Gangsters with Guns Episode #3 (15 page)

No, she didn’t know. It didn’t make sense that he would make a circuit of her building for hours with no breaks and no backup. But what did she know about the bodyguard business?

“And then those men jumped you.” She examined his bruised cheek, but she didn’t touch him.

She remembered that Vlad and her father had looked askance at him when he’d claimed he was jumped. At the time, she had thought they blamed him unfairly for failing to best her would-be kidnappers. What if there was another reason?
 

Mikhail had said he’d been jumped from behind. Shouldn’t he have a bump on his head or something? Maybe marks on his neck if they’d grabbed him. The bruises were on his face and jaw.

“It was nothing,” he said.
 

Maybe it had been nothing. Could he have made the whole thing up? After the highly orchestrated kidnapping attempt tonight, it seemed hard to believe that the same people would bungle disabling Mikhail and grabbing her, unsuspecting, off the street.

She didn’t have enough information, only quickly multiplying suspicions that might seem ludicrous after a good night’s sleep.
 

There was no way for her to sort any of this out, but she was getting frightened. She needed him gone. Needed the deadbolt and chain between them.

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day for both of us. I need to go to bed.”

He didn’t budge.
 

Banging on her door made them both jump. “Who’s there?” she started to call out, but he clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Shhh!” He pulled her up against his body, as if he were taking her hostage. “You don’t want whoever it is to hear you. It could be anyone. The doorman didn’t call up.”

He pulled her back with him into the apartment. He kept his hand over her mouth and pulled her so close that she would feel his arousal.

The pounding grew louder. “Inna, open the damn door now.”
 

Vlad!
The sound of his voice gave her such profound relief. Whatever he might be up to with her father, she instinctively trusted him. She’d watched him risk his life to save her.

“Hush,” he warned and stroked his hand up her ribcage. She struggled in his grasp, and he held on tighter. “They’ll go away if we ignore them.”

She yanked Mikhail’s hand from her mouth. “Let go of me!”

“I’m only keeping you safe,” he murmured against her ear. He pulled her tighter against him, one arm at her waist, the other hand caressing her throat.
 

“I mean it. Let me go!” She elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted, but didn’t release her.

“Who’s in there with you? I’m coming in. I’ll break down the damn door if I have to.”

“It’s open,” she yelled before Mikhail could try to quiet her again.

Vlad threw the door open. He hurled himself at Mikhail and pinned him to the wall. “Did he hurt you?” Vlad demanded. He pressed his forearm against Mikhail’s windpipe, cutting off his air.

“No. I’m okay,” she said. She didn’t want to contemplate what might have happened if Vlad hadn’t come to the rescue.
 

“Why are you here?” Vlad demanded.

“You should be thanking me. I’m the one who’s been doing
your
job while you were under arrest.”

“Artur and I made other arrangements. You’re not needed.” Vlad nodded toward the hallway, and for the first time she noticed the two other men who’d followed him in from the hallway, their eyes and guns trained on Mikhail.

Had Mikhail lied when he claimed her father sent him? Maybe her father knew nothing of Mikhail’s clumsy attempts at seduction or his tainted milkshake.

She stood behind Vlad. Close to Vlad. Feeling truly safe for the first time since she’d left the precinct.

“Inna needs her rest,” Mikhail said. “Come on, big guy. We should let the lady get her beauty sleep.”

“Right,” Vlad said. He motioned to the men in the hallway, and they backed off, moving toward opposite ends of the hall. He took a step and knocked Mikhail with his shoulder, giving him an ungentle shove toward the door.

Mikhail looked back at Inna. “Inna, princess, if you need anything—anything at all—call me.”

“She won’t.” Vlad pushed him again and then slammed the door in his face.

Inna could have applauded as Vlad locked the deadbolt and secured the chain. All the pent-up tension and fear from Mikhail’s visit rushed out of her on a noisy exhale.

Vlad spun around to face her. “Before you scold me for being rude, yes, that was absolutely necessary.”

“I wasn’t—” she started to protest.

“He’s not your bodyguard. I am.” Vlad crossed his arms and took a wide stance in a show of authority. She might have been intimidated were it not for the small wince he made.

Her gaze flitted to the hole in the fabric at the center of his chest, too near his heart.

“You’re in pain.” He wore a plain suit and tie—not cheap, but definitely not custom. It was a mark of difference among the men she’d seen working for her father, who either didn’t wear suits or, like Mikhail, wore the very best that money could buy.
 

What did Vlad do for her father?

“I’m fine,” he said. He held up his hand as if to ward her away.

“Suit yourself.” She wouldn’t argue with him or even vilify him, not with the poignant reminder that he had been shot in the chest while trying to rescue her.
 

She wondered what he looked like under his ruined shirt and bulletproof vest. Did he have a wound? A bruise? Certainly, he would have muscles. She’d had months of fantasies about that. And now they were alone.

She felt the heat of another kind of danger, the lick of a flame, so close it could burn her up if she drew closer. Her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, wanting to reach out and touch him, to feel the dark stubble on his jaw under her fingertips, to run along the impressive width of his shoulders, to trail over the muscular hills and valleys that must be hiding under his layers of clothes.

She clasped her hands behind her back and stayed where she was. He had made it clear to her that he didn’t want her.

He gave her another look, one she couldn’t read, and then cleared his throat. “You were supposed to wait for me at the precinct,” he said. “You promised.”

“But Mikhail—” She began to tell him that Mikhail had come for her at the precinct and pretended her father had sent him, but Vlad didn’t give her the chance.

“Mikhail,” he repeated. He stalked toward her, closing the small distance between them. His gaze seemed to bore through her. She backed up one step and then another. She could feel the dark intensity of his anger.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He glided his knuckles against her cheek in the softest of caresses. In that unexpected gentleness, she felt the echo of the boy she used to know. “Don’t be afraid of me.
Never
be afraid of me. I will never hurt you.”

“I know.” She couldn’t explain why she trusted him. She just knew that she did.

His eyes weren’t flinty and unreadable tonight. No. Instead of a lack of emotion, there seemed to be too much—a rising storm that could either savage her or wash her clean.

His voice shook with a barely contained threat. “Tell me you didn’t want him to stay.”

“You mean Mikhail?”

“You said you’d wait. You left me for him.” His eyes flashed with the lightning that heralded a storm. He took another step toward her, and she backed up until she hit the wall, bracing herself for the violent roll of thunder. Welcoming it.

He caged her with his hands, but didn’t touch her. She could feel his breath against her skin. He smelled of rain, and she felt as if the wind were picking up all around them.
 

She couldn’t look away. She was locked in his gaze, saw herself reflected in his pupils. Only her, as if she were the center of his world.

He lowered his head, and she hoped he would kiss her.
 

Yet, he paused, a hairsbreadth between them, as if he were giving her the chance to push him away, to stop him, as if she could snap her fingers and end the storm chasing her.

Or maybe he was having second thoughts. Maybe he still didn’t want her.

“Vlad,” she said. A whisper. A prayer. A plea.
 

His hand cupped her neck. His fingers massaged her collarbone, and the world shrank to his touches, to the lightning in his eyes, to the promise of the kiss she’d craved for months.
 

She wanted his kiss, like she’d never wanted anything before. She couldn’t remember any of the reasons this had been forbidden before, couldn’t comprehend why she hadn’t had a taste of what she wanted, couldn’t imagine any obstacles in her way or risks, couldn’t abide a moment’s more delay.
 

He could have been killed today. This moment could have been stolen from her forever.

“Tell me you want me,” he said. “Only me.”

She reached up and kissed him.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a wild, untamed thing she unleashed on him, as powerful as the storm she glimpsed in his soul.
 

She threw herself deeper into their maelstrom of a kiss—climbing him, riding the storm, claiming everything he offered—and everything he didn’t. Everything that had ever been denied her. All of it. She wanted. She wanted everything. Not only a kiss, but more.

So much more.

VLAD AWOKE IN a room he didn’t immediately recognize. Inna was tucked against him. A very naked Inna.

Mine.
His arm curled possessively around her as the events of last night assaulted him in an erotic rush.

She had seemed afraid of him at first, and the fear had seriously pissed him off. He had gotten up in her space even though she’d flinched, or maybe
because
she had flinched—just so he could prove to both of them that he wasn’t a monster, not like Ivan.

That was the last semi-rational thought he’d had before she’d kissed him and turned his world upside down. Inna hadn’t been gentle or shy or any of the things he’d expected. Not fragile and vulnerable; not his woman.

Inna was a wild force of nature, and she had ripped him to bits, shredding his every last defense. He had fantasized about claiming her, but the reality was better than fantasy.
 

She had claimed him with more pent-up, desperate passion than he ever could have imagined.
 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It put everything he and Svetlana had worked for in jeopardy. Yet he was unrepentant.

Whatever this was between them, he wasn’t going to give it up.
 

“You awake?” she murmured. She stroked his chest, touching the deep bruises from the impact of the bullets his vest had caught. The mark on his shoulder from the men in the alley and the one square in the chest, courtesy of her kidnappers.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Not when you’re touching me.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“A little late for that,” he said. “You stormed in and took possession.”

“Oh.” Her face heated. She drew away. Sitting up, she took part of the sheet with her to cover up. “I’m so, so sorry.” She started to scoot off the bed.

“Sorry?” He didn’t like her withdrawal or the shame he sensed in her. Did she think this was a mistake? He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone or anything in his life, and she was about to pull the plug and retreat.

“You didn’t want this.” Her slender fingers clutched the sheet around her, as if there could be any secrets after the night they’d shared.
 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She flinched at his harsh tone. He tried to soften his voice, to reach for the words that would entice her back to him. But damn it, soft words and flowery emotions weren’t his thing.
 

He had no practice. None. His whole life had been comprised of harsh truths and jagged edges.
 

“You were doing your job. And I…I crossed the line. I jumped you.”
 

Her words stunned him. “Is that what you think happened?”
 

She wouldn’t meet his eye.
 

He groped for the right words, but they were slow in coming. She started talking before he had the chance to set her straight.

“This is never going to work.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “You’re fired.” The slight tremor in her fingers belied her air of command.
 

“You can’t fire me.”

“You’re fired,” she repeated. “I don’t want you as my bodyguard.”

“You’re firing me because we slept together?” Something dark and ugly rose up in him in response to her rejection. “I don’t accept that.”
 

He couldn’t abide the thought of anyone else this close to her, sharing her days and nights, sharing her bed. He lunged across the mattress and grabbed her wrist, making her tumble toward him.
 

She fought his grip and smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Tough. I refuse to be your job.”
 

“You’re more than a job to me, Inna.”

She tore out of his grasp. “You don’t understand.”
 

No, he didn’t understand. How could she boot him out? She grabbed up her clothes and stalked out of the room to her bathroom. He watched in bemusement. What had he said? What had he done? Why didn’t she want him?

He scrubbed his hands over his face and bounced out of the bed. This wasn’t over. He yanked on his boxers and suit pants and parked himself outside the bathroom door.
 

“No, I don’t understand. Who’s going to protect you?” His attempt to reason with her sounded more like shouting than a rational argument, especially when she shouted back, “Who’s going to protect
you
?”
 

“I don’t need anyone to protect me,” he said.

“Right. That’s why you keep getting shot.”

“You think I can’t do my job?”
 

“I don’t want you hurt. I don’t want you risking your life for me,” she said from the other side of the door—a near declaration of love or, at least, the closest thing to it he had ever received.