She just hoped she could trust her instincts this time. Because they hadn’t done the greatest job for her lately. Her train-wreck of a love life being the most glaring example.
Stu was still eyeing her with a furrowed brow. “I do hope, Alexis, that you aren’t feeling pressured to leave by my Deputy Chief of Mission. Because if I had to choose between Geoff Chase and you to guard my back, I’d have no hesitation in seeing him reassigned.”
“I know that.” Now Alexis could meet his concerned gaze without faltering. “We both know he acted inappropriately, using the Embassy security team to pursue his own personal vendetta. And he knows it’s cost him his next promotion. With a black mark like that on his record, he can kiss his own ambassadorial ambitions goodbye.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right about that,” the Ambassador admitted. “I’ve no doubt at all that he deeply regrets his actions. So if Geoff is chasing you away—”
“Nothing could be further from the truth, sir,” she said honestly. “Geoff has bent over backward to avoid me since we returned from St. Pete. There’s nothing between us anymore, and I wouldn’t let his presence influence my decision to stay or leave. His wishes were completely irrelevant when I made my choice.”
Briskly she stood and brushed herself off—even managing a smile for her old friend.
“Besides, you haven’t seen a sample of my investigative journalism yet,” she teased. “I’ve already had a couple of stories accepted by the Moscow Times, and they’ve expressed an interest in seeing more of my work. Who knows, I might be a future winner of the Pulitzer Prize. Then you can say you knew me when.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me a bit.” He offered a rueful grin. “Of course, as a private citizen, you’d need to leave the Embassy compound in any event. But I can’t understand why this career change of yours requires leaving Moscow altogether.”
“I can’t stay here.” She spoke more sharply than she’d intended, and worked to moderate her tone. Because she had no intention of going into why her hasty exit would be leaving skid marks on the tarmac at Sheremetyevo airport.
“I’m planning to spend the next few months on the road,” she finished lightly. “I plan to try my hand at travel writing, submit a few stories via email. I have enough cash in savings to float for a few months, so I won’t starve to death. In fact, I’m looking forward to a few adventures.”
The hell of it was, she’d told Stu the honest truth. She—Wayne Castle’s daughter, the buttoned-tight rising star of the U.S. Foreign Service—had discovered her inner adventure junkie. Now she was breaking all the rules, and wasn’t that a piece of irony?
Again the Ambassador’s eyes searched hers, but she found herself struggling to meet his gaze. He probably knew she hadn’t mentioned the core reason why she wouldn’t be sticking around to launch her journalistic career from Moscow. The reason she’d been burning up the Carlson-Wagonlit office to buy a one-way ticket out of Russia tomorrow, and the reason she’d never return.
But she and Stu had known each other a long time. And he’d read her contact report—her confession, as she thought of it—about the full extent of her relationship with Victor Kostenko.
“Say,” the Ambassador said casually, appearing to follow her thoughts. “I heard at MFA yesterday that Captain Kostenko has resigned from his diplomatic post. He’s been briefing his replacement. I thought you might want to know.”
God, just hearing his name made her heart stop beating. Her heart twisted with the pain of remembrance. Painfully she sucked in a ragged breath, and her heartbeat fumbled to catch up, thudding hard and fast.
Eyes burning, she bent to construct another packing box and struggled to regain her composure. She really couldn’t believe that, after everything he’d done, she still felt a pang of concern for the bastard.
He’d knocked a four-star admiral unconscious in her defense, though she’d made a point of confirming that Igor Ivashov had made a full recovery. How much of the incident the admiral recalled after his concussion, she hadn’t been able to discern. If he’d remembered everything and the SVR had chosen to punish Victor for it, that wasn’t her problem anymore. But still…
“Perhaps they’ve reassigned him at the Defense Ministry. That should please him, since he despised his desk job at MFA.” She forced a shrug, but suspected her display of indifference wasn’t terribly convincing. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Victor, it’s that he always lands on his feet.
“Anyway,” she hurried on, “I’m confirmed on an 8 a.m. flight to Bangkok tomorrow. The movers will finish clearing out the townhouse next week, so my replacement can move in promptly.”
“Frankly, that’s the last issue on my mind.” Stu leaned forward to hold the cardboard box while she taped the bottom. “I’d still like to convince you to take a leave of absence, Alexis, while you think this over. With the benefit of distance, you may come to regret your decision.”
“No way,” she said instantly. Not even tempted to waffle, thank God. She wanted out of the stifling stranglehold of her father’s legacy no matter what else happened.
“Be happy for me, Stu.” She managed a wobbly smile. “I’m chasing a dream—one I’ve always regretted letting go. How many people can say they’ve dared that?”
“I’m happy if you’re happy.” Casually, he straightened and wandered to the window, glancing down the tree-lined drive toward the South Gate. “He’s quite the fellow, though, isn’t he? Brilliant, committed, sophisticated, courageous—kind of like someone else I know.”
Ambushed by her old friend’s insistence on pursuing the topic she least wanted to discuss, Alexis squeezed her eyes closed. Her throat burned with the heartache she’d been fighting and losing since she returned from St. Petersburg.
“Yeah, well,” she said harshly. “Captain Kostenko is also tyrannical, manipulative, and a goddamn liar. I—I can’t talk about this anymore, Stu.”
“OK,” he said gently, giving her the space she needed. “You’re the boss now, Alexis. Though I hope you’ll find time to keep in touch with an old friend during your ‘adventures’. I’m interested to see how this voyage of discovery you’ve embarked upon turns out.”
“You can count on it.” Alexis raised her blurred eyes to his. “Thanks again, Stu. For everything.”
_____________________________________
After the Ambassador took his leave, Alexis struggled to focus on crating her beloved paintings—the next big item on her moving list, and a task she always undertook personally. But her eyes kept tearing up for some stupid reason. She really didn’t want to spend tonight the same way she’d spent every other night lately—listening to Tchaikovsky and crying in the bath.
But, by the time the short winter day had darkened, she’d pretty much accepted her fate. Sighing, she uncorked a bottle of syrah. Wine seemed to be her best friend lately. The one she could count on not to betray her.
She was climbing the stairs to run her bath when the doorbell chimed. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of not answering. After the unremitting tension and fatigue generated by a series of eighteen-hour days leading up to the President’s visit—not to mention the emotional roller-coaster she’d been riding—Alexis knew she was a wreck, both emotionally and physically.
But kind-hearted colleagues had been dropping by all weekend to say goodbye, and the flood of thoughtful farewell gifts had touched her heart. She supposed she owed whoever it was the courtesy of a glass of wine, at least.
Hastily, she brushed packing debris off her camel-toned cashmere sweater and pushed a hand through her tousled hair. An apology for her untidy appearance was rising to her lips as she opened the door. The record-breaking cold snap had finally broken, and the night air felt almost balmy as it brushed her skin.
And there on her doorstep, filling her microscopic landing with his larger-than-life presence, stood Victor Kostenko.
For what had to be a good ten seconds, she just stood there, feeling like her feet were bo
lted to the floor. Clutching the doorknob with numbed fingers, her stomach turning cartwheels and her heart executing back-flips under her sweater.
God, he looked good. Yet another telling example she hadn’t needed to prove that his overwhelming charisma and physical impact weren’t due to the snappy uniform.
Nope. Faded jeans that hugged his sinewed thighs, a North Face parka and black fisherman’s sweater suited his broad-shouldered frame just fine. Somewhere he’d picked up a deeper shade of bronze that made his sun-streaked hair seem lighter. And those ice-blue eyes were locked on her like nothing else mattered.
He looked as though he figured she’d slam the door in his face if he even blinked. Which was probably a pretty safe bet.
Still, she couldn’t deny the relief that whispered through her to see him safe and sound. At least they weren’t sweating him in the Lubyanka prison for his too-close collaboration with an American diplomat. Maybe now she’d sleep at night—
From the pavement behind him, a voice she dimly recognized as her secretary’s piped up.
“Um, hi, Alexis?” On Alexis’s last day at post, Candace had finally graduated to addressing her on a first-name basis. “The Ambassador cleared him in, and asked me to escort him over here. But I can, um, take him back if this isn’t a good time…”
Victor still wasn’t letting her up for air, those Nordic eyes locked right on her. Looming over her, close enough to reach out and touch him. But that definitely wasn’t in the cards. Not when she needed to tell him to get the hell out.
“Privyet, Alexis,” he said huskily, his chiseled face unusually sober, with none of the deviltry that normally lurked in his gaze. “I have to speak with you. May I come in?”
So now he was asking for permission, instead of firing orders at her like a captain on the bridge? Part of her ached to slam the door in his face.
But she knew she’d never sleep again if she refused to hear whatever parting words he’d come to tell her. If nothing else, the curiosity alone would kill her. For her own piece of mind, she needed to nip in the bud any shoot of unfinished business between them.
“I have a lot to accomplish tonight,” she said ungraciously. “So you’ll have to make this pretty quick.” Tearing her eyes away from him, she called, “I’ve got him, Candace, and I’ll escort him back out. Thanks for your help.”
Not trusting herself alone with him in the confines of her vestibule, she pivoted and walked into the kitchen. Her senses preternaturally attuned to his presence, she heard the scuff of boots as he stomped off snow, closed the door, shed his parka.
Alexis took a swallow from her wineglass and spoke without turning. “The living room’s that way. I wasn’t expecting company, so it’s a mess.”
“Your Ambassador called on me at MFA yesterday,” Victor murmured, filling the kitchen door behind her. “He told me that you’re leaving.”
Stuart Malvaux, I am going to kill you, she thought grimly. She’d known the Ambassador since she was twelve years old, for God’s sake, and the man chose now to turn into a matchmaker?
“My plane leaves for Bangkok in fourteen hours,” she said tightly, keeping her back to him. She didn’t know why she was bothering to be civil after the crap he’d pulled, but she reached reluctantly for a clean wineglass.
“Do you want a drink?” she said shortly. “As you can see, I’m having one.”
“The offer is tempting, but I’d better not.” She heard him stalk into the living room. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
So now you’re asking? she almost said, but confined herself to a snort. Did he think this Emily Post routine was going to soften her up?
“Go ahead,” she said curtly, refusing to feel remorseful for her brusqueness.
Alexis topped off her wineglass and followed him into the cluttered living room, where she caught him pacing before the fire. Deliberately, she perched on the arm of her wingchair. No sense letting him think she was getting comfy—and she sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere near the couch.
While he propped a cigarette between his lips and lit up, she tried not to notice the way he moved. The same edgy prowl she saw every night in her dreams, that air of danger and vitality barely leashed. Not to mention the same mouth-watering whiff of Beckham mingling with the acrid smoke of high-end tobacco, giving her senses a sensual kick that she so didn’t need.
She’d read somewhere that great white sharks were born pure white, but sunlight through the water tanned them gunmetal-gray. It made them harder for their prey to spot when the shark streaked up from below for the kill. Well, the thing might be able to change its color, but it was still a shark. Still a menace to everything else that swam, and still the king of predators.
Abruptly, she broke the charged silence that thrummed in the air between them. “I’m a busy woman today—as you can plainly see, captain. Can I ask why you’re here?”
Victor swung to face her, putting his back to the fire, a golden haze of cigarette smoke unfurling above his head.
“I owe you an explanation,” he said simply, “for everything.”
Oh, so now you’re going to explain yourself? Alexis gripped her wineglass so hard she almost shattered the stem. But she’d better not lose control here. She’d shown him enough of Alexis out of control during their catastrophic little fling.
“If I said I wasn’t curious to hear your take on it, I’d be lying,” she allowed curtly. “But this had better be extremely good, captain. One lie or even a whiff of evasion, and I’ll take great pleasure in having the Marines throw your ass out of here.”
Briefly, the spark of challenge flared in his narrowed gaze—the ripple of aggressive reflex that she’d always found so sexy. Still found way too sexy, damn it.
But he reined himself in, confined himself to a hard drag on his cigarette, and jerked a nod.
“Very well,” he said tersely. “I’ll start from the beginning. The night we met at the German Ambassador’s residence, I spotted you in the crowd before we spoke. I’d read your dossier, as I would for any new contact. But when I saw you…so focused and driven and so goddamn gorgeous, fending off the advances of some greasy Italian, and looking like you wanted to run the man through with a fencing foil—well.”
For a nanosecond, his stern features creased in a rueful smile. Against her will, she felt the tug of forbidden attraction that had pulled them so dangerously together that night, and every time she’d seen him since.
“When I saw you, fired with purpose, glittering like a knife cutting through that sea of hypocrisy…” His voice deepened, sending an involuntary shiver tingling down her spine. “I more than wanted you. I had to have you. My invitation to the Bolshoi was only about that, a man pursuing a woman. I couldn’t have cared less about your damn demarche. So when I met you at the theater, I had one objective only—to entice you into my bed.”
Despite herself, Alexis caught her breath, hearing the echo of that symphony of desire that had thrummed between them in the intimate darkness. Feeling the way his lips had brushed her nape, the way every fine hair on her body had risen, the way every molecule of her being strained toward him.
“But you were so clearly determined to keep me at a distance.” He scowled. “You were constantly raising barriers between us, pushing me away—and it drove me crazy. I became a bit too overt in my attentions that night. And one of my SVR colleagues saw us. The next morning, I received orders to seduce you. To compromise you, just like Oliver Grey did to Natalia Petrova.”
Alexis gripped her wineglass in trembling fingers and took a fortifying sip of wine. Damn, but it sucked hearing all her worst theories for his behavior confirmed.
“Let me get this straight, captain.” Her voice carried an edge she knew he didn’t miss. “You’re a Ministry of Defense employee, seconded to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but in reality still working for the SVR?”
“As I told you before, they recruited me after my father’s accident,” he said gruffly. “Initially, I was reluctant
. But I was also desperate to redeem myself for the so-called drawback of my Ukrainian heritage. To prove my loyalty to the Motherland. Undoubtedly, they assumed this motivation would prevail when they instructed me to seduce you.”
He pulled in smoke, his Slavic features tight “At the time, their inclinations and mine were in perfect accord. I couldn’t get you out of my head—I was bloody obsessed with you, damn it. I believed that if I slept with you, this fixation would pass, that it would somehow become…manageable. I’m not making excuses for this, but it’s how I felt.”
Despite her vow to remain detached and unemotional, Alexis felt her cheeks burning. Humiliation churned in her gut, the shame of being used by the man she’d most desired.
“So the day you came to the Embassy party,” she gritted, “the day you kissed me, and convinced me to go with you to the dacha. All that talk about giving me the scoop on MFA’s new position. That was all just part of your plan, right? God, you must have laughed when I walked right into it.”
“That was the initial plan,” Victor admitted, his ice-blue eyes locked on her—looking nowhere near laughter. “The agency had written the script and provided a suitable setting for your seduction. But after I kissed you, while I was waiting for you outside, I realized I didn’t care to execute their distasteful little plan. I wanted to seduce you without a goddamn audience. I wanted what was happening to be only about you and me.”
A likely story, Alexis thought bitterly. Did he honestly expect her to trust whatever he claimed in hindsight his intentions had been? When every nuance of his words and actions that night proved he’d only been using her?
“I telephoned my SVR contact,” he went on grimly, “and told him I’d aborted the plan. Then I took you someplace else: a location I chose myself, which I foolishly believed was clean.”
The Russian Seduction Page 26
