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  Only this time, Iskatel´ was playing chess with an opponent who had mastered the game. She knew the tricks. Understood the silent signals.

  She would find him, and three years of Russian undercover operations would see fruition with the total exposure of Dmitri’s underground. Alexei would blow the top off the Dubai involvements. Sergei would uncover the arms filtering into terrorist nations. And she would spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for personally betraying Dmitri and collapsing his deviant ring of sexual indulgence.

  If she spent the rest of her life on the run, she’d make sure every woman that had been hauled into that pit of sin came home. Somehow, she’d make it happen. Or die trying.

  Stepping away from the curtain, Natalya retreated down the corridor into her closet-sized office. The girls were settled. Time to get dressed.

  She refused to think about the lies she’d have to concoct if Dmitri got word of her stage escapade. Furious wouldn’t describe his reaction. He’d be more like a raging volcano. But, if she said the right things, used the soft voice that crumpled him, he’d forgive. By the time he arrived here, she’d be long gone, and his anger wouldn’t matter.

  Bending over, she picked up a pair of sequined, black, four-inch heels. As she straightened, she pulled the pins from her hair and studied the full-length bodysuit hanging on the wall behind her door. Tonight she would be a shadow.

  B

  randon let himself backstage, intending to make amends for the abrupt way he’d treated Natalya when she arrived. He’d known then he was being an ass. But hell, one look at her hair all piled up in a bun, her neat and tidy, appropriate, black suit skirt, and her equally appropriate white button-down blouse, and he’d been thrown right back to that moment in his office when all he could think about was her on his desk, her skirt around her waist, and his dick rooted firmly inside her. He’d been struck speechless to see the same glow of arousal in her eyes, despite the dim light and the distance that separated them. Even from across the room he couldn’t miss the tightening of her breasts the longer he held her gaze. And those aroused peaks had wreaked havoc on his system. It had required sheer willpower to remind himself that not only did she have a boyfriend, but he didn’t mix business with pleasure.

  Now that he was prepared for Miss Prim and Proper, he intended to apologize for not only failing to introduce her, but also failing to give her a heads-up that she’d have to jostle around the dance schedule and accommodate Chablis’ absence. The least he could have done was give her a little forewarning about which girls were crowd favorites.

  He avoided the handful of girls lounging on the couches. Though in truth, they gave him a wide berth as well. Most of them had heard through the grapevine he didn’t mix business with pleasure. Especially in-house business. They worked for him, and in turn, he was their boss. Exclusively.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Jill rounding the bathroom hallway and quickened his pace.

  Except for her.

  One slip, under the belief a girl from another club wouldn’t cause trouble, and damned if he could escape it.

  Natalya’s office door stood half open, and he stiffened. A thrill of anticipation bubbled through his blood as the fleeting notion crossed his mind that it would be too damn easy to shut that door, trap the both of them inside, and live out that brief fantasy of desks and skirts and mind-numbing sex—business aside.

  Kate’s voice, drifting out from beyond the partially open door, had the effect of a bucket of cold water on his head. Thank God. He wouldn’t have to face Natalya and her never-ending legs alone. If that door happened to shut, there’d be no chance in hell he’d find that desk tempting. Unlike his best friend, Mayer, Brandon didn’t do threesomes. He preferred to devote his attentions to one woman at a time. Prove that while she was in his arms, she was the only thing on his mind. Even if it was just for a night, it was her night alone.

  He raised his hand to knock, but the soundless brush of his knuckles swung the door inward. The scene beyond froze him in place. Kate perched on the edge of a leather armchair, straightening out a string bikini top with beaded fringe. In front of her, her back to the doorway, Natalya stood with one foot propped on the seat of her office chair. Slender fingers pulled a black garter up a shapely calf, all the way to one smooth, muscular thigh.

  His cock jumped to attention as his heart ground to a stop.

  Christ Almighty, she could kill a man with those legs.

  To hell with business. He couldn’t explain what idiocy had descended on him, or why this woman lit him up like a firecracker, but he was done with denying he wanted anything else but her. Naked. Legs wrapped around his waist. His cock buried so far inside her she’d never forget he was there.

  Fuck!

  What the hell was the matter with him? Countless girls, wearing far less than what Natalya Trubachev wore now, had paraded in front of him over the last several years. It hadn’t been that long since he’d had a woman—and it wasn’t like he had to look far to find one. So why was he reacting to this redhead like one of the raunchy bastards who frequented the strip?

  Brandon ground his teeth together and focused his scowl on the exposed skin at the back of Natalya’s neck. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Both women’s heads snapped his way. Kate let out a squeak. Natalya stumbled as she attempted to put her lifted foot on the floor. She caught herself on the back of the chair. Jade green eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  “I think I’ll… er… I need…” Kate stood, her gaze alternating between Brandon and Natalya. She readjusted her glasses. “I’ve got to go.”

  No! The protest exploded from the depths of his mind. He needed Kate to stay. Needed a viable, tangible, reason not to drag Natalya across the handful of feet that separated them and discover if her mouth held the same flavor of wine that the deep burgundy of her lips professed.

  Kate edged past him before he could develop a rational objection.

  “This,” Brandon gritted out through clenched teeth. He gestured at Natalya’s short robe.

  “This what?” Affronted, Natalya straightened her shoulders. The act made the deep V down the front of her kimono gap. Creamy skin peeked out, along with a glimpse of black lace. His gaze pulled to the cleft between her breasts. Under the weight of his stare, the silk that covered those full breasts puckered as her nipples stiffened. A flush spread across her skin.

  Brandon choked down a groan. He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “You damn well know what.”

  Her eyes flashed before she presented him with her back and picked up the black bodysuit slung across the rise of her chair. “We’re a dancer down, Moretti. I’m taking the slot.”

  Dance? All that long, lithe body exposed for the entire club to enjoy before he could get his hands on it? Over his dead body.

  One swift stride brought him up behind her. “Like hell.” He grabbed her elbow and twisted her around. She caught her heel on the chair and stumbled into the desk, the back of her thighs supporting her against the wood surface. Their close proximity forced her to arch her back in order to look him in the eyes. Her breasts thrust forward to rub against his chest, and Brandon’s blood warmed to the scent of flowers. Heat spread deliciously through his veins to pool in his cock. He thickened in a heartbeat. Holy God, under no circumstances had he prepared for Natalya on this level.

  Annoyance dissipated at the catch in her breathing, the way her beautiful eyes glazed over with the same arousal that flooded through his body. He shoved the voice of reason aside and stepped closer, in between her parted knees. Her thighs framed his, her robe draped open revealing more of that taunting black lace—but not everything. No, even her robe wouldn’t defy the elegance that was Natalya by gaping open and revealing all her hidden treasures.

  Her eyes flickered with something he couldn’t describe, and the tip of her tongue swept out to moisten her lips. His stare riveted on parted lips, the call of her mouth overriding all common sense.
He set his hands on her knees, slowly, hesitantly skimmed his fingers up her thighs to the band of her stockings. Smooth skin. Toned muscle.

  Hell, what was he doing? Why wasn’t she fighting him off?

  She shivered, and he no longer cared. She was feeling this too. And whatever it was felt damn good. Every nerve ending in his body had awakened, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off her dewy lips, off the way her throat worked as she swallowed.

  He traced the lacy edge of her stocking, skated his fingertips higher, barely touching her as he worked his way to her hips so he could hold her still while he claimed that taunting mouth.

  “What are you doing, Moretti?” Her voice rasped over his cheek. The tremor in her words sent another shock of desire surging through his body.

  He was going to fuck her, that’s what he was doing. Right here. Right now. Right after he got drunk on the tangle of her tongue—if he wasn’t already drunk. Damn, he couldn’t remember a time that it had been so impossible to put words together, let alone think.

  “I think you know,” he managed through his tightening throat.

  Natalya’s long eyelashes fluttered shut. Powerless against the unspoken invitation, Brandon dipped his head. Their breaths mingled, and the sweet aroma of cherry beckoned him to sample the sultry heat. He ran the tip of his tongue over her upper lip. The satiny feel of her mouth sent a shock of raw lust ripping down his spine. Oh, yeah… this was going to be good.

  When she pressed her palm against his chest and her nails curled into his pecs, he fought off the sudden need to drag her hips flush with his and bury his aching cock in her softness. Not yet. They’d get there, but first he wanted to enjoy the silken stroke of her tongue. Wanted to draw her into the same sexual frenzy that threatened to overtake his body.

  “Let me on the stage, boss,” she whispered against his mouth.

  It took a moment for her words to sink through the haze of desire and infiltrate Brandon’s mind. When they did, the full meaning of what was happening slammed into him. Her stumble might have been accidental, but the rest—they were back to Natalya’s games. Son of a bitch—she’d almost hooked him too.

  He thrust her hand away and stepped out of the mesmerizing field of her nearly naked body. Grinding his teeth, he took a moment to let anger balm the ache of desire. He met her wide-eyed gaze with a snort. “I hired you as a housemom, not a dancer. That floor’s about money. I’m not wasting it on someone who hasn’t danced in fifteen years.”

  He took another step backward, grateful for the distance that separated them. Anger flashed behind those shards of jade, but the pinkening of her cheeks told him her elevated breathing had little to do with temper.

  Jesus, she was just as aroused as he was. Maybe this wasn’t all pure games. Yet, even if she was as turned on as he, that could only spell trouble. Her boyfriend aside, Brandon needed to stay focused on the case. Committed to protecting Kate. For all he knew, Natalya could have something to do with the string of murders on the strip.

  Using that bit of logic to find the strength to walk away, he turned for the hall. “Put Becca on after Jill.”

  He slammed the door on any objection she might have tried.

  Five

  N

  atalya’s body quaked in Brandon’s wake. She dragged in one deep breath after another. Her breasts felt heavy and full, her nipples sharp enough to cut glass. Another heaviness settled into her womb, adding to the dampness between her legs. She bit the inside of her cheek to silence a moan. The force of her reaction to Brandon Moretti stunned her. She wasn’t innocent. Not by a long shot. But sex with Dmitri was no different than the rest of her life—a lie. She faked it like a master actress. The two brief excursions with Alexei had been nothing more than a product of loneliness. Even he though, with his fantastically thick blond hair and deep-set dimples, hadn’t awakened such fierce longing. One touch hadn’t left her skin tingling as it did now where Brandon’s fingers had scalded into her thighs.

  No one had ever treated her with such disregard for her abilities. As a Black Opal, her talents placed her in the middle of danger. Nerves of steel sent her across the world in search of targets that quietly disappeared. Threats she’d exterminated without a moment’s hesitation. Three years with Dmitri saw her as first a hired hit man, then his lover. His cronies, to the very people on the street in Moscow, gave her deferential treatment. Regardless of assignment, of location, those she interacted with—or in some cases hunted—respected her capabilities.

  Brandon’s ignorance of her capabilities exposed her to something completely unfamiliar. Something that thrilled her more than any chase.

  He treated her like a normal human being. Like a woman he was capable of overpowering.

  The effect was stifling. More than a little terrifying.

  She pulled in another short breath and straightened her robe. What the hell was happening to her? He’d touched her, and her carefully maintained network of reflexes and sixth senses fled out the window. Under any other circumstance, she’d have turned the tables. Claimed power with a strategically placed knee or a twist of a wrist. But no. He’d put his hands on her, and she’d drowned in the intoxicating aroma of clean-shaven, agitated, aroused male.

  Unacceptable.

  Natalya jerked open the door and made a sharp left turn toward the emergency exit at the end of the hall. A shove sent the door flying against the concrete exterior. Cool night air rushed through the thin silk of her robe. She stepped out onto the fire escape, breathing in the scents of the city. Horns beeped. Voices carried up from the street below. All around, neon lights infused the Strip with a magical glow.

  Arms braced on the iron rail, she gazed up at the stars and willed her body into submission. Normal didn’t play a part of her everyday life. She couldn’t bathe in the luxury. Couldn’t afford to become distracted. While they could easily remove Kate from danger, doing so would tip off Dmitri. They’d lose their advantage, and three years of hell would amount to nothing.

  She must keep her mind focused on finding Iskatel´, not Brandon and the way he set off her yearnings. Which meant she had to find a way to convince him to let her onstage and Sergei inside the club.

  The door snicked open behind her. She glanced over her shoulder as one of the men she’d seen earlier that afternoon stepped out. He greeted her with a cordial smile. “Hey. Don’t think Brandon introduced us yet. I’m Aaron Mayer. In charge of security.” He thrust out his hand. “And you’re violating that security by being out here.”

  Natalya stiffened, but as she opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with his security, she caught the playful twinkle in his dark eyes. Tension fled from her shoulders. She shook his hand. “Natalya Trubachev.”

  An amicable grin spanned across his face as he leaned his rangy body against the rail. “So I saw the boss come storming out of the back room. Before I could count to thirty, I heard the buzz on the back door go off. I’m guessing you two didn’t see eye to eye?”

  Oh, they’d seen eye to eye well enough. His had been dark and stormy. His body had been hot.…

  She banished the memory with a silent oath. “We had words.”

  Aaron gave a quiet chuckle. “Don’t take it personally. It’s all part of the Brandon Moretti hiring strategy.”

  Despite the restlessness in her veins, Natalya couldn’t keep from grinning. “Beat us into submission?” Seduce us into submission? If he were Iskatel´, Brandon’s tactics fit right in line with the methods she employed against the dancers.

  “Something like that.” Aaron pushed away from the railing and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His gaze drifted to the horizon. “All kidding aside, he lost a friend today. He’s in a bit of a funk.”

  Rachel.

  Natalya closed her eyes and swallowed a damnable lump of remorse. She’d tried to convince Dmitri that murdering that woman wasn’t necessary. But in the end, Dmitri had his way—as always. He’d ordered Iskatel´ to inject Rachel with a fatal dose of barbitura
tes.

  “Yeah.” A strange roughness infiltrated her voice. She cleared her throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Aaron’s gaze shifted to her, full of friendly openness. Hard not to like a face like Aaron’s. Thankfully, unlike Brandon’s, his good looks didn’t tease her mind with thoughts of all the things she’d like to do to the handsome lieutenant. Or let him do to her.

  Her smile broke free as the encounter in her office took a backseat to the more pressing demands of why she’d flown across the world. This was the man she’d need to sway into hiring Sergei. At the very least, she needed him in her court so he could sway his partner. She tucked her robe around her body more tightly and folded her arms across her chest. “So tell me, what’s a girl gotta do to get on that stage?”

  The light in Aaron’s eyes glittered, his amusement increasing. “You could always try walking into his office and dropping your clothes.”

  “Right.” She rolled her eyes. “I was thinking something more subtle.”

  Aaron passed a hand over his chin, drawing her attention to the bare skin that had sported a wiry goatee earlier. “Brandon’s not much for subtle. He’s not going to take a risk unless you give him good reason.”

  Good reason meaning flash a little skin. Make it worth his while. The bottom line in stripping was a body, and if she wanted Brandon to put her on the stage, she’d need to prove herself first. He’d said he wouldn’t sacrifice the money on a girl he didn’t know could dance.

  Damn it. To obtain what she most needed, she’d have to dance for him.

  Stripping onstage in front of a crowd was one thing. A private showing for Brandon could be deadly in a way that went far beyond the risk of betraying Dmitri. The man had power over her. The kind of power that could destroy her on levels she couldn’t begin to name.