was a mission. I was meant to be just another one of Luka’s girlfriends. I knew damn well that he used them and tossed them away. I’d listened to their tears when he’d dumped them. Why was I surprised?
Had I actually believed that I was different?
I snuck out of the locker and retraced my steps. I made it back to the stairs without running into any more guards and then hurried upstairs and back to the stateroom. By the time I got there, my tears were just about dry. Focus! I’d gotten the information I needed and that was all that mattered.
Right?
When I opened the door, Luka was just putting the phone down. I closed the door behind me and sniffed, willing my face to cool down.
When Luka turned, he looked troubled. Bad news in the phone call? Then he saw me and, for a second, it was as if all his worries had been lifted. A smile half-formed on his lips and the idea that I could have that effect on him made me swell inside in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
But he’s just using you. He just wants to fuck you and then he’ll dump you.
Maybe they’re wrong about him.
He looked closer and saw my expression. His smile was gone in an instant. “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping forward. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, I thought sadly. My job was to be another short-term fling. But, back in Langley, I hadn’t thought it would be this difficult.
I stared up into his eyes. I swore I could see something there—some tenderness, beneath the ice-hard exterior, beneath the lust. But that was crazy. If he wanted a proper relationship with anyone, he’d want it with one of his Russian blondes, with their perfect hair and their legs up to their armpits. Not me.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
Immediately, he gave me that look. The one that said, don’t lie to me.
“I just got cold,” I said. “I went out on deck, and I hadn’t taken a coat, and I didn’t want to come back in here and disturb you.”
He shook his head and sighed, then gave a tiny, affectionate chuckle that made me melt. Pulling me to his chest, he wrapped his arms around me. Immediately, his closeness made me feel better. It was like resting my head against a warm rock face, infinitely solid and strong.
“You need to think about yourself more,” he told me. “You always put everyone else first.” He put his hands on my cheeks for a second and pushed me back so that he could look at me. “If you keep doing that, you’ll freeze.”
How could a man as evil as him be so gentle, so thoughtful? I nodded.
He frowned. “You seem shorter,” he told me. He looked down. “Where are your shoes?”
Shit! Out in the corridor, near the stairs, where I’d taken them off.
“It was icy, outside,” I said. “Have you tried walking on ice in four inch heels?”
His lip curled in one of those little smiles he sometimes gave, when I amused him. He didn’t seem to do it with anyone else. Then, as he looked me up and down, his expression changed. I could see his eyes glazing with lust and the sight of it sent a deep throb right through my body.
How can I do this? How can I have sex with him knowing it’s only ever going to be about sex? I’d never do that back home, ever. I didn’t do flings.
It’s your job, I thought sternly. And felt the guilt wash through me, because I knew that was just an excuse. I wanted him. God, I wanted him so bad it was like an ache inside me.
I gulped and looked up at him. And something about that look—maybe the need he could see in me—sent him over the edge.
He gave a growl, put his hands on my waist and pushed me backward, slowly at first but faster and faster, until I had to stagger back quickly or fall. My back hit the wall and I gasped, the air knocked out of me.
And then my feet left the floor. He’d gripped my waist and was lifting me straight up, like some ballet dancer lifting his partner. He didn’t stop until my head was almost touching the ceiling. I stared down at
Had I actually believed that I was different?
I snuck out of the locker and retraced my steps. I made it back to the stairs without running into any more guards and then hurried upstairs and back to the stateroom. By the time I got there, my tears were just about dry. Focus! I’d gotten the information I needed and that was all that mattered.
Right?
When I opened the door, Luka was just putting the phone down. I closed the door behind me and sniffed, willing my face to cool down.
When Luka turned, he looked troubled. Bad news in the phone call? Then he saw me and, for a second, it was as if all his worries had been lifted. A smile half-formed on his lips and the idea that I could have that effect on him made me swell inside in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
But he’s just using you. He just wants to fuck you and then he’ll dump you.
Maybe they’re wrong about him.
He looked closer and saw my expression. His smile was gone in an instant. “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping forward. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, I thought sadly. My job was to be another short-term fling. But, back in Langley, I hadn’t thought it would be this difficult.
I stared up into his eyes. I swore I could see something there—some tenderness, beneath the ice-hard exterior, beneath the lust. But that was crazy. If he wanted a proper relationship with anyone, he’d want it with one of his Russian blondes, with their perfect hair and their legs up to their armpits. Not me.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
Immediately, he gave me that look. The one that said, don’t lie to me.
“I just got cold,” I said. “I went out on deck, and I hadn’t taken a coat, and I didn’t want to come back in here and disturb you.”
He shook his head and sighed, then gave a tiny, affectionate chuckle that made me melt. Pulling me to his chest, he wrapped his arms around me. Immediately, his closeness made me feel better. It was like resting my head against a warm rock face, infinitely solid and strong.
“You need to think about yourself more,” he told me. “You always put everyone else first.” He put his hands on my cheeks for a second and pushed me back so that he could look at me. “If you keep doing that, you’ll freeze.”
How could a man as evil as him be so gentle, so thoughtful? I nodded.
He frowned. “You seem shorter,” he told me. He looked down. “Where are your shoes?”
Shit! Out in the corridor, near the stairs, where I’d taken them off.
“It was icy, outside,” I said. “Have you tried walking on ice in four inch heels?”
His lip curled in one of those little smiles he sometimes gave, when I amused him. He didn’t seem to do it with anyone else. Then, as he looked me up and down, his expression changed. I could see his eyes glazing with lust and the sight of it sent a deep throb right through my body.
How can I do this? How can I have sex with him knowing it’s only ever going to be about sex? I’d never do that back home, ever. I didn’t do flings.
It’s your job, I thought sternly. And felt the guilt wash through me, because I knew that was just an excuse. I wanted him. God, I wanted him so bad it was like an ache inside me.
I gulped and looked up at him. And something about that look—maybe the need he could see in me—sent him over the edge.
He gave a growl, put his hands on my waist and pushed me backward, slowly at first but faster and faster, until I had to stagger back quickly or fall. My back hit the wall and I gasped, the air knocked out of me.
And then my feet left the floor. He’d gripped my waist and was lifting me straight up, like some ballet dancer lifting his partner. He didn’t stop until my head was almost touching the ceiling. I stared down at
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