Red Alpha: A BWWM Russian Alpha Billionaire Romance (13 page)

She strode down the halls of the Kremlin in all black, her deep blonde braid trailing behind her as she toyed with her favorite butterfly knife. Cadence had never actually seen her
use
it, and when she asked Demyan why his sister was so fond of the goddamn thing, his eyes only darkened as he muttered something about hunting; but that was enough. Her blood went cold whenever Elisaveta’s eyes fixed on her as she manipulated the thing. She could all but see the Russian woman plotting to cut her throat and it was…unnerving, to say the least.

And then there were Roksana Lichakov.

Where
she
was concerned, there were few surprises. Cadence did her utmost best to stay away from her, despite the smaller woman’s dedication to following her at every opportunity. If Elisaveta wasn’t eying her like a hawk, then it was Lichakov, prowling around the corridors at Osip’s heels as she fixed the American with threatening stares.

Despite all of her obvious disdain, however, there had only been a singular incident in which Cadence had thought that her life might actually be in danger. She had been alone in Osip’s office after the man had gone out to a meeting and had been poking around in a way as subtle as she thought she could manage without seeming invasive.

Of course, Lichakov had been present in an instant.

“What are you doing?”

Though she had known there was a large chance she’d be left alone for precious few minutes, Cadence had still tensed at the arrival of the deceptively beautiful blonde. The sight of Roksana standing in the doorway, slender fingers curled into tight fists, had her stomach clenching in trepidation.

Where Lichakov was concerned, size meant nothing. Cadence heard she had toppled men twice her size and pinned them to metal tables while she plucked out their eyeballs.

Of course, such tales swirled rampantly through her overactive imagination when the woman cornered her. She, of course, had assured the viper that she was just having a look over the illustrious prime minister’s office, and that every time she entered she had to pinch herself to reassure her brain that the experience was real. Why not? The philanthropic lie worked on Danshov every time.

Unlike her lover, however, Lichakov was no push over.

“I am not blind to your deceitful tongue, girl.” Her voice was cold as a steel edge, and just as sharp. “You cannot flatter me into obescience.” Striding across the room, she had hemmed Cadence into a corner, her blue eyes at once disdainful and piercing. “I’m watching you,
American
. No matter what Osip thinks,
I
have the final say in who remains close to him.
Never
forget that.”

Cadence had no doubt in her mind that Roksana would kill her if she saw her as enough of a threat. Osip was doing his best to keep her in check, and it was the thinly veiled threat of punishment that prevented her from committing a state crime – but she was a loose cannon if there ever was one. Even if Cadence wasn’t the best field agent there was, and even if it was her first assignment, she had always been observant. Only a blind person could miss the animosity that leeched from Roksana in murderous waves.

She knew to stay well clear, and so far, she thought she’d done pretty admirably. She behaved herself when she knew – or even when she suspected – that Lichakov was watching. She behaved herself while Elisaveta toyed with her butterfly knife.

But in the precious few moments that neither of them was present, she struggled against her innate reaction to the mere presence of her host.

Demyan.

As she made her way back to a main street to catch a cab, Cadence felt her stomach twist in a strange mixture of apprehension and desire.

She didn’t know how the hell she was supposed to feel about him.

Were Alessia alive, she would accuse her of sheer stupidity. Her sister never would have compromised herself like this. As much as Alessia had loved Russia, in so far Cadence knew, she had never fallen for a Russian man. She had known full well the danger of such emotions.

She was
not
, Cadence told herself,
falling
for Demyan Boykov. They lusted after one another from first sight – this was established from the moment they had fallen in bed together. She didn’t know the man, she reminded herself, and things would be better if things remained that way.

What if Danshov
did
drop nuclear details? What if something slipped and Cadence finally obtained the information she’d been seeking? What happened to her depended completely on what she conveyed to Cresseda. If there seemed to be some imminent threat to the United States, they would no doubt find an excuse to pull her and get her home safely before they acted. If not, she would continue her charade until it was time for her to leave – and then hopefully she would get out in one piece.

…without any further knowledge of her sister.

Thankfully, Cadence’s taxi driver conveyed her back to the Boykov manor in silence, giving the young woman a good half hour to mull over the decisions she made.

Why had she come here?

To do her job? To prove that she was just as good as Alessia? To gain
some
semblance of peace about her sister’s death? The reasons seemed to be melding together into an amalgamation of confusion that kept her up at night, staring at the ceiling.

Why
?

This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To change the world? To protect those who couldn’t protect themselves?

Then how could she forget all that when Demyan Boykov took her into his arms?

She was quiet as a mouse as she slipped back into the manor. Before Cadence left, she made sure that not a single soul was about, and to her relief, the manor was just as still as it had been when she stepped out. All the servants gone, and both Elisaveta and Demyan asleep.

Or so she thought.

When she slipped into the foyer, a faint light radiated from the library beyond, making her stiffen as she redid the latch behind her.

Cadence could have sworn she’d left the only known inhabitants of the house asleep. She’d double and triple checked – if for nothing else than the fact that her life was on the line. Swallowing thickly, she began past the foyer of the manor, praying to every God she could think of that Elisaveta hadn’t woken up for a late night snack.

Instead, however, she was met by the sight of Demyan lounging on a couch in the sitting room, looking over the pile of books she herself had been studying earlier that evening. Her breath caught in her throat at the realization that the man’s long, lean form was clad only in a pair of black silk pajama pants and Cadence swallowed thickly as her libido immediately responded.

Only moments before, she’d been telling herself how conflicted she was over Demyan, and now, the sight of him pouring over a few texts in his reading glasses, muscles rippling, was enough to have her all but throwing herself at him. Without looking up, he uttered a single question. “Where were you?”

It was enough to make her flush deeply. Though Cadence’s entire presence in Moscow was, in a way, an untruth, when she had to lie directly to the man she was sleeping with, she squirmed inwardly with guilt. Thankfully, both Cresseda and Myles had engrained in her the ability to conceal such emotions. Clearing her throat, the dark haired woman slid out of her coat. She exhaled gratefully at the sudden warmth, taking her time to answer.

“I couldn’t sleep. I headed out to get some air.”

“Into the center of the city?” Demyan’s book snapped shut as he looked up at her, and even through the nervousness that curled her stomach, Cadence thought that no man had the right to look that sexy in glasses. As his green eyes bored into hers, the young woman stood tall. She had been intimate with Demyan far too many times for him to continue to intimidate her. At least, that’s what she told herself.

“I wanted to see Moscow at night.”

Demyan appeared to consider her for a moment, his dark eyes roaming the length of her figure with no small amount of interest before he stood to stalk over to her, his grace almost catlike. “How many times must I discourage you from going out by yourself?”

Arching a brow, Cadence crossed her arms over her ample chest as she gazed up at him challengingly. Perhaps she had played the part of a novice politician too well. Demyan could be overbearing at times – from the first instance he’d insisted in accompanying her out for lunch to the times thereafter when he insisted that when she went out in the city, someone should always accompany her.

“And how many times do I have to tell
you
, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself?”

“Are you?” Quite suddenly, she found herself pressed up against the nearest wall, hemmed in by the impressive length of Demyan’s long, well-built arms. Swallowing thickly, Cadence continued to meet his gaze unflinchingly. By this point she knew full well how controlling Demyan liked to be in bed – his aloof, quiet manner all but abandoned in the face of carnal hunger. Every time she was with him, she told herself that she would be more resilient to his advances. That she had to retain the upper hand in their interactions, even if it was only in her own mind.

So far, she wasn’t holding up very well. “I am.” She managed, her tone admirably firm as she straightened her spine; at least, as much as she could when her back was quite literally against a wall.

“So if a Russian hitman came after you…one as large as me with twice the bulk, you would be perfectly capable of fending him off?”

Demyan’s voice had lowered to a dangerous growl that Cadence knew signaled impending trouble. She found herself simultaneously wishing that he had remained asleep and that he wouldn’t tease her so.

She was already aroused by the mere nearness of him. “Are you saying that there are assassins on my trail?” Though the young woman tried for wry, her voice came out on the edge of breathless. Her lover tended to have that effect on her.

Though she supposed
lover
was a generous term when it came to Demyan. When they made love, he seemed more animal than anything else.

Something she had never imagined would heat her blood to such an extent. “You never know, Cadence.” The man’s answer was low and steady, his accusatory gaze never leaving hers. “If you are going to represent your country, then it is best that you accept that not everyone believes Americans are untouchable.”

“
You
would know.” The words escaped her before she could stop them – damn her flippant mouth. Demyan made her nervous, and when she was nervous, Cadence said things she regretted.

He stared down at her for a long moment in which Cadence knew he was contemplating what to do with her – to assert the dominance that was so clearly his in the bedroom or to let her sarcasm pass. Perhaps if it had been broad daylight and other people were around, she might have gotten lucky.

Not so in the wee small hours.

Without a word, Demyan bent at the waist to hoist her over one broad shoulder and Cadence just kept herself from crying out in surprise. The last thing she wanted to do was wake the house – but the idea that someone might see her host carting her off to his bed was at least as dangerous.

“
Demyan!
” She hissed dangerously. “Put me
down!
”

“
Nyet,
kukla. And for telling me what I should do in my own home, I think, perhaps, I will punish you.” His words were murmured just loudly enough for her to hear them over his footsteps, even amidst her struggling. Cadence’s eyes widened as they moved through the darkened halls towards the master suite and she struggled to remember her purpose.

To collect intelligence. To learn about her sister.

Not to lose her mind under the onslaught of whatever delightful ecstasy that Demyan Boykov brought her.

She tried to protest as the man carried her over the threshold of his bedroom – one of the few places in the manor where she had never been – only to have her words caught by Demyan’s hungry mouth. When he kissed her, she found it very hard to concentrate on the deadline fast approaching her.

And that was, perhaps, the most dangerous thing she’d encountered since she’d arrived in Moscow.

In the past five years of her life, Cadence had endured hours of grueling training, both physical and mental. She had done everything in her power to ensure that she did justice to her sister’s memory. She had abandoned relationships both with her parents and with a man she thought she loved to get where she was.

And never, once, in those five years, had she encountered something like what Demyan Boykov made her feel. Lust, certainly. That could never be ignored. But the further he pushed her away, the more she found she wanted to know about him.
How
he’d gotten to where he was with Osip. Why his sister and his relations were so unbelievably strained. How a man like him – seemingly of sound mind and body – could willingly surround himself with the throng of wolves that composed the Russian upper crust.

None of it made any sense.

“
Demyan
,” She tried tearing her mouth from his, only to have him toss her onto the bed so a sharp breath of surprise escaped her. Reaching for her ankle, he yanked her to the edge of it before reaching for the button of her pants. She tried vainly to bat his hands away, only to have the man’s fingers encircle her throat in a grip simultaneously firm and gentle.

Cadence froze, her breath catching in her throat as both his gaze and his hold pinned her in place. “Yes,
kukla
?”

When he looked at her like that, Cadence found herself searching vainly for the words that had just been on the tip of her tongue.

His steely green eyes still intent upon her, Demyan pressed her to lie back on the plush velvet of his comforter before his free hand returned to undoing her pants. The dark-skinned woman struggled to keep her head as a swathe of skin at her abdomen was bared and the Russian man pressed his mouth hotly to her hip bone. “Demyan, stop!”

Almost immediately, he halted, raising his head to look down at her almost irately. Removing his hand from her throat, Demyan sat on the edge of the bed, a dark brow raised in question. In the dim light of his bedroom, with his obvious hardness straining at the front of his pajama pants, Cadence almost gave up on her bid for information.