In For the Kill (26 page)

He let go. “Excuse me. I was overcome. Til tomorrow, then.”

“Or not,” Sam ground out.

She struggled not to stumble over her feet as he towed her away.

C
HAPTER
18

T
he minute they were on the road, Sam let out the throttle, window open. He needed air, after hours of suppressing the urge to crush that groping motherfucker into the slime that he was.

Sveti's eyes were closed, avoiding the issue. He didn't blame her. She'd just delivered a piece of emotionally wrenching performance art, followed by hours of hardcore public relations. He'd be catatonic if he'd been called upon to do what she had just done. And brilliantly, too.

But Hazlett felt entitled to place his hand on Sveti's shoulder and leave it, as if Sam weren't watching. Under any other circumstances, Sam would have simply removed the guy's hand. As in, permanently separated it from his body at the shoulder. But fucking up this gig for Sveti would not help his cause.

So he'd swallowed it. He'd felt it burn, like a hot coal, all the way down, and it kept on burning deep inside him. Hazlett saw him staring, and left his hand right where it was, eyes glittering. Arrogant prick.

“Sam?” Sveti said, her voice small. “I'm, ah, sorry about the—”

“Don't,” he said.

She glanced at him. “Don't what?”

“Don't touch it,” he said. “Not tonight. I'm on a hair trigger, and you're tired, after doing your thing all evening. We'll save it.”

She was silent for a while. “Okay,” she whispered. “If you'd rather.”

“Believe me, it'll keep. I'm not going to forget one second of it.”

She stifled a giggle. “I never thought you would. But I want to know what you thought of everything. Except for, ah . . .”

“Except for your future boss fondling you right in front of me?”

She sucked in air, eyes closing. “Oh, Sam—”

“Sorry, sorry. That just slipped out. I'll start with the good news.”

She glanced over, surprised. “There's good news?”

“Yeah,” he said. “The good news is you. You're fucking amazing, Sveti. You could sell ashes to the demons of hell and have them put their e-mail addresses down on the mailing list for more.”

“Oh.” She sounded startled. “Wow.”

“It's not like I'm surprised. I saw your TED talk.”

“You did?” She gaped at him. “Really?”

He tried not to laugh. Only about a hundred times. “Of course. But seeing you do your thing, in real time, in that dress? I'm in awe.”

“Don't overdo it,” she said. “So? What's the bad news?”

“You asked me for it, okay? Let the record show.”

“Recorded,” she assured him. “Let 'er rip.”

“Okay,” he said. “This whole thing stinks.”

Sveti stared out into the night for a minute. “That assessment doesn't astonish me anywhere near as much as you might expect.”

“I hate it,” he said. “More than before. In Portland, the idea of leaving Helen Wong's snakehead thugs thousands of miles behind us made some kind of sense. After today, it no longer does.”

“So you did think I was hallucinating,” she said. “About the guy asking me about Mama, in Ukrainian. About The Sword of Cain.”

She didn't sound pissed, but he still felt defensive. “We all thought it,” he said. “You can't blame us. Anyone who's experienced violent trauma knows how it fucks with your head for years afterward. There's no shame in it, no reflection on your worth. Is that clear?”

“Sure,” she said. “But you still should have listened to me.”

“I do nothing but listen to you!” he exploded. “I've been chasing you around like a fucking idiot for years, trying to listen to you! You should have started talking to me sooner!”

“That, Sam, is an argument for another day.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Besides, if you'd convinced us, you would not be here now!” he went on. “We would all be sitting on you, at Cray's Cove! The selling point of this Europe trip was that you were safer thousands of miles away from the snakeheads, and that it would be healthier for you to be distracted by conferences, prizes, parties. A fancy new job.”

“And you,” she said.

“Sure. I'm the Great Distractor. But things look different now. The guy who, unbeknownst to you, hooked you up with your new boss and would-be sugar daddy is the very guy your mom was sleeping with and partying with the night she parted company with a bridge. That's bad.”

“You're a fine one to talk about sugar daddies, Sam.”

He clenched his teeth. “Can we stay on topic?”

“I'm not the one who strayed from it,” she said crisply. “There's the dress, too. Renato says she really did wear a red dress that night.”

“Are you going to show Renato your mom's letter?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

Sveti lifted her chin angrily. “It's mine,” she said. “She sent it to me. He already had his piece of her, and it was more than I got. I'll keep my pathetic crumbs for myself, thanks very much.”

“So you're keeping it from him out of spite?”

“I am not spiteful!”

“Don't get mad,” he soothed. “I don't blame you. I wouldn't show it to him either, but that's just because I think he's a dickhead. But if you're not being spiteful, then letting him see it takes nothing from you. So what's the real reason you're not showing it?”

She could not answer. He waited for a moment.

“It's fear, right?” he prompted. “You're afraid.”

“Of course I'm afraid,” she snapped. “I'd be a fool not to be!”

“Then listen to your fear,” he said fiercely. “I'm afraid, too, and I'm listening to mine. This whole thing, Sasha, Misha, Hazlett, Renato? It smells like a huge, festering clusterfuck in the making. The smart thing to do now is to back away, very slowly.”

Sveti let out a slow sigh and shook her head.

“I think we should just keep driving,” he said. “Straight to the airport. I think you should disappear. Now. And for a long time.”

“Disappear to where?”

“Hell, I don't know. A cabin on a lake somewhere in the ass end of nowhere, in British Columbia, maybe. They say Ecuador's nice.”

She choked on a giggle. “Oh, please. Doing what?”

“Playing house,” he proposed, rashly. “With me.”

She shot him one of those scared, big-eyed glances.

“Come on,” he urged. “It would be fun. Can you cook?”

She shook her head. “Cornbread, from a box. I'm terrible.”

“We're set, then. I love cornbread.”

She shook her head, laughing. That silly Sam and his romantic notions. But he was alarmed at how quickly the fantasy of the cabin on the lake took him over. He could practically feel the wind off the lake, ruffling the water. Mountains soaring up, aching mountain greens stark against a vivid blue sky. Cup of coffee in one hand, the other clamped around Sveti, all soft and relaxed in her bathrobe, as they sat on the steps, watching hawks wheel in the sky in the morning. Oh, hell yeah.

“I can't back away from this, Sam,” she said.

The fantasy shattered. He tried to exhale his frustration, but it filled right back up again. “What a surprise,” he muttered.

Sveti rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. “Try to understand,” she pleaded. “I need to find Sasha. He's in trouble, and I want to talk to him, and hold his hand. Before something horrible happens to him, too.” Her voice began to wobble. “Something horrible always happens.” She shot him a wet-eyed, blazing glance. “Not you, Sam. Don't you dare let anything happen to you! Understand?”

“Perfectly,” he said. “I'm tough. Don't worry.”

“I'm not leaving until I see my friend. And my mother's grave.”

Sam swallowed his reply. If she wanted to bring out the big guns, there was nothing to do but shut the fuck up and be good.

They drove back to the hotel in silence. Once in their suite, he shed the tux and pulled on sweatpants, without turning on the lights. Moonlight streamed through the windows, shining on the sea, lighting up the swirling patterns of mosaic tile. He sat on the bed and waited while she did her interminable girl stuff in the bathroom.

The door finally opened. Light spilled in. Sveti was silhouetted in the door, just long enough for him to get slammed by the heart-stopping effect of her body in the brief nightgown of cream silk. The swell of her breasts tented it out, the jut of her nipples barely denting the fine fabric. Lots of smooth, perfect leg extended below the lacy trim.

Then she turned the light off and stepped into the room. She paused until her eyes adjusted. He couldn't see her eyes, but he didn't need to. He felt her breath. Was tuned to the frequency of her every cell.

She moved across the geometrical blocks of moonlight that slanted across the floor, glowing like a ghostly angel. She wafted through shadow, then through light, then shadow, then light again. He stopped breathing when she was about ten feet away, but jarred his lungs back into movement by sheer force, so that he could smell her.

That sweet cloud of warmth and mystery, moving inexorably toward him. So momentous, so desirable. So fucking dangerous.

She stopped, close enough to him to touch. “I'm sorry, to be such a big problem for you,” she said.

He grunted. “Not sorry enough,” he muttered. “Don't sweat it. I'm not a victim. I volunteered for this crazy shit. I could leave at any time.”

“But you don't. Because you're a good guy.” She laid her hand on his chest. Right over the bullet scar.

He stifled the bark of laughter.
No, I don't go because you finally let me touch you.
Nah, that wouldn't fly. He'd score more points letting her think he was a righteous dude rather than a sex-crazed lug with hormonal brain melt. He seized the hand that lay on his chest, kissed it, and rubbed it against his cheek. He'd shaved, for the sake of the gala, but he already had a bristly rasp on his cheek mere hours later.

“I couldn't have gotten through that speech if you hadn't been there,” she said. “The state I was in, after meeting the
conte.
I was a mess. You held me together.”

He kissed her hand again. “I'm glad if I helped, but it was all you,” he said. “You rocked it. You were amazing.”

She laughed, bitterly. “Yeah, people love it when you rip out your heart and throw it to them as a blood offering.”

He laid his hand over her heart, fingers splayed over the thin silk. The steady throb of her heart pulsed against his palm. “It's still going strong in there,” he said. “Plenty of heart. You could fling it to the hungry masses all day long and never use it up. The more you throw, the more you'll have. It's as big as the sky. If you trust it. Just . . . trust it.” He kissed her hand again. “Please, Sveti.”

Moonlight glinted on a tear that flashed down her cheek and dropped on her breast, blistering the flawless satin.

Christ, he never learned. He just kept hammering at her.

“Sam,” she whispered. “Just take this for what it is. Don't ask it to be something else, something more. Because I just . . . I can't.”

“Why not ask for more?” he asked. “You're brave, talented, brilliant. You've done amazing things. You could learn this. To be with me, to trust me. To let me love you. A person can learn anything.”

She sat down on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, and his glands went nuts. His dick tingled.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his hair. “For standing by me.”

“Don't thank me,” he said. “You know damn well that I'd give up body parts for the privilege.”

“You made me strong tonight,” she whispered.

He grunted. That was problematic, since he didn't approve of her presence here, and didn't want to sustain it. But he didn't want to kill this moment, either. She could dismantle his defenses with a hug and a few smooth, artless moves. Sit that juicy little thing down on his hard-on, press those soft, scented tits against his face, and he'd fall right into line. She said jump, he'd say, sure, babe, over what cliff?

But the tough pep talk didn't slow him down. His body was miles ahead of it, kissing her ravenously. Her cheeks and lips were wet. His tongue slid into her mouth. She shivered in surrender, opening to him.

She pulled away and swept aside the bed canopy. She slid off his lap and clambered onto the bed on hands and knees. With a view like that to precede him, he followed as if dragged by a harness into the mysterious inner sanctum of the tented bed.

She reclined, propped up on her elbows, shivering as he stroked her from her knees up to the baby-soft warmth of her inner thighs. Warm, smooth skin, the graceful shape of her thighs, the swirling puff of ringlets between. The lickable, kissable, fuckable pouting folds of her beautiful cunt, shining and hot. He slid his fingers into her slick heat. She arched and sighed, squeezing around his fingers. He shucked the pants, let his cock spring out, heavy and stiff. Sank his fingers knuckle-deep into her wet warmth, finger-fucking as she bucked and trembled, nightgown shoved up. Spread open, offering it all to him.

Except that it wasn't all. Not even close. He'd gone forward as if frequent, prolonged bouts of wild sex would make up for what she wouldn't give him. It wasn't working out, but he still could not stop.

He inhaled her sexy scent, and lapped his tongue hungrily around her clit while his fingers plunged and delved. She arched off the bed, whimpering as she clenched around his fingers in a wrenching climax.