said, “Name?”
And without thinking, I said, “Hailey Akers.” I was almost embarrassed by it. It was as dull, as normal as Konstantin Gulyev was exotic and exciting.
And then it clicked that I’d just told him my real name. My stomach lurched and my skin flashed hot with panic. I’d make the worst undercover agent ever.
Konstantin hung up the phone, which involved leaning in towards me again and reaching around behind, his forearm gliding across my lower back. “A few minutes,” he told me.
From across the suite, I heard a very faint click. The sound of the door to the hallway being very quietly closed. Calahan was out. I tried not to let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I told him. “I’ll go wait outside my door.”
Konstantin hadn’t yet straightened up from replacing the phone. So when his head snapped up in surprise, he was suddenly looking into my eyes from less than a foot away. That frown that was becoming familiar, that scorching gaze: that is not the right answer.
He wanted me to stay. Even though he had a girlfriend. The idea rippled down through my body. But you have Christina! She’s beautiful and sexy and— I was shocked and outraged and confused... and flattered.
And then he seemed to catch himself and he straightened up, tugging his shirt straight and gesturing towards the door. Leaving me to walk past him and show myself out, as if he didn’t want to tempt himself by getting too close to me again. My heart was crashing against my ribs. Me? I’d never tempted anyone before. And I was weirdly relieved to find out he wasn’t a cheater... as if that could possibly matter, given who and what he was.
I was so distracted that when he suddenly said, wait, I didn’t pick up on the abrupt change in tone. I turned around and I think I actually smiled.
Then I saw the expression on his face. Something had just occurred to him, something awful. Something he didn’t want to be true.
“What were you going to carry the ice in?” he asked.
I blinked stupidly. “What?”
He started walking towards me. I must have been imagining the blue in his eyes because all I could see now was merciless gray. “You were going to get ice from the machine when you got locked out. So where is the ice bucket?”
Shit. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My brain was scrambling for an explanation and finding none. “I—”
And that did it. Not the lack of an answer but the guilt that was clear in my eyes. He stormed across the room, closing the distance between us in huge strides. I twisted around and grabbed for the door handle—
His hand captured my wrist and I let out a scream as I was yanked backwards, right off my feet. Then he flung me against the wall and a second later his body was crushed against mine, pinning me there, each pant of anger pressing his pecs into my breasts. Those frozen gray eyes bored right into my soul.
“Who are you, Hailey Akers?”
4
Hailey
THE FEAR. Oh, God, the fear. I’d blown everything. I shook my head, trying to deny everything, but that only made him angrier. He snarled and grabbed both wrists in one huge hand, trapping them against the wall high above my head. “What was the plan? Kill me? You have a knife under there, a needle?” He hooked his fingers under the belt of the robe and tugged and the knot came apart, the whole thing going loose around me. I struggled, flushing. “Or were you just here to open the door for a hitman?” He glared at me. “It wouldn’t be the first time a pretty woman’s tried to do that.”
Pretty?!
He pressed my wrists harder into the wall. “Who are you?!” he roared.
I squeezed my eyes shut in terror. I wanted to weep because it was all so wrong. I’m not a sexy assassin or a hitman’s girlfriend or even a proper FBI agent, I’m—
“I’m no one!” I sobbed.
The pressure on my wrists eased a little. When I opened my eyes, he was swimmy and blurry behind a film of tears. I blinked them away and saw the anger slowly fading from his face. For a second, his eyes were blue, gentler, than I’d ever seen them. “You really believe that, don’t you?” he muttered.
I just panted and stared at him, stunned.
He had that look again he’d had in the hallway. Fascinated. He’d seen something in me that cut through all that coldness. I wasn’t a threat, anymore.
He released my wrists, but he didn’t step back, yet. My arms slumped down to my sides and that made the robe slide down over one shoulder. His eyes followed it, tracking over my shoulder, my collarbone, the slope of my breast.
Our breathing slowed, the adrenaline leaving us. And the mood shifted.
When his eyes flicked back up to my face, I saw that glittering, furnace-like heat again. I realized just how close our bodies were pressed. My breasts were pillowed against his chest. Our breathing had fallen into sync and every time we inhaled, the tight pressure, the rub of hard against soft, was almost unbearable, sending streamers of heat snapping and twisting down to my groin.
For the first time, both of us seemed to become aware that his leg was between mine. His clothed thigh was against my bare one and, even as I registered it, I could feel his cock hardening, thickening, the heat of it pressing against the very top of my inner thigh, the head of the bulge nudging up against my pussy lips. I swallowed, going weak. The heat was continuous, now, strumming faster and faster through my body, and every time it reached my groin I could feel it turning to slick moisture.
He glanced down again. The press of his chest was all that was stopping the robe from slithering the rest of the way down my arm and off. If he moved just a little….
He looked at me again. For an instant, he almost looked helpless. Konstantin? Helpless?
And then he closed his eyes and uttered some Russian curse under his breath. When he opened his eyes, he wouldn’t look at me. He stepped back and, to my amazement, he very gently gripped the robe and pulled it back up my shoulder and into place. Then he took the two edges in his hands and wrapped them around me, and finally tied the belt in place, as caref
ully as if wrapping up a doll for Christmas.
When he’d finished, he stared at the floor for a second, those muscled shoulders rising and falling as he fought to control himself. Finally, he lifted his head and looked me in the eye. The cold was almost back, just a hint of stubborn blue remaining. “I am going to do something a man like me never does, Hailey Akers. I am going to apologize.” He looked me right in the eye. “I am sorry.”
And then he opened the door and gestured for me to leave. I was a teary, shaken, turned-on mess, but I didn’t know what else to do, so I stepped out into the hallway. One of the hotel reception staff was approaching with a keycard to let me back into my room.
Konstantin’s voice stopped me just as I reached my door. “Hailey?”
I turned around. His hulking body filled the doorway, one big hand gripping the frame. “I don’t know why you were really in my room. But from now on, stay away from men like me.”
He closed the door. A moment later, the woman from reception let me back into my room. And the very second my door was closed, Calahan grabbed me and pulled me into his arms.
For nearly a minute, he just hugged me, his arms locked around my back. My cheek was against his chest and I could feel how angry he was, his breath trembling on each inhale.
He suddenly pushed me back to arm’s length, his hands gripping my upper arms so hard it hurt. “Are you fucking crazy?” he snapped. “Have you got any idea how dangerous that was?”
I’d never seen him so scared. I knew that was where the anger was coming from so I just nodded meekly. Then, “I wasn’t going to leave you in there.”
He glared at me. Cursed under his breath. Then he pulled me tight against him again, stooping a little so that his stubbled cheek was pressed to mine and I was looking over his shoulder. “You’re okay?” he asked, his voice raspy with fear. “He didn’t hurt you? He didn’t...do anything to you?”
I shook my head, clutching him tightly. But my heart was booming in my chest. He’d done plenty to me. I was a wreck, scared and shocked and turned on and... God, did that really happen? Had I...connected with the guy we were meant to be bringing down?
He’d nearly kissed me. Hell, when he was standing there with his leg between my legs...I felt my face go hot, just at the memory of it. And I’d wanted him to. I still wanted him to.
I squeezed my eyes closed. Idiot! I was lucky to have got out alive. What I still didn’t understand was why he’d let me go. What had he seen in me that made him soften?
I’d thought that I knew him, after watching him for two years, but I’d been utterly wrong. For a few minutes in that hotel room, I’d glimpsed a different man. One I didn’t understand at all.
5
Konstantin
I STOOD in the hallway of my suite, staring at the door without seeing it. I was seeing her, tracing the soft curve of her neck in my mind, seeing over and over again that sudden flash of half-nakedness when her robe had slipped open outside my door, that hypnotic valley between her breasts, leading my eyes right down to the shadowy curls between her legs.
With any other woman, I would have assumed it had been a deliberate move. A seduction. But with Hailey….
I’d never met anyone quite like her. She was so different to the preening, conceited women I usually met. I loved her shyness, her awkwardness, and the way she pushed her glasses up her nose was just preléstnyj—what the Americans would call adorable. The innocence, the goodness radiating off her was so strong, I could taste it. It was why I’d let her into my room. Why I’d had to work so hard to stop myself from just grabbing her and kissing her.
There’s no better temptation for the devil than an angel.
But I’d held back. Twice. And God, the second time, when I could feel the warmth of her naked pussy caressing the head of my cock…. Pulling back from her had taken all the strength I had.
I told myself it was because I was faithful. And it’s true: unlike a lot of Russian men, I don’t cheat.
But I knew that was an excuse. Christina and I are together for convenience. A mutually beneficial arrangement. I don’t love her and she certainly doesn’t love me. The real reason I hadn’t kissed Hailey, the reason I’d warned her away from me, went much deeper.
To build an empire like mine, you must be hard. Nothing but hard. I’ve seen the consequences of allowing innocence and love into your life. There must be no weakness.
And Hailey? I knew it. I could feel it.
Hailey made me weak.
6
Hailey
I WAS NEVER meant to be in the FBI. My life started out on a completely different path.
I grew up in a little town in Wisconsin. My mom was a seamstress and ran a dress shop selling her handmade dresses. My dad was an artist who painted landscapes. We weren’t rich, but we were happy, and lived in a rickety old house with a big garden that backed onto fields. I ran around barefoot in grass that came past my knees and made friends with the rabbits and birds. My mom was pretty, with long golden hair, and my dad had a prickly, dark brown beard and played the guitar under the stars. When I painted pictures of our family at kindergarten, I always knew I could make the color for my muddy brown hair by mixing their two hair colors together. I got my freckles from my dad, and my short sight. But I didn’t inherit his artistic ability. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t paint like him. “You just haven’t found your thing yet,” he used to tell me. “You will.”
Then one night, when I was eight, my dad went out to pick up milk and didn’t come home. The police arrived an hour later to tell us he’d been shot dead by a guy who’d robbed the convenience store.
It was like my mom’s heart had been ripped out. For two years, she got thinner and paler, and I got more and more worried about her. Then a guy called Tanner stopped at the dress shop to ask directions, and everything changed.
They went out for three nights in a row, but then Tanner had to go: he lived in New York and had only been passing through. A week later, he was back, and then it was every weekend, and that unsettled me because I wasn’t sure I trusted this guy. He drank, and he made jokes about everyone in our little town being bumpkins. And when he got mad, he’d yell and curse and kick stuff in a way that scared me. But my mom’s face lit up whenever she saw him and I just wanted her to be happy. So I smiled and kept quiet.
Six months later, they were married. We sold everything except my dad’s paintings and moved into Tanner’s cramped New York apartment. The first evening, Tanner took us up to the roof, holding hands with my mom and grinning as we looked out over the city, but I remember feeling sick. Not just from the drop—I hate heights—but from the endless gray blocks around me. I couldn’t see any green anywhere.
I hated my new school: I was the weird country kid. The only nature was a tiny neighborhood garden where the grass was yellow and crunchy, as if the city was making it ill, and all the kids stared at me when I took my shoes off.
Pretty soon, we realized that Tanner was into some bad stuff. He dealt some drugs and the apartment was full of stolen stuff he was trying to sell. He wasn’t good at it, though, losing more money than he made. My mom opened a dress shop and somehow made it work, even in that lousy neighborhood, but there was still barely enough money to pay the rent. Then she got ill and the doctors diagnosed her with lupus. When it was bad, she couldn’t work and money became even tighter. Tanner turned sour and resentful: his four nightly beers turned into six and then eight. He’d get wasted and yell at her.
And then the yelling turned to hitting. Black eyes she tried to hide with make-up. Cracked ribs that made it painful to breathe or talk. I hid in my room and looked up at the magazine pictures I’d used to paper the walls, far-off places like Colorado and Alaska, full of green and blue, and I tried to dream myself there.
When I was ten, my mom tried to leave him and run back to Wisconsin. Tanner caught us halfway and put my mom in the hospital, and told her he’d kill both of us if she tried to leave him again. He’d fai
led at being a criminal, failed at being a provider. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d failed at being a husband, too.
A few weeks after that, Tanner rolled in drunk and collapsed into his armchair. He yelled for my mom to bring him a beer but she was in bed with a bad flare-up of the lupus, barely able to walk. I was in their bedroom, looking after her, and I saw her struggle to try to get up, gritting her teeth in pain—
“No,” I told her, tears in my eyes. “No.” And I pushed her back into bed and went out into the hallway, ignoring her protests. I went to the refrigerator and I brought Tanner his beer.
When he saw it was me, he cursed me, saying I was just as much of a waste of space as my mother. And when I got close enough, he hit me for the first time, an open-handed whack across the face that shook my teeth and made me see stars.
But from that night on, I brought him his beers and food, and cleaned the house. Anything to keep him away from my mom, who was getting sicker each day.
He hit me. He kicked me when I was down. Once, when I was thirteen, I dropped a hot skillet and it left a scorch mark on the linoleum. Tanner picked it up, pulled up my T-shirt, and pressed the hot edge of it against my side to teach me a lesson. I heard my skin sizzle like steak dropped into a pan. I knew I couldn’t go to the ER, so I treated the burn myself, and I still have the scar. It did teach me a lesson, though. The less he saw and heard me, the less he hit me.
And so I became invisible. My self-confidence disappeared. Every day, I heard how worthless I was, the words driven into me with his fists. He laughed at my dreams of green, faraway places and ripped down the pictures I’d taped to my walls. I was glad I’d hidden my dad’s paintings at the bottom of my closet or they would have been destroyed or sold. I retreated into myself, dressing in shapeless hooded tops and jeans, making myself as neutral and easy to ignore as possible. Boys looked right past me. Teachers forgot I was even in their class. I took a job at a grocery store to help with the bills: my mom was barely able to keep her store open, she was sick so much.
The Double Page 3
