by Alexia Adams
Now he knew why. It was all a sham. What else had she lied about? Was it going to impact his bid to win the Adjmani contract? The tightness in his chest was from the potential loss of the competition, wasn’t it? Or was the cause the anguish in Kat’s eyes when he’d threatened to end their association. It was an empty threat—his heart rejected the idea entirely. And that had nothing on the argument his body put forward.
He was pouring more batter into the waffle iron when the sound of Kat’s bare feet on the wood floor alerted him to her arrival. Closing the lid, he glanced up. He’d made a colossal mistake. Wearing his shirt, and only his shirt, she was as sexy as he’d ever seen her, except when she’d worn the corset and jewels after the ballet. But she also looked tiny, vulnerable, lost. Perfect.
She perched on a barstool on the other side of the counter. Her hair was disheveled, her face free of makeup, and she bit her bottom lip provocatively.
Stay on target, Wolfe. “What do you have in your coffee?”
“Just black.”
He poured her a cup and then pointed at the stack of waffles. Making them kept his hands busy and off Kat. No way would they get through the ten he’d made. Next to the pile was a bowl of whipped cream, more strawberries, some chocolate sauce, and maple syrup. He’d originally envisaged a much different breakfast setting, one that would have him throwing out his bed sheets. That was unlikely to happen now. His body protested the change in plans.
She put a waffle on her plate then added a few strawberries and a drizzle of maple syrup. But she played with the utensils rather than digging in.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked after the first forkful.
“I’ve lost my appetite.” For waffles. “Would you please do up the damn buttons on that shirt?” She’d only done up three and when she leaned forward to grab a few more strawberries, he had a clear view of her naked breasts, her nipples pebbled. He sure as hell was sporting a massive hard-on with her within arm’s reach.
She stood on the barstool’s footrest, leaned forward so he got an eyeful, then slowly slid another button into its hole. At the bottom of the shirt. She didn’t play fair. Then again, he’d told her they were no longer playing.
“I assume you were born in St. Petersburg, Russia.”
“It was called Leningrad when I was born, but yes.”
“And what you’ve told me about your father being an alcoholic and your mother taking your sister and leaving so she could become a great ballerina?”
“All true. My sister used to dance with the Bolshoi, that’s why I was so excited to see them. I’d hoped she’d still be part of the company, even if she wasn’t a principal dancer any longer.”
“When was the last time you saw your sister?”
“Six years ago.” She stared at her coffee then finally took a sip. A tear escaped her right eye, but she brushed it away. He ached to comfort her, wrap her in his arms and promise her forever. But he couldn’t. If he was to get any more information from her, he’d better steer clear of her family. For now.
“When did you move to America?”
“Five years ago. That’s when I became Kat Smith.”
“What’s your real name?”
She hesitated.
“Katya Grigorievna Smirnova.”
Her eyes met his and for a second he saw her fear. The instinct to protect surged through him. He reached across and put a hand on hers. “I will never tell anyone.”
“Thank you, or should I say, spasibo?”
“Let’s stick to English.” He drained the last of his coffee, wishing he’d added a shot of whiskey. “What are you wanted for in Russia?”
She took a long drink from her cup. Was she thinking up a good lie? “I had this boyfriend who was head of a criminal gang. The authorities wanted to question me about his activities.”
“This the guy who gave you presents with strings attached? The one you thought you loved?” A vision of Kat gazing with adoration at some other man flickered across his mind and his nausea returned.
“Yes.” Her gaze shifted to the far wall. “After about a year together he wanted me to sleep with other men so I could get information from them.”
“Bastard.”
Her eyes flitted to his but didn’t linger. He pictured a young Kat, desperate for love after her parents had abandoned her, latching on to this loser who probably promised her the world then betrayed her in the worst way possible. If Wolfe ever got his hands on that asshole…
Kat finished the breakfast on her plate and looked longingly at the coffeemaker. He poured her and himself another cup but put a hand on her wrist before she could raise hers to her lips.
“So, that’s it? You’re only wanted in relation to your ex-boyfriend? You were never arrested?” If she had a record, it would be a problem. No criminal connection was a main stipulation to even enter the prince’s contest.
Again she paused. “Something’s burning.”
Smoke billowed from the waffle maker. He unplugged it and put the burned waffle into the compost bin under the sink. “Answer the question.”
“I was never arrested.” Again her gaze darted away.
“How did you get away from him? Get out of Russia?”
“Liam Manning found me.”
The guy she worked for now? “I don’t understand.”
“Liam keeps an eye out for new talent. The best cyber security experts are those who know all the backdoors and ways to circumnavigate firewalls. I managed to crack one of his programs, and he tracked me down. He offered me two options, come to America and work for him or take my chances with the Russian government.”
“So you went with him?”
“It was either that or be pimped out by my so-called boyfriend. Liam got me out of the country, and I laid low here in London for a few months until he’d set me up with an American identity. I owe him my life.”
So far it all sounded plausible. “It’s a pretty thorough job he did, school records and everything.”
“Adding records is easy. When you crack a system they always check for missing information. Not many check to see if you’ve added stuff.”
He nodded, not quite sure what to do with the story she’d told him. Did her past really matter? Not to him, as long as she told the truth. But Crown Prince Adjmani would have a different opinion. Although by the time Wolfe was awarded the royal commission, Kat would be back in America and out of his life. His chest tightened.
“So, where do we go from here?” Kat asked.
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair.
She put her coffee cup down, hopped off the stool, and moved toward the living room where her clothes were scattered on the floor. He didn’t follow.
Two minutes later she reappeared, once again wearing the black dress with the tantalizing gold zipper between her breasts, high heels, and her air of impenetrable self-reliance.
“Thank you for dinner. And breakfast.” She said it as though that was all they’d shared.
He wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her they’d work it out. What was there to work out? He’d hired her to check all his software programs and discover who was embedding malicious code and disrupting his systems. And she was doing that. It was his own damn fault he’d gotten personally involved with her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He had to know this wasn’t the end. Yet.
Her eyes when they met his had an air of sadness about them. Then she blinked and the moment was gone. “Yes. I’ll call Margaret-Mary and set up a time to meet. I’ll know by then where the latest hack was uploaded.”
“Good.” It wasn’t.
With one hand on the doorknob, she turned back to him. “Can I still come with you to Russia when you go?”
“Sure.” The answer slipped out before he had time to analyze a correct response.
“Thanks.”
Then she was gone.
What could be so important that she’d risk returning to Russia? A chill swept thr
ough him. It was no secret he’d been invited to submit designs in the prince’s competition, which was being held in Moscow. There’d been a whole write-up in The Sunday Times two weeks ago. She’d have undoubtedly read it as part of her research on him.
How much of the fake-girlfriend ploy was to do with the malicious code in his systems? Or had her endgame been a trip back to her homeland all along?
Chapter Nine
Kat squared her shoulders and opened the door to Wolfe’s office.
“You two need your heads knocked together,” Margaret-Mary muttered.
Clearly, Wolfe was not in the best of moods. Then again, neither was Kat. She’d spilled her life story to him, and he’d coolly watched her leave. Like they hadn’t shared something amazing the previous night.
Wolfe sat behind his desk, impeccable and sexy as ever. And about as warm as Moscow in January. “Good morning, Kat. This is early for you.”
It was early, just after eight. She’d wanted to get this over with. Plus, she had hours to wait in line at the Russian embassy to try and get a visa. It would take every ounce of confidence she had to even set foot inside the territory of her former homeland. What if they figured out her true identity? Was she risking too much?
“I have a busy day.” She sat on the chair opposite his desk and pulled out a crude hand-drawn plan and passed it to him.
“What’s this?”
She leaned over the desk without worrying about giving him an eyeful. The weekend’s storm had left in its wake a cool, blustery day, necessitating a switch to a turtleneck and pencil skirt.
“I overlaid a map of your office with the terminal IDs. The ones marked with an X are where the bad codes were uploaded. I had Margaret-Mary tell me where people sat. The accounting hack was done through this terminal. But when she checked her records, the person who sits there was on holiday at the time. The HR hack was done on Rebecca’s terminal, and although she was in the building on Friday with her new baby, I doubt she logged on and uploaded malicious code while nursing little William.”
Wolfe ran a hand through his hair while he stared at the map. “So basically we’re back at square one.”
“Yes. We have to wait for the hacker to strike again.”
A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “And in the meantime?”
“I have to go to the Russian embassy and get a visa. I’ll need a letter from you saying that I’m traveling as your…guest.” She folded the map up, put it in her bag, and sat on the chair again. The distance between them was more than the five feet of space from his chair to hers. No way would they convince the Russian government they were lovers.
“I can do better than that.” Wolfe picked up his desk phone and dialed a number from memory. “My exhibition is on Monday. Do you want to fly in then or go early?”
“Could we fly in on Friday afternoon and spend the weekend?” That would give her two days to find her sister. Not much time, but she was already risking everything staying in the country that long.
Wolfe nodded. “Boris,” he said when the phone was answered at the other end. “I want to bring my girlfriend with me to Moscow. Can you get her a visa for arrival this Friday? We’re going to have a weekend d’amour before the crown prince’s party on Monday.” The answer on the other end must have been affirmative because Wolfe continued, “I’ll have her passport couriered over to the embassy within the hour. I’m sure it doesn’t make a difference, but just so you know, she’s American.” Whatever Boris said on the other end made Wolfe smile. “Of course she’s gorgeous. I won’t be letting her out of my sight, especially if you’re around. But listen, as much as I appreciate your hospitality, we want to spend most of our time alone, I hope you understand…”
The call ended with a promise to meet for a drink on Monday just before the jewelry event.
“Thank you,” Kat said after he replaced the receiver.
“Are you sure your American identity will pass scrutiny?”
“I guess we’ll know on Friday.”
His gray eyes searched hers. “I hate guessing games.”
“How do you feel about acting? Do you think we’ll be able to convince them we’re in love?” The telltale muscle in his jaw jumped again. “Or at least lust?”
“That won’t be a problem for me. My desire for you is as strong as before.”
She nodded and headed to the door but halted before she reached it. He was standing when she turned back. Had he been about to stop her? Or make sure she left the offices? “I never set out to deceive you.” She swallowed, trying to clear the lump in her throat. “I am Kat Smith. I live in America and work in cyber security. That should have been enough for you.” She took another step.
“Wait.” He strode around his desk and up to her. Once again his eyes studied hers. Was he trying to figure out if she’d lied again?
She’d given him as much of the truth as she dared. If he knew it all…
“Remington…” Her voice cracked.
He must have sensed her inner turmoil as he put a hand on her cheek and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. The intensity of his gaze set off a swarm of butterflies in her belly. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday morning. Knowing that someone inside my company is stabbing me in the back has left me angry and a bit paranoid. I’m not sorry I found out about your past, just the way I went about it. I want to know all about you.”
“Why?”
His lips replaced his thumb and it was several seconds before he replied. “Because you fascinate me.”
Her chest flooded with warmth. Calm down, girl, this has to stay temporary. He’s ambitious and you’ve got identity issues.
He kissed his way over to her ear and tugged gently on her lobe with his teeth. “And I want more than your body, although that is fabulous. I want to spend time with you, get to know what you like, don’t like, what makes you laugh…”
Bozhe moi, he’s intoxicating me with his words. “That doesn’t sound like the ‘emotionally unavailable’ man I researched five days ago.”
“He’s not here at the moment. How about we start over? Let’s have dinner tonight, Remington Steele Wolfe and Katya Grigorievna Smirnova.”
Her attempt to remain coolly aloof melted. “Can I borrow your kitchen and cook for us? I mean, now that I don’t have to spend all day standing in line at the Russian embassy, I need something to do.”
He kissed her once more then walked over to his desk and pulled his keys out of the top drawer.
As he handed them to her, she asked, “You trust me with your place?”
His lips quirked up in a smile. “I trust you with more than that.”
She swallowed. “I’ll do my best not to poison you.”
His laughter stayed with her all the way to the elevator. She had five days before returning to her homeland. She had to believe that he’d have her back as well. In the meantime, she was going to have as much of him as possible.
…
Wolfe opened the door of his flat at six p.m. with his spare keys. Music thumped from the kitchen and, as he stepped inside, an amazing smell invaded his nose. Sweet and spicy at the same time. A home-cooked meal—his chest flooded with warmth. Had to be the reason his spirits lifted after what had turned into a shit-filled day following Kat’s departure from his office.
He halted in the kitchen doorway. Kat danced to some pop tune he didn’t recognize, wearing a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt. Listening to the lyrics, it took a couple seconds to realize they were in Russian. She caught sight of him, turned off the music, and then wiped her hands on a towel. Her gaze swung to his briefly before she turned back to the pot on the stove. Was she feeling guilty for enjoying herself?
“You didn’t need to turn it off,” he said, entering the room. His eyes darted around the kitchen. Every one of his pans, herbs, and spices littered the counter and a dusting of white stuff he hoped to hell was flour mottled the floor. He searched for the source of the culinary explosion.
But Kat looked a
mazing. It was the first time he’d ever seen her so…relaxed.
“I haven’t listed to Russian pop music in five years. It’s easier to stay in my new identity if I stick with American things.”
The admission floored him. She’d sacrificed everything, even things she loved, to start over. To be safe. “I’m happy you feel able to be your true self around me,” he said.
She stiffened when he’d mentioned being herself. Was she still holding something back? Or worried she was losing touch with who she was supposed to be? Her eyes darted around the room. “Sorry about the mess. I promise to clean it up.”
“Don’t bother. I pay a cleaner to come every day. I think she’d like to actually find something to do.” Kat still looked uncertain so he lifted the lid on a bubbling pot. “What are you making? This smells great.” Having seen the mess she’d made creating the meal, he hadn’t held out much hope it would be edible.
“I’ve made Thai shrimp soup with lemon grass, summer rolls, and a noodle dish. I tried to make cookies, but I kind of burned the bottoms. I’ve got a plan for them, though.”
His stomach rumbled loudly in response. She’d gone to a lot of effort to cook this meal, and he was hungry, but at the moment, all he could think about was devouring her.
“I’ll change then come back to help.”
Before he could move, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Welcome home,” she said.
Two words. They hit him like a wrecking ball. He couldn’t recall ever hearing them said to him before. To stop himself blurting out something stupid, like “live with me forever,” he went to change out of his suit. As he passed through his bedroom, he noted a head-shaped indent in his pillow and the bedspread was mussed up. Goldilocks had availed herself of his bed. That fairy tale had bears, which was the one with the wolf?
When he returned to the kitchen, Justin Timberlake sang about bringing sexy back. The kitchen had almost been returned to normal. Two place settings had been laid at the small table in the nook and a bottle of white wine sat in a chiller next to a couple of glasses.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked after feasting his eyes on Kat’s curves displayed in the tight pants and plain white T-shirt. Was there anything this woman couldn’t wear the hell out of?
