The Professional
Page 17

He shrugged, but I could tell how proud he was. “Don’t you?” When I nodded easily, he said, “Then why haven’t you decided to stay?”
“It’s a big decision. Living in a foreign country, changing schools.” I knew nothing would make Paxán happier, and I wanted to give that to him. But not at the expense of my own happiness. “Though you might not think I liked my old life, I did. I even liked working, just as you clearly do. I don’t want to say I’m a hayseed or anything, but I enjoy a simple life.” We’d slowed to a stop. “Enough about me. Why don’t you tell me about how you came to be here?” Paxán had said Sevastyan might confide in me.
He studied my face. “Your father told you my history.”
“Only how he first met you. You could tell me more.” If Sevastyan and I could continue like this, talking, getting to know each other, would I fall for him?
Could he fall for me?
“I’m a good listener,” I said.
Our gazes met. He parted his lips to speak. Then ire blazed in his expression. “Why did you invite Filip to ride with you?”
I was taken aback. “Why wouldn’t I have?”
“You could have asked me.” He gazed past me as he said, “Unless you specifically wanted time with him away from everyone else.”
I rolled my eyes. “If I did, then that would be none of your business. You told me there is no us, remember? Maybe I took your words to heart.”
“Did you take my warning to heart as well? I told you to be wary of him.”
Sevastyan’s anger was sparking my own. “And he told me the same thing—about you.”
“Filip has a lot of success with women. That doesn’t mean he’s worthy of it.”
“I get along with him. He doesn’t ignore me, and he makes me laugh,” I pointed out. “It doesn’t hurt that he has a face that could make angels weep.”
Sevastyan’s gloved fists clenched on his reins. His horse nickered nervously. “I don’t want you alone with him anymore.”
This jealousy was so delicious, I decided to prime the pump. “Why? Scared I’m going to give it up to him?”
Something primal flashed in Sevastyan’s eyes. “That will never happen.”
“Is that why you’re riding with me? To cock-block him?”
He simply answered, “Yes.”
My toes curled in my boots. “Why?”
“I know what Filip had planned for you today.” At my raised brows, he said, “He intended to seduce you.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because any man in his right mind would be planning the same.” He caught my gaze, held it. Was Sevastyan telling me that he was as well?
Was I back to being infatuated again?
I smoothed a curl from my flushed face. “Are you in your right mind?” Say yes, say yes—
Thunder rumbled.
As if waking from a daze, we both jerked our heads up. In these woods, we hadn’t been able to see an approaching storm.
“We’ll head back.”
No, no, I never wanted this ride to end! Sevastyan was acting all possessive and jealous and had actually been flirting with me—in his terse, enforcer way. I couldn’t get enough. What harm would a few more minutes do? “If it rains, we won’t melt.”
No sooner had the words left my mouth than clouds draped over the treetops like a suffocating blanket. A drop hit my face, then another. The sky continued to darken.
When a chill wind started to gust, batting leaves against us, Sevastyan ordered me, “Stay close.” He started off, and I followed as he picked up speed, dodging around trees.
Lightning forked out above us, cold drizzle pinging my face. But this ride was exhilarating, made me feel so alive. I couldn’t remember the last time my heart had pounded like this.
Oh, yeah. In a maid’s closet fourteen days ago.
When lightning struck a tree not far in the distance, Alizay yanked against the bit, sidestepping. “Whoa, girl, easy. . . .” Exhilaration turned to apprehension.
Limbs raked my ponytail, pulling it from its fastening. Between the leaves and my whipping hair, I could barely see. Each bout of thunder grew closer. It sounded so much harsher than it did in Nebraska.
Sevastyan reined around and sped back for me. He seized my reins, forcing Alizay to trot alongside.
More lightning flashed overhead, and another bolt struck even closer. The drizzle turned to a freezing downpour with drops so big they thumped my head. The temperature felt like it was plummeting by the minute. Soon my breaths smoked through the curtain of rain.
Sevastyan narrowed his eyes in the direction of the stables. Then, as if making a command decision, he turned us in another direction.
Over the rumbling, I said, “The stables are the other way!”
“I’m getting you out of the lightning,” he called back, spurring his horse.
Onward we rode. In movies, getting caught in the rain with a hot guy was always sexy. I was freezing, certain I looked like a drenched cat, and terrified of being electrocuted. To add insult to injury, my riding pants were creeping up my ass by uncomfortable degrees.
Once we emerged from the edge of the woods, the rain was so thick that I could barely make out a house in the distance. As we neared, I saw it was about as large as the bungalow I’d shared with Jess. The rough-hewn style—exposed-beam walls and a wood-shingled roof—was completely different from every other structure I’d seen at Berezka.
To the side was an overhang for the horses. By the time we dismounted under the roof, my legs were so stiff that Sevastyan had to catch me. Steadying me on my feet, he barked, “Inside.”
Leaving him to take care of the horses, I entered the windowless interior. I removed my soaked gloves, rubbing my hands for warmth as I peered around me. The overcast light coming from the doorway illuminated a quaintly rustic room.
Realization dawned. This was a banya. A sauna house. I’d read all about them!
Russians took their saunas very seriously. There were rituals and social etiquette surrounding the banya. Creating the best mist—with the finest steam droplets—was considered an art.
The first room, the pre-bath, had pegs to hang clothes and a supply of towels, sheets, and liniments. Deeper inside was the steam room. Polished wood benches stretched along the walls. At one end of the room was a small blue pool. At the opposite end were a firebox and rock chamber.
A water bucket and ladle stood beside the rocks. Veniks—tied bunches of dried branches and leaves—hung from a nearby rack, like mini brooms. Wetted down, they were used to strike the skin to improve circulation.
For some reason, the firebox was already lit, spilling light across the area. The rocks radiated heat, making the air warm and humid. It smelled of cedar and vaguely of the birch veniks—like wintergreen, forest, and leather mixed together.
Realization dawned once more. I was going to be trapped in a banya with the most desirable man I’d ever imagined. A man I couldn’t have sex with—without risking permanence. A man I wasn’t even supposed to be fooling around with.
Though freezing, I whirled toward the exit, ready to brave the storm.
Sevastyan ducked through the doorway, rifle in hand. “Where do you think you’re going?” Once he shut the door behind him, I could scarcely hear the thunder outside the insulated sauna, even as it rumbled the ground and walls.
It was as if we were within a moist, firelit cocoon, separate from the world.
As he shook out his black hair, he propped his gun against the wall, then placed a bar over the door.
Why would he lock it? Between chattering teeth, I said, “We n-need to ride back. Or call for someone to p-pick us up.”
He discarded his gloves as he headed to a wall cabinet. I heard the clink of glass, and then he turned back to me holding a vodka shot. “Drink.”
I accepted the glass but hesitated. Though I was eager to get warm, I knew better than to be in a sauna with this man—while drinking vodka.
“Natalie, drink. You don’t even realize how cold you are.”
At that instant, my teeth decided to chatter with a vengeance. With a mulish look, I chugged the burning liquid. When I set the glass down on a shelf, rim first, he gave me a satisfied nod and took my hand, leading me back toward the fire. While I watched, he stoked it even hotter, then ladled water over the rocks.
Steam hissed, floating through the air. It surrounded us, caressing my face. “If we stay h-here, something might happen.” Something sinful.
Like the two of us stripping down to nothing, so we could lick droplets from each other’s skin.
“Happen?” He strode toward me, removing his coat on the way.
I backed up a step. “You know, between us.” He’d gone so long—why would he blow his perfect record now?
He raised his brows, eyes devilish in the firelight and mist. “Can’t control yourself where I’m concerned?” His voice was a deep rasp.
Resist him, Nat. “Maybe I can. Doesn’t mean I have to prove it by hanging out in a freaking sauna with you.” When he stalked closer, I demanded, “What are you doing, Sevastyan?”
“Getting you out of those wet clothes,” he said in a tone that brooked no resistance.
What the hell? Had the countdown clock finally zeroed out? My breaths shallowed as I recalled his restlessness, his piercing looks and mounting tension, as if he’d been about to strike.
Because he had been?
But why now? Why today? And in what . . . manner?
I pictured those indecipherable warnings he’d cast my way. Was I brave enough to face whatever it was he’d been warning me from? “And what if I refuse to take off my clothes, huh?”
“Pet . . .” Now every time he called me that it reminded me of his words: collar and keep you. He reached for my jacket, his gaze gone molten. “There’s one thing you should know.”
How could a single heated look make shivers dance over my entire body? “What’s that?”
“I wasn’t asking.”
Chapter 18
“Hold on!” I tripped back from Sevastyan as he advanced on me through the billowing steam. He seemed bent on getting me out of my wet clothes.
Hanging out in a sensual sauna, na**d, with an off-limits enforcer who happened to make my mouth water: what could possibly go wrong?
And Sevastyan had been all too prepared to take advantage of the storm. The sauna fire had been lit before we’d even arrived. He’d hinted around about planning my seduction, which made me wonder . . . “What’s gotten into you, Siberian? I know the rules—we’re not supposed to be trifling with each other.”
In a low tone, with words like a promise, he said, “I have no intention of trifling with you.”
I frowned. “But that’s why you’ve avoided me, isn’t it? Because you don’t want to risk getting saddled with me. So what is this?”
“It’s simple.” He was almost upon me. “You’re freezing when I can make you warm.”
When I skirted away, he raised his palms, as if to let me know he’d never force anything on me.
I rolled my eyes. Like he ever would have to.
“Then I’ll need to make it hotter in here.” He returned to the fire. After coaxing more warmth and steam, he sat on a nearby bench and began undressing, his manner casual.
I was rapt as he unbuttoned his shirt with those ringed fingers. I didn’t know if it was the vodka in my belly or a growing coil of excitement that was heating me more—just knew my chill had all but disappeared.
When he drew off the wet fabric, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled, those tattoos stark across his flexing chest.
I’d researched more about those markings of his. The two stars meant that he was a criminal aristocrat, a man who’d neared the upper echelons of the Bratva. The ones on his fingers signified that he’d been a thief and an assassin. But I also saw scars that I hadn’t noticed on the plane—one from what must be a bullet wound in his side and another slash down the back of his arm that looked like a knife wound.
More reminders of how much pain his body had taken. Yet these scars didn’t detract from his attractiveness; just the opposite.
He raised his chin proudly. The bastard knew how good his body looked.
How masculine.
How sexual.
I found my feet taking me closer to him, my hands itching to touch his damp skin. What woman would be able to resist him?
A better woman than I.
Before I knew it, I’d sat on the bench a couple of feet from him. I felt obligated to say, “I don’t want this.”
He raised his brows. Oh, really? “Take off your jacket.”
With a swallow, I did. My ivory silk blouse was transparent, my stiff ni**les and coral-colored areolas visible through my white lace bra.
When he made a low sound of appreciation, I admitted, “I’m scared.”
“Of me?”
Never. I shook my head. “I’m scared of what this means. From what I understand, if we keep fooling around, you’re going to get permanently stuck with me. Like you might as well slip a ring on my finger. Especially if we have sex.”
“You let me worry about that.”
Maybe the threat of mutual saddling had been exaggerated? Like when parents tell kids: “Go outside with wet hair, and you’ll catch a cold.”
Fool around with an enforcer, and you’ll catch forever.
Sevastyan would never risk an everlasting future with me, right? And if I remained a virgin through this encounter, surely I’d be exempt from any mafiya-logic rules.
But maybe my brain was latching on to any excuse to keep this interlude going. Mist suffused the air, making everything feel dreamlike. And wasn’t it easier to be reckless in dreams?