In the warm glow, it was impossible to miss the tired droop of her eyes and the bruises of fatigue beneath them. “You look beat.”
“As do you,” she answered simply, and laid her arms across her chest, blocking his view of her generous breasts. Her stance was still slightly defensive.
Would she ever truly relax with him? Or trust him?
He walked around until he was beside her. “It was a busy day.” Leaning against the edge of the desk, he adopted a casual pose, trying to ease the unrest he sensed inside her.
“I saw you running around all day. Do you ever get a break?” She arched a brown-gold brow to emphasize her point.
“Occasionally. I could say the same of you.” Unable to resist, he skimmed his hand across an errant fringe of hair, brushing it back so he could see all of her expressive face.
She stepped back at his action, but dropped her arms and shrugged. “Part of the job.”
He imagined it was. He wondered why she had chosen such a path for herself, but sensed that to ask would only make her retreat from him once again. So instead, he said, “How is the job going?”
“Your friend Petrov just met with one of the women cashing the chips.” Her tone was blunt and slightly condemning. Anger awakened.
“I had hoped it was just coincidence. And for the record, Petrov and I are not friends.”
That tell-tale brow flew upward at his statement. “Both your families are part of the Russian elite and live not far from each other. You and Petrov went to school together—”
He cut her off. “Why are you so determined to paint us with the same brush?”
He finally did what he had wanted to do since the moment she walked in. He reached out and skimmed his thumb along her cheek, needing to make a more personal connection with her.
“Why do you insist on telling me only half the story?” she challenged, but not as vehemently. She didn’t move away from his touch.
Alexander had no doubt to what she was referring. She had seen his reaction to the tattooed hand in the photo, and now had Peter’s confirmation of Stravinski’s identity to add to it. He met her gaze. Her eyes were tired, but earnest—cop’s eyes that still distrusted him. He wished she would see him as a man instead. A man who had a growing fascination with her…although he knew very well all the problems that presented.
He was royalty and she was not only a commoner, but an FBI agent. She probably had no interest in having a husband and family—and even if she did, his parents would never approve of her. Of course, his parents weren’t here, and he was tired of living his life based on what was good for the family.
But he knew truth was the only way to break past that cop’s gaze—and distrust—to the woman beneath. Dropping his hand away from her cheek, he gave her what she wanted.
…
Kathleen saw the moment Alexander decided to cooperate. His eyes, those amazing eyes like the ocean, had grown a frosty blue.
“Nicolai Petrov’s family and mine know each other. We run in some of the same circles, although the Petrovs are nouveau riche and their history is ripe with rumors of dealings with the underworld--the Russian mob.”
The undertone in his words at the mention of the mob was unmistakable. His posture had been open until then, but now it tensed.
“Petrov’s brother was killed nearly a decade ago during an Interpol investigation,” Kathleen offered. Something she’d learned at the meeting with Roman.
“That’s correct." He continued with his story, his voice flat. “That’s when Nicolai and I first got to know one another. His family enrolled him in the boarding school I was attending in the hopes of shielding him from that investigation.”
“Was he here in the States when his brother died?” She took another step toward him, drawn in by his tale.
He nodded. “Nicolai was furious. Blamed the authorities for his brother’s death, even though everyone suspected that it was the mob that had killed him.”
Unable to help herself, she clasped his jaw and stroked her thumb back and forth along his cheek in a soothing gesture. “I can see how this affects you, Alexander. Sometimes sharing makes a burden easier to bear.”
He hesitated, openly conflicted. She once again stroked her thumb along his cheek, feeling the slight evening beard present there. “Tell me,” she urged.
“Is this the Special Agent who wants to know? Or Kathleen, my friend?” His blue gaze glittered with emotion.
The question shocked her almost as much as the answer she wanted to give. But she held back. Dragging her hand away, she laced her fingers together to keep from reaching for him again. “This is all about business, Alexander. I’m not interested in anything personal.”
Liar.
“A shame.” He straightened, and shot a glance at his watch. “It’s late and I haven’t eaten. Have you?”
If her mind was disturbed by his abrupt change of subject, her stomach wasn’t. It answered with a noisy growl. She gave a tense laugh and covered it with her hand. “I haven’t.”
“Then come with me.” In a gesture that was surprisingly comforting considering the circumstances, he grasped her hand and led her out of his office.
She had expected he would take her into the executive dining room and call his staff to provide the meal, but instead he strode to the hallway where he turned toward his private quarters.
She dug in her heels, stopping him in his tracks. He glanced at her over his shoulder, his gaze as questioning as hers, she imagined.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’m tired of eating out.”
“I have to warn you, I’m not much of a cook,” she said, unable to picture the prince at such a domestic task and figuring he’d expect her to do the honors. Not a chance. She usually worked so late she survived on take-out.
“Then it’s a good thing I am.” He gave her a boyish grin, and with another tug on her hand, dragged her toward his apartment.
Oh, man. This was really not a good idea.
Chapter Nine
Alexander led Kathleen to the living room where he yanked off his suit jacket and tie, undid the first few buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, obviously intending to make himself comfortable. Which only made her more tense.
“Have a seat,” he said as he walked into the adjacent kitchen area which opened into the large living and dining room areas, ignoring her in favor of the refrigerator. Maybe he really did intend to cook.
She hesitated, but then decided to relax, removing the jacket of her serviceable black pant suit and her weapons harness. Slipping off her low-heeled shoes, she walked over to the immense island peninsula defining the boundary of the kitchen area. She hopped onto one of the stools while Alexander moved around the kitchen. She could get used to this.
The first thing he did was whip out two wine glasses and place one in front of her. “I hope you’ll have some since you’re off duty now.”
She wasn’t normally much of a drinker, but a glass might help her unwind. Her mind had been too busy with all the details of the investigation…and her heart had likewise been debating Alexander’s trustworthiness…as well as her reluctant attraction to him. It wasn’t going away, much to her distress. She thought it might be possible to trust him with her investigation.
But could she trust him with her heart?
As he opened the floor-to-ceiling wine cellar tucked beside a high-end refrigerator, the muscles in his shoulders shifted beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. His position as he worked at uncorking the bottle also gave her a fine view of his lean hips, tight buns, and long, muscled legs. A shiver of need worked through her at the sight, but she battled it back.
She was here for a simple dinner with him and nothing more, she reminded herself as he walked back and poured her a glass of wine. “I hope you’ll like it,” he said, and waited for her to take a sip.
The complex flavors of the wine exploded in her mouth.
“Delicious,” she said, her
tones husky with a knot of emotions she didn’t care to examine.
Smiling, she met his gaze and found his settled on her lips. A shiver danced through her. One of anticipation.
Oh, yeah. This was a really, really bad idea.
…
Alexander’s whole body tightened with desire at the sound of Kathleen’s voice and the blush of the wine against her lips.
How he wanted to taste them, but he had to control himself.
This attraction for her was nothing short of madness. They were too different, their worlds too far apart. Nothing good could come of exploring what he knew they were both feeling. He knew that, but somehow he couldn’t stay away.
“Let me get to work on dinner,” he said, and shoved away from her, centering his attention on what he had in the fridge that he could prepare. His staff kept the refrigerator and pantry stocked, and they had just delivered some new groceries that morning.
He pulled out some chicken breasts, butter and sour cream for the main course. Took some onions and carrots from the vegetable bin. After laying those items on the granite counter of the peninsula, he stepped into the pantry and selected a bag of dried apricots and grabbed canisters with rice and almonds. He likewise returned them to the counter where Kathleen was now standing.
“How can I help?” she asked.
He smiled and arched a brow with a dubious air. “I thought you said you weren’t much of a cook?”
With a grin, she plucked a knife from the nearby knife block and did a little twirl with it before transferring it to her hand. “I’m not, but I’m very good with a knife.”
He bet she was. She seemed to be good at most everything she did, so he gestured to the onions and carrots. “Can you chop those for me? And slice a handful of almonds?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, yes, Your Highness,” she replied, but with a teasing lilt that yanked a smile to his face.
He handed her a cutting board and took a second for himself. While she sliced and cut the carrots, he deftly butterflied the chicken breasts with another knife. After he was done, he located a sauté pan and another larger pot for cooking the rice.
By the time he returned to the counter, she had finished with the vegetables and was sipping her glass of wine. “Nicely done,” he said.
She did another little twirl of the knife and asked, “What’s next?”
He gestured to the dried apricots. “A rougher chop on about two or three of those.”
“As you command,” she once again kidded.
He rolled his eyes and pretended to frown. “How I wish. We both know you’ve got your own mind about things.”
She chuckled, and plucked a few apricots from the bag. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Not at all. It just makes for some…excitement.”
…
Excitement? Kathleen grabbed an apricot, munched on the dried fruit as she pondered his statement and watched him at the stove. He plopped a big blob of butter into the pot and once it was hot, swept the almonds from the chopping board and into the pot.
As he stirred, that amazing butt turned toward her and his muscles shifting with the movement, it was impossible to stay away from him. She snagged a dried apricot and walked over. Offered it to him to snack on while he toasted the almonds in the butter.
She brought the fruit to his lips, feeling a little like Eve in the Garden tempting Adam. The heat in the look he gave her only confirmed that he was feeling much the same way. Or maybe like the snake…tempting her to sin.
He took the first bite, but then returned to cooking, spilling in the carrots to sauté a bit before adding the onions.
“You seem quite comfortable doing this,” she said, and offered him the last bite of the fruit.
“My mother believed both my sister and I needed to be prepared to handle life, whatever it brought. She refused to let us be pampered all the time, so we had an assortment of chores—”
“In the palace,” she jumped in, wanting to remind him—and herself—of their different stations in life. One last defensive shot against what she was feeling for him.
“In our home, and as much as you might like to think it was over the top, it wasn’t,” he said, and handed her the wooden spoon he’d been using. “Please stir while I get the rice.”
“So you did chores around the house?” she asked, finding it hard to picture Alexander doing laundry, although she had to admit he seemed quite proficient in the kitchen.
He sauntered over to the canister with the rice and returned to the stove. “We cooked, helped out in the cook’s garden behind the house and the stables. Hated that the most,” he admitted with a wrinkle of his nose.
“Not a manure person?”
“Not a horse person. We could never agree that my ass belonged on the horse and not the ground,” he said with a grin as he measured out the rice, dumped it in the pot and toasted it as he’d done the almonds.
She laughed, and said, “Damn, there goes my vision of riding off with you into the sunset on a marvelous white steed.”
A wry smile crept onto his features. “So sorry to ruin the fantasy for you. It’ll have to be my Bentley instead.”
Instantly that vivid picture took hold in her mind. She valiantly tried to delete it, but to no avail. So instead she worked the conversation to a safer topic.
“What happened if you didn’t do the chores your mother assigned?”
Alexander laughed out loud, the sound full-bodied and reaching deep into her. “You don’t mess with my mother. She’s a very strong woman. Much like you.”
She demurred from asking if that was a compliment or not, because it would seem too much like she was fishing. Instead, she sipped her wine and watched him add water to the pot. When he was done, he took the butterflied chicken breasts from the counter and tossed more butter into the sauté pan to melt.
“I guess this isn’t a dietetic kind of meal,” she said with a smirk from behind the rim of her glass.
The look he gave her was long and appreciative. “I don’t think you need to worry about a diet.”
A flush of warmth swept across her cheeks. She wasn’t normally one to run, but her defenses against him were getting too weak. Better she run now and fight another day. She hopped off the stool and said, “I should go set the table.”
The devilish dimpled grin that erupted on his lips told her he knew she was affected by him, but he said nothing, instead turning his attention to the chicken.
After she gathered the cutlery and napkins to set the table, she settled at a safer distance and watched as he cooked with efficiency and passion.
It took barely half an hour for the meal to be finished. Alexander plated it for them. With hunger running high, much of the meal was silent until she forked up the last few bites of the tasty food.
The plain chicken breasts had been transformed by his butter and sour cream sauce, paired with the rice pilaf scented with almonds, carrots, onions and dried apricots.
“That was amazing.” She nearly groaned as she finished the last bite and barely restrained herself from licking the plate.
Alexander smiled and peered at her over the edge of his glass of white wine, a wicked glitter in his blue eyes. “So glad I could satisfy your hunger.”
Her pulse raced at the heat and promise of pleasure in that melting blue gaze. The warmth spread throughout her body, straight to a spot deep between her legs, but she forced aside thoughts of how else he could satisfy. He was absolutely wrong for her, and she for him.
And she had to get out of there before she ignored it all and did something foolish.
Rising abruptly, she said, “Thank you for a marvelous meal. I should really go.”
He followed her lead, popped out of his chair, and walked with her to where she slipped on her weapons harness and jacket, and then headed to the door. They both paused as he laid his hand against the door to slow her escape.
She faced him and leaned back against its surface. The top fe
w buttons of his shirt were still open, enticing her with a tantalizing hint of chest hair and solid muscle. Despite all common sense, she itched to raise her hand and feel that flesh beneath her fingertips.
Somehow she resisted.
The same could not be said of Alexander, who bent toward her and traced his thumb along her cheek. “Am I still a suspect, Ko’shechka maja?”
She knew no Russian words, but the tone left no doubt they were an endearment. It stirred her blood, awakening even greater desire. “What if I said I hadn’t decided yet?”
“I’d say you were lying.”
He closed the final inches between them and brought his lips to hers, leaving her no chance to deny his words. He tenderly brushed his mouth along hers. The caress made no demand, and yet she couldn’t refuse the invitation.
Over and over her mouth met his, savoring the fullness of his lips and the smooth slide of his tongue as he dipped in to taste her.
She moaned, swept her tongue along his, and splayed her hand on his chest. The muscle there was hard, and his heart beat an erratic pulse beneath her palm, matching the racing rhythm of her own.
She should not be doing this. He was involved in her investigation. He was from a completely different world. Getting involved with him would surely break her heart.
But right now none of that mattered.
Right now, all she wanted was him.
…
Alexander couldn’t hold back a groan. He had sampled the most expensive wines and foods in the world, but nothing tasted as exquisite as Kathleen. Or felt as silken as her skin as he glided his thumb along the column of her throat. He leisurely slipped his hand down to the lapel of her suit and pushed aside her jacket to cup her breast. But as he did so, his fingers brushed the hard edge of her leather holster.
The reminder of what that represented jolted him from the pleasure of the kiss.
With a final intimacy, he memorized the taste of her before regretfully pulling away. As his gaze met hers, a potent mix of desire and uncertainty darkened her changeling eyes with their shards of brown, green and blue.
The Prince's Gamble Page 9
