The Moscow Affair

by Taylor Lee

  Rafe shook his head.

  “Hell, honey, when it comes down to it, I can’t blame the asshole. When you walked in the room wearing a dress comprised of at most a yard of fabric, the hapless prick looked like he was going to come in his pants.”

  Nicki jumped to her feet, stunned by his crude language. It seemed so out of character with his normally cool, slightly disdainful attitude. But one look at his eyes confirmed Rafe was not his usual self. Instead of cool and calculating, his eyes were dark green, the color of storm tossed waves in a raging sea. His intensity frightened her—and excited her. But she knew whatever happened it would end the way all his flirtations did. He enjoyed teasing her, playing with her. It amused him. It was a game to him. But it was not a game to her. Much to her dismay she was falling for him. Why wouldn’t she? Every woman who saw him fell for the green-eyed charmer. But the tall, lean, incredibly sexy man who could have any woman he wanted made it clear that none of them would ever truly have him—including her.

  Walking by him, she jerked her head at the half empty bottle of Scotch on the table.

  “I think you’ve had enough of that tonight. You’ve allowed the Senator to get to you, Rafe.”

  He grinned but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “You may be right about that, Nicki. But the Senator is not the only thing that’s getting to me tonight.”

  Not trusting herself or him, Nicki escaped over to the windows and gazed out at the gorgeous night. Breathing deep, for a brief moment she felt peaceful, almost serene, in control of her runaway emotions. The crescent moon skittering between slivers of grey white clouds combined with the myriad stars lighting towering pines below. High in the mountains with no city lights for competition, the stars created a backdrop of sparkling splendor that took her breath away. Gazing at the snow white peaks in the distance, Nicki forgot for a moment where she was until she became aware of Rafe’s presence. With a start, she met his eyes reflected in the window before her.

  Even in her five inch high heels, he loomed over her. A shock of tousled black hair fell across his forehead. In the glass his eyes gleamed like glittering emeralds that could cut through steel or more likely through her heart. She realized with a shiver that he had dimmed the lamps and the only light in the room came from the fireplace. Red gold flames cast eerie shadows across his chiseled features.

  He hadn’t touched her but she felt him in every fiber of her being. It was as though he had enclosed her in his dominating presence, had eaten up the space that used to hold her and sucked her into his. She held her breath, afraid the whisper of her exhale would shatter the silence and break the spell.

  Mesmerized, in the reflection of the window, she watched him reach out and touch the orchid in her hair. With long skillful fingers, he loosened the diamond studded hairpin holding it in place. Tugging at the exotic flower he freed it. Holding it up to his nose, he breathed in deep, smelling it the way he had sniffed at his cigar. And she realized the way he was inhaling her. Like a prowling animal that knows his prey is near. He tucked the orchid between her breasts, letting his fingertips drag over the sensitive flesh beneath the fragile fabric barrier.

  A violent tremor shook her. Holding her breath, desperately fighting the sensations swirling over her, she watched as one by one Rafe loosened the pins that held her rampant curls in place. He tucked the pins possessively in his pocket, a reminder that as easily as he freed the hairpins he could, if he chose, remove the rest of her clothes.

  With no further pins as impediments, Rafe wove his fingertips through her hair, freeing a torrent of fiery curls. He groaned softly and murmured in her ear, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that? Let this glorious mane fall over your shoulders, down your back? Damn, Princess, it puts the flames in the fireplace to shame.”

  He tugged on her hair pulling her deeper into his space, so close they were almost touching.

  Answering his own question he said, “Since you stood in the doorway, shy and tentative, except for this wild incongruous reminder of the fire that burns here.” With a wicked grin, he pointed to her groin.

  She gasped and tried to pull away, but he wound his hand in her hair and held her in place.

  “I have a question, Princess.”

  Nicki closed her eyes to keep from being drawn in by his magnetic gaze. Peeking up at his reflection and seeing the look in his eyes, she frowned.

  “I don’t think I want to hear it.”

  At her saucy response, his grin widened.

  “Ah, but it’s a question I have been muddling over for the last three hours. Humor me, Princess. I’m curious. Are you wearing a thong to avoid panty lines…or… do you forego even that slender restraint?”

  She flushed, aghast at the light stroke of his fingers brushing over the tight fabric covering her ass. She drew back angrily and twisted away from his probing touch.

  “It is none of your business what I do or don’t wear.” she snapped.

  Determined to get away, she ducked under his arm and almost made it to the door. But he was too quick. He caught her at the doorway and pressed her up against the wall, his large body pinning her in place. He wound his hand in her hair tipping her head back forcing her to look in his eyes. She was stunned, as much by her reaction to him as the fierce determination in his eyes. Her legs were shaking so hard she thought she might fall, but she knew he would not let her go.

  “Uh uh, Warrior Woman. You’re not going anywhere until I say you can.”

  He chuckled at her furious gasp.

  “We need to establish some rules here, Princess.”

  She tried to twist away but his grip was firm.

  “I agree!” She added, fiercely pressing her hands against his chest. “And the first rule is that you leave me alone!”

  He pulled her closer then pressed his lips against the sensitive place below her ear and murmured, “That’s a good rule. One I agree with.”

  Shivery sensations flooded her. Lifting her hair, he bared her throat to his lips, his tongue. His lips were soft, moist, and then to her astonishment he began licking her. He ran his tongue over the tender skin on her throat, nipping gently, so gently, at the sensitized flesh with his teeth. His beard shadow rubbed against her cheek. She gasped, stunned at the desire that raspy touch invoked. The smell of his expensive cologne mixed with a musky male smell overwhelmed her. She had to get away; she was sinking in the smell, the feel of his hard male body. As she struggled to free herself, he captured both of her hands and held them above her head, hard against the wall.

  His voice was low, husky. “There’s only one problem with that rule. I’ve been a rule breaker all my life.” He nipped her ear lobe with his teeth then blew on the wet skin, smiling at the fierce tremor that racked her body.

  “Oh yeah, Princess. And so have you.”

  With one hand he tipped up her chin and gave her a quizzical stare. Seeing the response he was looking for, he leaned down and began to kiss her. She was surprised how soft his lips were. He kissed her gently at first, as though she were fragile, innocent, not a woman clinging to the edge of her sanity, knowing that if she gave in to him she would be lost forever. Licking and nipping at her lips, he invited her to open to him. She wanted to. It felt so good. But she knew she had to keep him out, to resist the fiery sensations flooding her. Torn between her need for him and her certain knowledge that he was teasing her, playing with her, she pressed her lips closed. But she was no match for the slow lash of his skillful tongue. Pushing his tongue between her lips, he sucked on her tongue eliciting a soft whimper. His answering groan drove the flames racing through her body higher.

  He growled, “Damn, Nicki, I knew you would taste like this, sweet, hot.”

  She wriggled against him stunned at the sensations swamping her. She struggled to keep from falling further, harder under his spell.

  “What are you doing, Rafe?” Her voice was strangled with need.

  “Damned if I know, Princess. It must be
the scotch.”

  And then he was no longer gentle, persuasive. Rather he thrust his tongue deep in her mouth, hard, demanding, pushing down her resistance. Oh God, yes. There was no way she could stop now. She was damned. Her hunger was as great as his. She moaned into his mouth and frantically began to taste him, suck on him, drinking in the heady taste of Scotch and cigarettes and Rafe. She was lost to the turmoil raking her groin. She wanted him closer. She wanted to feel him, all of him. Touch him, the way he was touching her, deep, hard, unrelenting.

  His hands were all over her, his probing finger slipped up inside the outrageous slit in her dress. Grasping her thighs, he spread them open. His voice was low, rumbling with lust.

  “Yeah, just what I thought. Thigh-high stockings. And this slit in the front of your dress. Did you know, Princess, that when you turned a certain way, I caught a glimpse of this!” He stroked the bare flesh above her lacy stockings. “And that fucking bastard, he saw too. Christ, it’s a wonder we both didn’t attack you on the spot.”

  He groaned. “Did you see me staring at you, wanting to see more? Wild little tease that you are, I think you did. But dammit, Nicki, I didn’t want to just look, I wanted to touch you, like this.”

  She gave a gasp of agonized need, not wanting him to stop. She wanted his hands, his fingers deep inside of her. In places that ached for his touch.

  When she didn’t think she could go any higher, feel any more, he groaned and shoved her dress up over her hips. Spreading her legs, Rafe grabbed her bare ass cheeks in his big hands and lifted her up over his strong thigh. When Nicki felt his bulging erection pressing against her fevered flesh, a bolt of electricity shot through her core. Clinging to his shoulders, she pressed against his hard erection, sobbing with need.

  He growled, “Yeah, baby, ride me. Ride me just like that.”

  And, God help him, she did. Her whimpering cries begging for more signaled her orgasm was near. He knew they were at a point of no return. In the next minute he’d have the top of her dress down to her waist and then he would have a choice. He could feast on her gorgeous breasts, taste those soft pink nipples he’d glimpsed, suck on them until they were hard ripe berries. Or, he could bury his mouth in the succulent folds between her thighs and gorge himself on the sweet juices coating his fingers.

  Christ, he’d been lusting for her for hours. Hell, more like days. His prick was iron hard. If he didn’t get relief soon, chances were good he’d come in his pants.

  But dammit, he couldn’t. Every inch of his body cried out, begging him to take her, to put her down on the floor and fuck her. Deep, hard. But he urgently reminded himself, he couldn’t. She’d never forgive him, and he’d never forgive himself. It was no good to blame it on the scotch. Hell, he could down a bottle of scotch and take on a small army without breathing hard. No, it was Nicki. It was her soft luscious curves, her tantalizing lavender and lemon grass smell, layered with the erotic musk of an aroused woman. God, he longed to bury his mouth between her luscious thighs and feast on her. But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t give in to her siren call. He’d resist her. For her sake, but even more for his own. He knew what he was. It wasn’t only his past. He was a man with hard-driving appetites. Much too hard, too demanding for Nicki. She teased, she flirted, but there was an unmistakable innocence about her that unfortunately was as big a turn-on as her wanton winks and sassy mouth. And then, God help him, there was Yuri Petrakov. Yuri was the one man who’d seen past the cocky sixteen-year-old hardened killer; he’d dragged Rafe out of a gutter that would have swallowed him whole before he reached his seventeenth birthday. And then Yuri trusted him with his Nikita, the person the gruff man loved more than anything in the world.

  With a groan, he lifted her off his thigh trying to ignore the fragrant dampness she’d imprinted there. Rafe pulled her up close to him and pressed her cheek against his chest.

  “Nicki, we can’t do this.”

  His voice was as ragged as he felt. He forced himself to look in her eyes, to acknowledge her shock. His heart ached when first disbelief then pain took the place of her agonized surprise.

  He sighed.

  “Nicki, this isn’t about you, this is all about me. We can’t do this. It’s not right. I can’t take you like this. God knows I want to, but I can’t.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. Christ, if he could have, he would have kicked his own ass. Her lips were trembling and she was clinging to him… she would fall if he didn’t hold her up.

  “Was it…something I did? I’m sorry; I’m not… very….”

  He shook his head vehemently. Knowing how it must feel to kick a puppy, he knew he had to break the chain of desire between them. He’d need to hurt her now to keep from hurting her more in the future.

  “Look, Nicki. I’m going to be honest. You’re not the kind of woman I fuck. It’s as simple as that. Plus, I’m your boss. It’s wrong. I apologize for letting this get out of hand.”

  Longing to look away from the dazed pain on her face, he built one lie on top of the other and took the cowardly way out.

  “You were right, Princess. I did have too much scotch tonight. Unfortunately, what you got was the scotch talking, not me. Again, my apologies.”

  She visibly swallowed. He breathed a slight sigh of relief when the desolation on her face began to crumble and anger moved in. He could handle her anger. He welcomed it. He deserved it and a hell of a lot more. What he couldn’t look at another minute was her devastation.

  He walked to his desk and grabbed for his cigarette case. Facing her, he leaned back against the edge of the desk and made a production of lighting his smoke. He forced himself to look at her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks, her cloud of disheveled hair. She smoothed her wrinkled dress over her thighs and wrestled the top of her dress up over her breasts.

  He took a long drag off of his cigarette and gazed at her through the curtain of smoke.

  “Good night, Nicki. I’ll see you in the morning. Seven o’clock sharp.”

  He turned away hunting for an ashtray. When he turned back, she was gone. The hole in the empty doorway wasn’t nearly as big as the one in his gut.

  Chapter 5

  Nicki stumbled back to her room, not sure how she got there. Later she remembered unlocking the door then collapsing inside. She didn’t know how long she crouched in the corner too shocked to move. Little by little she acknowledged what had happened. Rafe had come on to her in a way she didn’t dream possible. He had kissed her, touched her, pushed her up a ladder of pleasure she’d never climbed before. And God help her, she had responded. She’d whimpered, cried out, begged him not to stop. But he did. Then he’d kicked the ladder out from under her and she’d come crashing down. He’d pushed her away. Told her that it was mistake. That if he hadn’t had so much to drink, he never would have… have made her feel things she had never felt before? No it was worse. He said that she wasn’t the kind of woman he fucked. Not hard to guess what he meant by that!

  At first she was too stunned to feel, to sort out what had happened. At length, her pain turned to rage. She screamed. She ranted, raved. She smashed glasses on the tile floor, ripped her black dress to shreds and tore her stockings. But nothing assuaged the fury, the shame she felt. As angry as she was with him, she was furious with herself. How could she have been so stupid? So ridiculous? So pitiful! He said it. He didn’t dissemble. She wasn’t the kind of woman he fucked. But she knew that. She’d heard the men talking, laughing at their amorous exploits, marveling at the power Rafe had over women. How they flocked to him, experienced women, gorgeous women. Whatever the situation, the others lamented, Rafe attracted the cream of the crop, the women others would die to take. If Caleb was an accomplished chick magnet, Rafe was a vortex. He sucked the willing women in, then carelessly spat them out.

  After she’d raged for what seemed like hours Nicki did something she couldn’t remember doing since she was a little girl. She cried. Harsh, bitter tears. Wrenching sobs. She cried until she
could no longer cry. Until she was drained of tears, until her head pounded and her chest hurt. She hung over the toilet, wanting to throw up but unable to make the effort. As the morning light streamed through the windows, ratcheting up the pain in her head, she forced herself to look in the mirror. To survey the damage. Her eyes were swollen almost shut, her nose was red. Her face was pale. Her hair was a torrential mess.

  Staring at her reflection, her pride kicked in. She refused to face him looking like this. Downing four Advil, she forced herself into the shower. After twenty minutes of blistering hot water, then five minutes of icy cold, she’d shocked her numb body back to life. She scrubbed away every vestige of him. Every hint of his smell, his musky masculine odor and the scent of sex between her legs. She surveyed her voluptuous body with disgust and dragged out her warrior garb. A sleeveless black t-shirt, cammo pants and combat boots were her armor. She pulled her hair up in a tight ponytail daring any tendrils to break free.

  ~~~

  Their breakfast meetings were the same pleasant ritual. Camaraderie, pots of coffee and smash talk set the tone for the day. Nicki hesitated at the dining room door. She heard their voices, the clink of silverware, glasses, the aroma of strong coffee and fresh baked bread. She’d spent the last two hours preparing for this moment. She refused to cave now. Squaring her shoulders, Nicki pushed open the door and walked in.

  Every muscle, every nerve was tuned to a high pitch. She was as battle ready as when she fought. Until she walked through the doorway and saw him. With one glance at his hard, impenetrable eyes, she folded, unable to meet his somber gaze. He frowned, then stood and motioned for her to sit in her usual place next to him. She ignored the gesture and moved down the row of men, and sunk down in the chair next to Caleb. Grayson was over by the counter. He caught her eye and held up the coffee pot with a welcoming smile. She shook her head refusing knowing she couldn’t swallow, much less tolerate the acidic brew.

  Rafe’s refined tastes had converted them all. He’d insisted that even in the banlieues of Paris, they knew how to make bread. Rafe’s personal chef, Andre, won over the hard core Wonder Bread enthusiasts. Each morning, Andre enticed them with fragrant offerings that would meet the exacting standards of the finest French bakeries. The hungry men gobbled up the sweet-scented delicacies along with omelets and quiches made with fresh herbs and the finest aged cheeses.