Midnight Pursuits (7 page)

“May I suggest myself, sir?”

Kirill offered a rare, wry smile that made Orlov chuckle. “Not for this, my friend. You know we must distance ourselves from this particular endeavor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now leave me, Kirill. I'd like to do some reading before I turn in.”

The former Soviet spy left the study without a word, soundlessly closing the door behind him.

Alone, Orlov finally allowed his displeasure to surface. He stalked over to the wet bar next to the stone fireplace, poured a healthy amount of scotch into a tumbler, then sank into a gold-colored wing chair and rested his glass on his thigh.

Someone had tortured and killed the Siberian Wolf.

Why?

Because they knew Grechko had been working for Orlov?

Or was it an entirely unrelated reason? Grechko was a killer, after all. Killers had enemies. Perhaps his death had nothing to do with their arrangement.

Nevertheless, Orlov didn't appreciate this new development. He hated unanswered questions. Even more, he hated anything that disrupted his objective. Grechko's work had been left unfinished, and now Orlov was forced to dispatch another cretin to do his dirty work.

For that inconvenience alone, Grechko's killer would lose a finger.

The fate of his remaining digits was yet to be determined.

“Seriously, how long does it fucking take to compile a dossier on a dozen measly people?” Juliet burst out the next evening.

She and Ethan were holed up in a corner booth down at the hotel bar, nursing their beers, while a jazz singer crooned out a depressing melody on the small stage across the room. It had been more than a day since Juliet had asked Paige to investigate the names on Grechko's hit list, and her colleague still hadn't gotten in touch, which meant they had nothing to do but twiddle their thumbs and listen to a shitty lounge singer.

“If it's so easy, why don't you do it yourself?” Ethan raised his eyebrows in challenge.

“Oh, shut up,” she mumbled. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“It was a dumb question, you mean. Relax. I'm sure Paige and Reilly are working around the clock to do Queen Juliet's bidding.”

Despite herself, she had to fight a smile. She was kind of digging this unexpected sarcasm of his. It was so incongruous coming from someone with his überpolite personality and unassuming demeanor.

It disturbed her that she still didn't have a real sense of Ethan Hayes. Was he the supersweet Boy Scout who diligently checked her dressings and pumped her full of antibiotics every few hours? Was he the strong-willed soldier who had no problem risking his neck for three people he didn't even know?

Or was he the man whose eyes smoldered with sinful promise whenever their bodies happened to brush?

Oh yes, he was definitely doing some smoldering. Even now, as he lifted his beer to his lips, he was watching her over the rim of his glass with I-want-you eyes.

He was attracted to her. She'd have to be blind not to notice, but she'd been feigning obliviousness, mostly because she feared that if she commented on it, she might actually wind up in bed with the guy.

Yet tonight she found herself opening her big mouth. Whether from boredom or curiosity, she didn't know, but somehow she ended up starting a dialogue she knew she'd regret.

“How come you don't have a girlfriend?”

Ethan blinked in surprise, but he recovered quickly, shooting her an impish smile. “Who says I don't?”

“Do you?”

“Not really. I was seeing someone in San Jose but it wasn't serious. It's hard to maintain a relationship when I'm constantly going wheels up for a job.”

“Abby and Kane don't seem to have a problem,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but they work together. I can't imagine finding a woman who'd be okay with the life I lead, not unless she leads it too.”

The look in his eyes lacked any trace of heat, but she got the feeling he was asking an unspoken question. As in,
Are
you
that woman?

“What about you?” He turned the question back on her. “How come you don't have a boyfriend?”

“I don't do relationships either.” She smiled wryly. “But probably not for the same reason as you. You'd be surprised how many men are wildly turned on by a woman in my line of work.”

“Yeah? So why are you single?”

“Because I choose to be.”

“Aw, come on, you've gotta give me more than that.”

“You want more? How's this for more? I don't trust men as far as I can throw them.” She shrugged. “And I have no intention of ever being betrayed by one again.”

Curiosity shone in his hazel eyes. “Interesting. Who betrayed you?”

“Wouldn't you like to know . . . ”

“Duh. That's why I asked.”

She laughed. “Sorry, kiddo, but that's all you're getting from me tonight. Scratch that—that's all you're getting from me ever.”

“We'll see about that.” Looking more confident than she'd ever seen him, he abruptly set down his beer glass and slid out of the booth.

Juliet stared at him as he stood in front of her with one hand extended. “What's this?”

“This is me asking you to dance.”

Surprise jolted through her. She glanced at the small parquet dance floor, where only one other couple had been inclined to get up and dance. The fortysomething female singer was currently belting out another gloomy ballad, backed up by a bored-looking band whose members were all middle-aged men.

Man, what a nightmare it would be to work as the house band of the Grenadier. Surrounded by weary travelers and drunken buffoons day in and day out, playing the same tired old songs. Juliet would rather die than meet such a dismal fate.

“I'm not dancing with you,” she muttered. “This isn't my scene.”

“Not mine either, but we're still going out on that dance floor.”

Before she could blink, he yanked her out of the booth and onto her feet. If any other man had touched her like that without permission, she would've cut off his hand, yet for some inexplicable reason, she indulged Ethan, allowing him to lead her out to the floor.

Okay, clearly the one beer she'd consumed had messed with her head. She'd literally said
no
two seconds ago and now here she was, willingly placing her hand on Ethan's broad shoulder.

He clasped her free hand and brought his other hand down to her waist, holding her in a possessive grip that brought a spark of panic. What the hell was she doing? Why was she letting this happen?

“See? This isn't so bad,” Ethan murmured as he drew her close.

His masculine scent flooded her nostrils. Oh, boy, it was downright addictive. She wanted to inhale him until her lungs exploded.

And his body was so damn hard. Like a brick wall. Solid, unyielding. A thrill shot through her as she envisioned that sexy body crushing hers, powerful hips thrusting as he fucked her good and hard. Or maybe it would be more thrilling feeling all that power beneath her, while she straddled his thighs and rode them both straight to heaven.

Oh, for fuck's sake
.
She had to get ahold of herself. No, of her
hormones
. Hot bod aside, Ethan Hayes was a kid, not to mention the furthest thing from her type. Juliet gravitated toward men with two distinct traits: temporary and complication-free.

And Ethan was neither of those. Screwing him would bring complications galore, and she doubted the word
temporary
even existed in the guy's vocabulary. He had
steady boyfriend
written all over him.

“You know, it won't kill you to admit you're enjoying my company,” he said as they moved together to the slow beat.

She was quick to correct him. “I'm tolerating your company. There's a difference.”

He dipped his head, his warm breath fanning over her ear. “You're so full of shit.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yep.”

Her pulse sped up when he dragged his palm over the small of her back in a soft caress. Their lower bodies weren't touching, but she knew he had an erection. He'd been hard on more than one occasion these past two days, a response he hadn't tried hiding from her. Neither of them had mentioned the evidence of his arousal, however.

Until now.

“I make you hard, don't I, rookie?” At five-nine, she was a tall woman, but still several inches shorter than Ethan, and so she had to stand on her tiptoes in order to let her lips brush his earlobe. “Don't bother denying it—I know you want me.”

He tensed for a moment, then relaxed. Chuckled softly. “I wasn't going to deny it.”

“If you think we're going to fall into bed, forget about it. I'm not going to fuck you.”

That large, warm hand stroked her lower back again. Sensual and seductive.

“I mean it,” she said when he didn't respond. “I'm not interested.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Frustration climbed up her chest. “I'm not hard up for sex, and even if I was, I wouldn't have it with you.”

“And why is that again?”

She had to lift her head to meet his eyes, which were glimmering with amusement. “Because I'm not interested.”

“Be more specific, sweetheart. Tell me why you're never, ever gonna have sex with me.”

He was taunting her now and, goddamn it, that got her pulse going too. She lived for this kind of stuff—verbal foreplay, sexy exchanges, witty banter.

But no matter how much fun it was, she still knew she couldn't hook up with the guy.

“You want me to list all the reasons? Fine. One, you're just a kid. Two, you're so damn sweet you give me a toothache. Three, I've got a job to concentrate on. Four, I'm not interested in becoming the latest wife of a Jim Morgan crew member. Five, even if you were older and not so gratingly nice, I can't imagine you ever giving me what I need in the bedroom. The end.”

Her speech only resulted in bringing a broad grin to his mouth. “You're vibrating.”

“Huh?”

“Your phone is vibrating. I can feel it against my leg.”

Juliet clenched her teeth, pissed that she'd gotten so caught up in their exchange that she'd been completely unaware of the vibrations coming from her front pocket.

“Looks like our little dance is over,” she told him.

They both knew she was referring to more than the physical dance they'd just shared.

Sliding her hand into her pocket, Juliet drew out her phone and glanced at the display. Paige. Finally.

She promptly pressed
TALK
and said, “Hey, babe. Took you long enough.”

“Keep up that attitude and I'll quit doing favors for you, Jules,” Paige replied in her crisp British accent. “Hasn't anyone ever told you that you catch more flies with honey?”

“Well, maybe if you hadn't taken your sweet-ass time I wouldn't be so impatient.”

“Says the woman who dumped twelve names in my lap and wanted a thorough background check on each of them. Sean and I had to split up the workload, by the way. He should be e-mailing you his findings as we speak. I just sent you mine.” Paige sounded amused now. “Oh, and just for my own curiosity, I pulled up your new partner's military file. He's cute.”

Juliet avoided Ethan's eyes. “It's business.”

“Uh-huh. I'm sure it is.” Paige laughed in delight. “I expect details the next time you come to London. Now, go and check your in-box. I jotted down some notes and observations in the e-mail, but call me if you have any follow-up questions.”

Paige hung up without saying good-bye, though Juliet had no idea why the woman was so eager to get off the phone. Paige lived in an isolated cottage in Northern England, and God knew what she did with her time, out in the middle of nowhere all by her lonesome. Juliet would go nuts living that way. She needed action, excitement, stimulation that didn't come from reading books in front of an old fireplace.

“Was that Paige?” Ethan asked in a low voice.

She nodded. “C'mon, let's go back to the room. I need my laptop.”

They headed for the door, reaching it just as another hotel guest sauntered in. A tall, heavyset man in a crisp blue suit, with salt-and-pepper hair combed to perfection and harsh, arrogant features.

He bumped into Juliet upon his entrance, but didn't apologize for his rudeness. Rather, he swept his gaze over her tight black jeans and purple V-neck sweater, his dark eyes resting way too long on her chest.

“You should watch where you're going,” he said in Russian, then proceeded to add an endearment that roughly translated to
sugar tits
.

Juliet offered him a cool look. “Call me that again and I'll break your arm.”

Displeasure flashed in his eyes. Instead of answering, he turned to Ethan and said, “Control your woman before someone controls her for you.”

Ethan ignored the man completely. Just brushed past him, taking Juliet's arm in the process. She followed him without complaint. As tempted as she was to kick the rude jerk in the balls, she knew they couldn't draw attention to them and jeopardize the mission.

“What an ass,” she muttered as they left the lounge.

“The world is full of asses. No point in letting them get to you.” He paused. “Sugar tits.”

“Oooh, somebody knows his Russian,” she teased.

“I get by. Probably not as well as you, though. How many languages do you speak again? A billion?”

“Six.” She stuck out her tongue. “Did Isabel tell you that, or did you boys run a check on me?”

“Actually, Abby told me.”

“And when were you and Abby talking about little old me?”

They bypassed the elevator and stepped into the stairwell, with Ethan taking the lead. She'd been thrilled to discover that, like her, Ethan avoided elevators at all costs. Other operatives she'd worked with in the past hadn't seemed to mind riding the elevator, but Juliet would rather climb twenty flights of stairs than be stuck in a box that could malfunction at any second. It always went back to self-preservation for her. No way would she ever allow herself to be trapped somewhere and take the risk of getting caught again.

“Abby and I talk about a lot of people,” Ethan said noncommittally.

“Funny, because the Abby I know isn't much of a talker.” In fact, Abby Sinclair was the most tight-lipped person Juliet had ever met, after Noelle, of course. But not even Juliet could deny that the former assassin had mellowed since falling in love and marrying Ethan's teammate Kane.

“She talks to me all the time,” he added. “Maybe it's because she knows there's no threat of me blabbing her secrets.”

“You
are
the least threatening guy on the planet,” Juliet replied cheerfully.

Annoyance flickered in his eyes. “The men I've killed would probably disagree with that.”

“Oooh, look at the tough guy. I'm soooo intimidated.”

They reached the second-floor stairwell and headed back to the room. Much to her irritation, Ethan went in first, his hand poised over the gun butt beneath his waistband. As if she weren't perfectly capable of checking out the space herself.