Kissing The Enemy (3 page)

T
hat accent
.

I hadn’t expected it. Delicate but savage, like frozen shards of the finest wine.
Holy shit.
She spoke and about a million images filled my mind: every Russian stereotype I’d watched in a movie or seen drawn in a comic book.
Da, comrade
and red stars and hammer and sickle flags, Cold War spies seducing our agents and ruthless, pouting, blonde women in fur hats.
Jesus Christ.
It took my breath away. But it made sense: where else was a beauty like her going to come from but Russia?

She went, in that second, from being the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen to being simply
off the chart.
She couldn’t be number one: numbers were now fucking irrelevant. Other women were fucking irrelevant. And her frostiness...I was used to women giggling and flirting, grabbing my arm and whispering in my ear. She was the opposite and it made her all the more enticing. Especially because of what I’d seen in her eyes, when I could actually get her to look at me: a spark of fire, hot enough to glow even under all that ice. She liked me, even if she didn’t want to.

And then, suddenly, she was gone. I stood there blinking like a moron for fully three seconds.

Oh, no. No you don’t.

I sprinted after her. Her friend from the night before gave me a panicked look—shit, now I really
did
look like a crazy stalker. But I didn’t care: I wasn’t going to lose her again.

She moved fast, even in those weird ballet shoes she wore. As she ran, she pulled a black hooded top out of her bag and tried to pull it on over her head, but then she nearly collided with a jogger and thought better of it, stuffing it under her arm instead.
She must be freezing!
“Stop!” I yelled, and saw her tense, but she didn’t slow down.

I pushed myself harder, shoes pounding the icy path, feeling like a rhino chasing after a gazelle. She slipped between the passers-by; I just battered them aside. “
Stop!”

If anything, she sped up. I threw myself forward and managed to grab one wrist, then hauled her to a halt. She cried out in frustration and shock and looked down at my hand. My big fingers completely encircled her slender wrist.

“Just...
stop,”
I panted. “I just want to talk.”

She was panting, too, and the way her breasts rose and fell under the tight leotard had my cock swelling against my thigh.

“I’m going to let you go, now. Don’t fucking run away again.”

She just glared at me, as if ready to go for my throat.

I took a deep, slow breath. “
Please.”

Her expression relaxed just a fraction. I slowly released her wrist, both of us looking down at my hand as I broke contact. Immediately, I missed the touch of that soft skin. And she followed my hand with her eyes as if she missed my touch a little, too.

“Why did you chase me?” she asked, lifting her eyes to my face.

“Why did you run?” I gazed down at her. God, she was beautiful. And that accent was making me fucking delirious, every syllable carved from ice, razor-sharp but with that throaty, sensuous rasp. “I just want to talk. I think that—” I stared at her, suddenly tongue-tied. Why was this so difficult? I’d whispered in plenty of women’s ears that they were
so fucking gorgeous
while I was pounding them. But that didn’t do Irina justice. “I think that...
sei bellissima,”
I said at last.

Maybe she knew it meant
beautiful
or maybe she could tell I meant it, but I swear, just for an instant, I saw a flare of color in her cheeks. But then she shook her head, almost as if to clear it, and glanced left and right, ready to run again.
Shit!
I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers again,

Then she shivered. Immediately, she glared down at her bare arms as if furious she’d shown weakness. But it was too late: I was already whipping off my overcoat and settling it around her shoulders. “Here,” I said. “Take this. You’re freezing.”

She squirmed as I put it on her, as if she really didn’t want to accept it...but I knew just how much difference the thick cashmere made because I could feel the wind knifing through me as soon as I took it off. And the coat was warm from my body...I saw her resistance melt and she relaxed just a little, letting the coat fall over her, the fabric drowning her small body. She really
was
freezing: the back of my hand brushed her bare shoulder as I pulled my hands back and she was like ice. Just that tiny contact, skin-to-skin, was enough to make her head whip round and stare at my hand uncertainly but she didn’t pull away.

Her friend skidded to a stop behind her, but Irina didn’t even notice. And when she saw how we were looking at each other, her friend slowly backed away.

I lowered my voice, making it as gentle as I could. But I couldn’t stop the hard edge of lust that crept into it: I needed her too much. “Irina,” I started—God, I loved saying her name. “Why did you run? Why do you
keep
trying to run?” I blinked. Glanced down at myself. Had I gotten so used to intimidating people that…. “Are you scared of me?” The idea sickened me.

She shook her head. And the weird thing was, I believed her. She had every excuse to be scared of me, but she wasn’t.

I took a deep breath. “You dance like a fucking angel,” I said. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I just want to get to know you.”

She stared up into my eyes and it was like all those layers of ice were slowly melting away. I could see deeper and deeper into her, down into her scalding, molten depths—

And then she shook her head quickly and looked away. “I can’t.”

The frustration boiled up inside me. “
Why?”
I’d studied every inch of her so intently, I would have noticed a ring but I checked her finger anyway.
Nope.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”

She closed her eyes for a split second as if she’d given a silent, bitter little laugh. “No.”

“Then let’s go for coffee!” I held out my hand towards her.

She pressed her lips hard together and shook her head again. And then she started to slip the overcoat from her shoulders. I felt a sickening lurch of fear—that
panic
again, like I’d felt in the theater. What the fuck was going on? I’d never felt anything like this before. “Give me your number, at least!” I said. “Tell me your last name!”

Another shake of her head, and now she was tossing the overcoat to me and turning to go. My eyes locked on her wrist. I could grab her again...but then what? Take her prisoner? “What the hell is the matter? Tell me!”

She gave a sad little smile—just a tiny twitch of her lips.
God,
it was heartbreaking. I wanted to find whatever was causing her this much pain and batter it into submission against the frozen path. “I just can’t,” she said.

She turned and walked away, not even stopping to pull her hooded top over her head, even though the wind was like breathtakingly cold. I stood there helpless for a second and then called after her, “
Cafe Auben.
I get dinner there at eight, every Thursday. I’ll be there tonight.”

She faltered, long enough that I knew she’d heard me. But then she walked resolutely on and I stood there watching her until she was out of sight, my chest tight with the thought that that might be the last time I ever saw her.

I
didn’t get
into my street clothes right away. I wanted to put as much distance between Angelo and me as I could because I was having to fight the urge to turn around and….

Throw myself into his arms and let him devour me with those lips. Press my body so hard against that hard chest that my breasts flattened against him and every inch of us was in warm, close contact, from my chin to my ankles—

What the hell is wrong with me?
I’d never reacted this way to a man before. And I’d never had a man pursue me like this, charging straight through every layer of ice I threw out like a crazed bull.
Doesn’t he know when to quit?

I remembered that focus in his eyes, that drive. No, he really
didn’t
know when to quit. He never would.

And part of me really liked that. I started to feel a pull in my shoulder, an
ache.
I wanted so much to turn around and look at him.

No!
Starting something with him would be beyond crazy. My uncle would never allow me to date an American—a
civilian.
And as soon as Angelo found out who I was, he’d be scared off anyway—and with good reason. Either way, we’d be broken apart and I couldn’t take that pain. Better to be numb and not feel at all.

I drew in a big lungful of freezing air. The warmth from dancing had long since faded and, in only a leotard and tights, I was getting seriously cold. It should have felt good. It
always
felt good. But now….

Now I just wanted to be warm again. I wanted to be wrapped up snug in his huge overcoat, the faint scent of his cologne and the heat of his body enveloping me. I wanted to wrap it around both of us and press myself tight to him, let his blood and fire melt me into liquid.

My chest tightened. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

I shook my head and cursed myself.
Slabovol'nyy chelovek! Weakling!

I stopped and pulled on my jeans, then my
Fenbrook Academy
hooded top. I’d be
just fine.
But when my clothes were on, I didn’t feel any better.

I was on one leg, swapping my ballet slippers for sneakers, when Rachel slammed into me like an enthusiastic puppy. I yelped, flailed and managed to keep us both upright.

“So?”
Rachel asked. “Who is he?!”

I groaned and shook my head. “It’s not going to happen. And please, don’t send any more men my way. You know I can’t.”

Rachel knows that my uncle won’t let me date Americans. She just doesn’t know
why.
She has no idea my whole family are
bratva—
Russian Mafia. And if I have my way, she never will. She’s my best friend and I couldn’t take it if she was scared away.

“You could see him in secret,” said Rachel. “Your uncle would never have to know.” A slow grin spread across her face. “That would be
so romantic!
He could send you love letters!”

For a second, I imagined Angelo writing love letters. He
did
come across as romantic: the old school, hot-blooded, sweep-you-off-your-feet kind. I’d never known a guy like that. Then I sighed and shook my head. “Leave it.”

“But he’s a total—” Rachel’s phone bleeped, thankfully cutting the conversation short. She dug frantically in her purse for it and almost dropped it twice getting it up to her face. Then she read the email and punched the air. “
Yes!”

I felt my eyes go wide. “Is it—”

“
Yes!
Check your phone, see if they—”

At that second, my own phone bleeped. I grabbed it and checked the screen. I’d gotten the same email Rachel had: a callback from the audition for a TV commercial we’d both attended the day before. “
Yes!”
And the best part was, we were auditioning for different parts so we weren’t competing.

Rachel put her arm around my waist and tugged me forward, leading me out of Central Park and into the street. “This is going to be awesome,” she said. “And have you any idea how much they
pay
for those things?”

I grinned back at her. She was right: if we got the parts, neither of us would have to worry about rent for months. Then I noticed something in the email and my grin disintegrated.

“What?” asked Rachel.

“It’s tomorrow,” I said quietly. “At two.”

Both of us work in the same electronics store. I wasn’t due to work tomorrow—my shift started in a few hours—but Rachel was.

“Oh shit,” said Rachel softly. Both of us stopped walking. “No. No, no, no…” Her shoulders slumped under her leather jacket. I felt my chest constrict. “These things are like getting hit by lightning. You remember Natasha Liss? She got her big break doing that commercial for washing powder.”

“There’ll be others.”

“Not like
this!
God, I could have danced the
shit
out of this one!” She bit her lip. “I could just quit the store.”

“You need the money. What if you
don’t
get it?”

She bent almost double and let out a long, strangled groan of frustration, drawing stares from passers-by. “
Argh!
Why do you have to be so damn
Russian
and logical all the time? You’re like a Russian Mr. Spock!”

I nodded sadly and rubbed her back. It wasn’t fair. She deserved to get this part….

I closed my eyes. “I’ll work your shift tomorrow,” I said. “You go to the callback.”

Rachel spun around and gaped at me. “What?
No!”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “You worked really hard for this. I heard you practicing in your room, doing the allegro over and over.” I shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t have got my part anyway. You have a better chance, so you should go.”

“That’s bullshit! You’re a way better dancer than me!” She shook her head. “No. I won’t let you do this!”

I put my arms around her and drew her close. My own disappointment was swelling up inside me, but I crushed it back down. “You’re going to go to that callback,” I told her firmly, “and you’re going to ace it.” I bent her forward and kissed the top of her head, then ruffled her hair. “
Da?”

“
Da,
” she said reluctantly. It sounded funny in her soft, American accent. Then she threw her arms around me and crushed my ribs. “Thank you, Irina.”

* * *

B
y the time
I made it across town to our house, I only just had enough time for a quick shower and change before I had to head out to my shift. I hurried up the path and ducked under sparkling icicles that hung two feet long from the roof of the porch. Rachel and I had a bet going on how long they’d get before the end of winter.

Our place isn’t much. The clapboard is stained and broken in places, it’s freezing in winter and hot in summer and it’s not really convenient for Fenbrook or anywhere else. But it’s cheap and lovably quirky: my room even has an old, wrought-iron balcony I can stand on when I’m having my coffee in the morning.

I raced inside, already peeling off my clothes. Naked, I climbed into the shower and was just about to turn on the water when the doorbell rang.
Chyort!

I wrapped a towel around me, padded back to the door and checked the door viewer. My heart sank as I saw six-foot-plus of imperious suited muscle, topped with hair as silver as a bullet.

Vasiliy. My uncle.

I opened the door. “You didn’t think to call, first?”

He waved away my protests. “I was in the neighborhood.” He looked around and sighed, shaking his head as he always did when he visited. “Why do you live in this place?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“I
like
this place.” And we both knew what I meant by that. I liked it because I could afford it without help from him. We glowered at each other for a second and then kissed each other on the cheeks.

I love Vasiliy. He helped raise me when I was young and then, after my parents died, he took care of me. Without him, I wouldn’t be alive today.

But without him, I wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. Vasiliy is the embodiment of everything my family is famous for, everything I ran away from. He isn’t
in
the Russian Mafia; he
is
the Russian Mafia.

“You’ll have to make yourself tea,” I said as I closed the door. “I really need to take a shower—”

The door was pushed open again from outside.
Chyort!
Vasiliy hadn’t come alone.

“You look fine as you are,” said Mikhail, grinning as he stepped inside.

Mikhail is the epitome of everything I hate about Russian men. He doesn’t have an ounce of Vasiliy’s class or intellect, just lots of money. And while Vasiliy, even in his sixties, is still a tough, good looking guy, Mikhail is running to fat even though he’s only forty. His face is always pink and shiny, as if he just ran up a flight of stairs, and when he looks at me a chill goes the entire length of my spine. It would be bad enough if he was just Vasiliy’s business partner, but he’s more than that.

As far as Vasiliy is concerned, Mikhail’s going to be my husband.

Mikhail’s eyes crawled over me. I pulled the towel tighter around myself and wished I’d put my clothes back on before I answered the door.

“I’ll make tea,” said Vasiliy. “You have your shower. Then we can talk.”

I hurried off to the bathroom, feeling Mikhail’s gaze on my ass the entire way.

It’s not a forced marriage, as such. Vasiliy won’t
make
me marry Mikhail. He’s happy for me to choose a man....as long as that man is Russian and a member of the Russian mob. I know he’s doing it out of love: he thinks only a gangster can protect me from our family’s enemies. But that doesn’t stop my future feeling like a prison cell being built brick by brick around me.

Back in Moscow, I’d been surrounded by gangsters—suitors, in Vasiliy’s mind. That’s when I’d learned to be cold, to keep pushing them away. I’d thought that I’d escape my fate by moving to New York, but I’d only made things worse.

I’d been in America only a few days when Vasiliy arrived and told me about his new partnership with Mikhail, a local bratva boss who needed Vasiliy’s money to expand. By then, I’d enrolled at Fenbrook and it was too late to change my plans. Now Vasiliy spent almost all of his time in New York and visited me almost daily. Escape? I saw more of him than ever. And here, instead of a procession of suitors, there was just one: Mikhail. No way was I going to marry that creep...but that left us at an impasse, because no way was Vasiliy going to let me be with an American. I was going to be unhappy...or very, very lonely.

I closed the bathroom door, dropped the towel and climbed back into the shower. The steaming water slowly thawed me...and reminded me of a different kind of heat.

Angelo...I silently mouthed his name. Just thinking about him, remembering those brown eyes, made me gently sway my hips in a circle as if being touched
.
The whole thing was impossible, of course. I’d done the right thing—the
only
thing—by pushing him away.

But there was something about him...he had a passion that I’d never seen in a Russian man. Angelo was dark, smoky lust and scalding anger. He was chaos to their logic, impulse to their cold rationality. Angelo was red wine and thorny roses and hot, hot blood. He was the opposite of everything I’d known, everything I was. That should have made us completely incompatible...so why was I so drawn to him?

I caught my breath as I remembered the looks he’d given me, like he’d been ready to throw his coat down on the frozen path, tear off my clothes and take me right there on the ground….

I realized I’d spent longer soaping my inner thighs than I really needed to, the edge of my hand rubbing, my hips grinding in slow circles. I forced myself to stop, rinsed off and grabbed a towel. But however hard I tried, my thoughts kept going back to Angelo and, every time they did, I felt myself flush from the inside out, just the memory of him lighting me up.

Then I turned off the water and the sudden chill brought me back to reality.
Idiot.
My future was out there, lounging on the couch.

I hurried into my room and pulled on the pants and polo shirt I wore for the store. Then I opened the door so that I could call down to Vasiliy and Mikhail. “I have to run to work,” I told them as I sat down at my dressing table to do my make-up. “I’m sorry—you should have called.”

Vasiliy’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. In the mirror, I saw him lean against the door frame. “Why do you insist on working?” he asked.

“You know why.”

Another sigh. He thought I was stubborn, refusing to take an allowance or gifts. But I didn’t want his blood money. I was determined to support myself, even though it meant working two jobs.

“You are as stubborn as your mother was,” Vasiliy grunted. He moved a few steps closer and lowered his voice. “You should get to know Mikhail. He could look after you.”

“I can look after myself,” I said tersely, combing my hair.

“If you don’t like Mikhail then come back to Moscow: there are more men there.”

I met his eyes in the mirror. “I have a life
here!”

He walked over and looked down at me sadly. “Irina...what do you think you’ll do
when you graduate? Become a dancer? Marry some American and get a little dog and a house with a white picket fence?”