Tango's Edge - Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Kerry awoke to the sensation of Mikhail's lips on the small of her back. Still half-asleep, she smiled. Even in this hazy twilight between sleep and wakefulness, she knew he was kissing her turtle. The sensation of his warm lips on her skin sent a flooding heat through her lower half, and she released a soft, breathless sigh. A low chuckle came from Mikhail's throat, and his hand tightened possessively on the curve of her naked hip. His tongue traced another wet, leisurely path over her skin, and an involuntary cry escaped Kerry's lips.
His mouth lifted. “When did you get tattoo?” he asked, fingers skipping playfully down her thigh, sending goose bumps erupting in his wake.
“During my rebellious stage,” Kerry murmured through clenched teeth.
Mikhail laughed. “When was that?”
“Oh…from about…” she spoke haltingly, trying not to think about the sensations his tongue was arousing in her. “Thirteen to…twenty-three…but I got the tattoo…when I was sixteen. Catri had…a fit.”
His fingertips trailed over her turtle tattoo in a soft caress. Kerry gasped as liquid fire arrowed through her womb. How many times had they made love last night? Three…four? Whatever, it apparently hadn't been enough because she wanted him again.
But apparently, Mikhail was more interested in talking. “You said in car you would tell me long story about boyfriend. Joshua, yes?” His hand continued to stroke her skin, but he’d rolled over on his side, propping his head on his hand.
“It’s not really a long story,” Kerry said. “He was a bad-boy hockey player, and I found him irresistible. I guess you could say I was blinded by lust. Our relationship lasted for a couple of years.”
“Until scandal?”
Kerry nodded. “That was my wake-up call. That drug possession arrest nearly got me kicked out of skating. Even though I wasn’t the one who had the marijuana. But I was with him, so I was charged, too.”
“But charges were dropped, yes?”
“Yeah. Josh served sixty days and had to go through a drug rehabilitation program. He’s still playing hockey, and from what I hear, is as wild as ever. The whole thing scared the crap out of me, but even then I thought I still loved him. I’m ashamed to say I stuck with him for a few more months until he decided a stripper at a Hollywood club was more to his taste.”
“Stupid man,” Mikhail murmured, his hand moving down the curve of her hip. He leaned toward her, his breath warm on her skin. “But I am happy. I do not wish to compete with bad-boy hockey player.”
“No competition,” Kerry murmured.
She caught her breath as Mikhail’s mouth returned to her turtle. Her hand grasped a corner of the sheet and squeezed. She closed her eyes, murmuring, “You're driving me out of my mind, Mikhail.”
His lips moved away, and she could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Turtles have just become my favorite reptile.” His finger traced over the design, then trailed up the middle of her back. He flattened his hand against her skin and moved down in a slow, seductive journey. His head lowered again. Kerry stiffened at the heat of his tongue, and the wet contact it made as it traced the turtle at the small of her back.
That's it, she thought. Can't take it anymore. She turned over abruptly, and slid her body up against Mikhail's hair-roughened chest. He caught his breath as her hand wrapped around his healthy erection.
“Did you hear me?” she said, meeting his gaze defiantly. “You're driving me crazy, Russian boy.” She stroked him, once, twice.
He groaned. “Estonian,” he said through clenched teeth. Two hot spots of color circled his cheekbones.
Kerry grabbed a handful of his blond hair as she continued the repetitive motion with her other hand. “I apologize. Here, let me make it up to you.” She kissed him, and his mouth opened to hers obligingly.
For the next twenty minutes, they took their time, savoring, learning the map of each other's bodies. This time, their lovemaking was even better than all the times before. It was slower, yet, more intense, almost desperate. Later, Kerry would look back and wonder why there had been that urgent sense of desperation. And she would wonder if it had been a premonition. That somehow, deep inside the core of their souls, they'd known it would be the last time.
* * * * *
Feathery flakes of snow fell from an overcast sky as Kerry walked hand-in-hand with Mikhail through Gettysburg's Evergreen Cemetery. Although he didn't know a great deal about America's Civil War, he'd been enthusiastic about visiting the famous battlefield. Kerry, who'd never been particularly excited about history, was just happy to accompany him as he went from monument to marker, reading about the devastating three days of battle. And she was especially happy that it was snowing. Maybe the weather would delay Roger's arrival.
She'd called him from Dale's phone just after they'd finished the huge country breakfast the older woman had prepared for them. As Dale had suggested, Roger hadn't seemed surprised by her call. A man of few words, he'd listened to her brief explanation about Mikhail and had tersely told her to stay put, that he'd be up to get them right away. She'd had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying, “Don't hurry.” But even if he left right away―or sent someone right away―it was still a good two, maybe three hour drive from Occoquan, depending on traffic. And now, with the snow…who knew?
As Mikhail peered at an aged headstone, Kerry glanced beyond the fence at the white snow-covered landscape. Her heart lightened. Another night, she thought. Just one more night with Mikhail before we have to go back to the real world.
Surely if it were snowing like this down in Virginia, Roger would postpone the trip. Oh, God! Why had she gone ahead and called him this morning? She hadn't wanted to. Picking up the phone and dialing his number had been harder than she'd ever expected it to be. Especially when her brain was shrieking “give us another week together, just one more week.” But common sense reminded her that Mikhail would be safer with Roger. She couldn't sacrifice his safety for her own selfish desires.
She felt his gloved hand squeeze hers, and turned to look at him. Her heart contracted at the softness in his eyes.
“Do not look so sad, Kerry,” he said. “It will all work out.” But his face was somber, too, and she knew his words were as much to convince himself as to reassure her.
A shiver ran through her, and she knew it wasn't the cold of the winter afternoon that caused it. A knot formed in her throat. “How do you know?” she whispered. Her chin quivered as she tried to hold back tears. Funny, how this time she was the one feeling as if the ax was about to fall.
Mikhail turned to her, placing his hands on the shoulders of her parka, and peered into her eyes. “Because…I have reason now…more than ever…to make life in America. It will work out. Believe this, Kerry.” His hands tightened on her. “I do. I must.”
He bent his head, his mouth claiming hers in a warm, head-rushing kiss. Kerry closed her eyes, drinking in his heat, the intoxicating scent of him as she returned his kiss, allowing it to drive out the demons of uncertainty from her chaotic mind. When she found the strength to draw away from him, she was trembling. Despite the frigid, wood smoke-scented air and the pelt of wet snowflakes on her face, her skin felt flushed as if she'd just stepped out of a sauna.
“Let's go back to the inn,” she said breathlessly, noting the heightened color on Mikhail's high cheekbones. “Maybe there's time before…”
Her words were drowned out by the beat of helicopter blades in the overcast sky above them. Alarm flickered in Mikhail's eyes as he looked up. Kerry knew what he was thinking because she was thinking it, too.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head in denial. “He wouldn't…”
But she knew he would. Of course, he would. Roger never did anything by halves.
Two helicopters emerged from the gray-white sky, flying in close formation over the snow-laden trees of the battlefield. Kerry and Mikhail watched as they disappeared from sight toward the northeast. Gradually, the whomp-whomp of their blades faded into silence.
Kerry looked back at Mikhail, her heart in her throat. “Maybe it's not…” she whispered through dry lips.
Mikhail didn't respond, but only gazed back at her with desolate eyes.
* * * * *
The helicopters were parked on a relatively flat knoll near the parking lot of the Mount Carmel Inn. Kerry's hands, despite the warm leather gloves she wore, were ice cold as she parked the Volvo. She didn't know anything about flying helicopters, but she bet it took a great deal of skill to land two of them on the top of a mountain in a snowstorm. Not that it had turned out to be much of a snowstorm, she thought, as she turned off the ignition. Even the weather had turned against them. The snow had stopped shortly after the helicopters had flown over.
She felt Mikhail's eyes upon her, but as she turned to look at him, his gaze shifted to the inn. She followed it, stiffening at the sight of four men standing on the front porch. One of them she recognized as her dour-faced stepbrother, Roger Ellery. She hadn't seen him in years, but she knew it was him all the same. He stood in a peculiar, hunched-shouldered stance, and even from a distance, she could feel his sharp, eagle-like eyes piercing into her.
For a moment, she sat still, her hands grasping the steering wheel, unable to move a muscle to open the door. Everything was about to change for them; she knew that with a certainty that left her paralyzed. Mikhail's stark face told her he knew it, too. She looked at him, knowing the desperation she felt must be showing on her face. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but their time had run out. The men were making their way down the steps and heading toward them.
“Mikhail!” She grabbed his hand.
He clutched it, squeezing. “Be strong, angel moy.” Urgency threaded his voice. “We will get through this.” He glanced through the window and saw the advancing men. Turning back to Kerry, he clasped her head between his hands and gave her a hard, earnest kiss.
Tears burned behind his lids as he felt her body respond. Finally, he broke the kiss and drew away, his eyes holding hers. “Remember,” he said, just as the men reached the car, two on her side, two on his.
“What?” Kerry asked, eyes wide.
Mikhail ignored the men standing silently outside the Volvo, his hands tight on her shoulders. “Remember,” he said slowly. “This Estonian loves you.”
Kerry stared back at him, and something like panic flared in her eyes. Say it, he silently urged her. Tell me you feel the same way. I know you do, but I need to hear it.
One of the men knocked on the window on Kerry’s side. His face was grim. Mikhail held Kerry’s gaze, willing her to speak. But she turned away, her bottom lip trembling, and the moment was gone.

* * * * *
At five-foot-eight with a wiry, muscular build, Roger Ellery looked exactly like what Kerry thought a CIA officer should look like, square-jawed, cold-eyed and conservative. He didn't waste time with small talk but politely requested they get their stuff together and prepare to depart. Kerry thought she detected an undercurrent of annoyance in his cultured Virginia accent. She didn't know if it was because they hadn't been here when he'd arrived, or if it was because she'd involved him in the situation in the first place.
In the foyer of the inn, Dale gave Kerry a brief hug, and whispered, “Good luck, sweetie. Please keep in touch.”
Kerry drew away from her, and looked over at Mikhail a few feet away. His expression was implacable, but his eyes revealed anguish, and something more. Dread. Picking up on his vibrations, Kerry felt alarm skitter through her. Did he know something she didn't?
A moment later, she understood. The six of them left the inn, two of the blank-faced men with Mikhail, and Roger and the fourth man with Kerry. As the two men ushered her toward a helicopter, Kerry, in a flash of panic, realized what was happening. She stopped in her tracks and whirled around.
“No! We want to go together!”
The men on each side of Mikhail―bodyguards or prison guards? ―were taking him to one of the helicopters―not the one Roger was directing her to. Mikhail looked over his shoulder at her, his expression bleak, but resigned. He'd known, she realized. From the very beginning, he’d known they'd be separated.
She took a step toward Mikhail, shaking off Roger's warning hand. “No!” she snarled at him. “This isn't part of the deal. He's all alone. He needs me.” She moved another step closer to Mikhail.
Roger's hand wrapped around her upper arm in an ironclad hold. “Your part in this is over, Kerry,” he said quietly.
Fury washed over her. How dare he? He wasn't going to tell her what to do. She struggled to pull away from him, but his hand tightened its grip. “Let me go, damn you! I want to go with Mikhail!”
“Impossible,” Roger said firmly. “They’re taking him somewhere to be debriefed, and you’re coming with me.”
“Where?”
“To my house in Occoquan. Sharon is anxious to see you.”
“But when will I see Mikhail again?”
Roger stared at her, and she was surprised to see something like pity in his brown eyes. “I can’t answer that right now.”
“But“
“Kerry, no,” Mikhail’s soft Russian accent cut in.
She looked at him. He shook his head, his eyes holding hers. “It will be okay. I will see you soon.”
Slowly, she nodded. She looked back at Roger. “You can let go of me now,” she said. “I'll be good.”
As she reached the helicopter, she looked over her shoulder for one more glimpse of Mikhail. He was just about to climb into his copter, but almost as if sensing her gaze, he looked back. Her heart spasmed at the sadness in his eyes, and she knew her own mirrored his. Her throat thickened. She swallowed, but the lump wouldn't budge.
When will I see you again?
Her eyes blurred. Oh, God! Why hadn’t she been able to tell him she loved him? Why was it so hard for her to say those words? Mikhail lifted a hand in farewell. Then he turned away and disappeared into the body of the helicopter.
A few moments later, Kerry was strapped into a seat of the other helicopter. It lifted off from the ground and gained altitude, moving south toward Maryland. She stared miserably out the window but saw nothing but gray clouds. No sign of the other copter. Just clouds as heavy with moisture as her heart was with sadness.
She wiped away the tear that rolled down her cheek and pretended not to be aware of Roger Ellery's scrutiny. “You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? A Russian! Good God, Kerry. Aren't you smarter than that?”
Her chin lifted stubbornly. “He's Estonian.”
* * * * *
Kerry tried to wait through dinner before bombarding Roger with the question of the day. The same one she'd been asking for three days now. She knew that his wife, Sharon, had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare the perfectly grilled salmon with its delicate lemon-dill sauce accompanied by bite-sized roasted red potatoes and julienne carrots in a brown-sugar glaze.
She was sure the food was delicious―it was obvious Sharon loved to cook―but it might as well have been dry rice cakes for all Kerry tasted it. What was happening to Mikhail? Where had they taken him?
To a safe house, Roger had tersely replied that first day in response to her question. She, on the other hand, had been relegated here to his appropriately upscale Occoquan home, lavishly decorated with contemporary elegance by the multi-talented Sharon, an interior decorator in high demand by the Washington DC area's wealthier clientele.
It was a gorgeous old Victorian house on a hill overlooking the town and the river below, and every room displayed Sharon's warm personality. Kerry glanced around the formal dining room at walls covered in dramatic rose silk and adorned with exquisite art that certainly wasn’t purchased at the local Kohl’s. The burnished mahogany table at which they were seated rested on a plush rose and black Oriental rug. Above the table hung the most elaborate crystal chandelier Kerry had ever seen that wasn't in a five-star hotel.
Apparently, Sharon and Roger were doing well financially. But then, again, she reminded herself, Roger's dad―her stepfather, if you wanted to be technical―was wealthy, so maybe Roger reaped the benefits of some kind of generous trust fund. After all, that's why Jana had married Erich. She'd taken one look at the British-born, San Diego psychologist, and cash registers started ca-chinging in her little gold digger brain. It didn't take a genius to figure out why she'd left Dad as soon as he'd turned down all those endorsement deals after winning Olympic gold, opting instead to join Greenpeace. Poor naive Dad. He’d really believed Jana would put up with that?
“Kerry, you're not eating,” Sharon Ellery said in her soft southern accent, her perfectly shaped brows furrowed. “Don't tell me you don't like salmon?”
Kerry looked across the table at Roger's wife, a petite woman considerably younger than the forty-five year old Roger―about thirty-five, Kerry guessed. Sharon had the good looks of a former sorority girl with shining honey-brown hair and doe-like brown eyes. “It's very good, Sharon. It's just that…I don't have much of an appetite tonight.” Kerry shot Roger a dark look. He either didn't notice or pretended not to, shoveling a forkful of tender pink salmon into his mouth.
“Perfectly understandable,” Sharon said with a sympathetic smile. “You've had an exciting week, haven't you? And you're quite the celebrity, too. I'm surprised we don't have a contingent of reporters camping out on our front lawn trying to get a statement from you.”
“It's just a matter of time,” Roger said, shooting Kerry a grim look. “That's why I don't want you to go out.”
Kerry bristled. “It sounds like I don’t have a choice.” She didn’t much like being treated like a prisoner. Or being ordered around.
“Just trying to protect you,” he said.
“What's a celebrity, Mama?” piped up five-year-old Michelle, her brown eyes bright with curiosity as she clumsily tried to spread butter on a sourdough roll.
Sharon reached over and attempted to take the roll from her daughter. “Let me help, Shelly.”
“No!” the little girl screeched, dive-bombing the roll out of her mother's reach. “I can do it!”
Kerry winced. Her niece's siren-like shriek had gone through her head like a machete blow. Maybe I'll re-think that having kids thing. Especially if I want to keep healthy eardrums. It would be a bitch to go through life and not be able to hear Mr. Mister singing “Broken Wings.” For some reason, every time she heard that sexy ballad, it immediately brought an image of Mikhail to mind. She smiled dreamily. On second thought… she and Mikhail would make gorgeous kids.
Sharon relinquished the roll with a sigh. “Well, you're making a mess of it. A celebrity is someone in the public eye, honey. Remember, I showed you your Aunt Kerry's picture in the newspaper? That makes her a celebrity. Then again…” Sharon smiled across the table at Kerry. “Being a figure skater, I guess you were already one.”
Michelle paused in buttering her roll and looked up at Kerry with renewed interest. “So what did you do to get in the paper?” she asked. “You didn't win a gold medal. I know that.”
Kerry forced a smile at her niece, trying to think of an appropriate response. Precocious little brat, wasn't she? After demolishing half the stick, Michelle finally decided she had enough butter on her roll and crammed the whole mess into her pretty little mouth, then stared at Kerry, chewing thoughtfully. Kerry suddenly had the crazy feeling that she was the child, and Michelle the authority figure.
“Honey, that was very rude,” Sharon said with an indulgent frown. “Your Aunt Kerry has actually done a very brave thing. She helped a man get out of a horrible country, and now, your daddy is going to find a way for him to stay here in the USA.”
Roger swallowed a sip of wine and gave his wife an uneasy look. “Don't tell her that, Sharon. I don't have anything to do with whether Kozlof gets asylum or not. It's not up to me.”
Sharon's perfectly plucked brown eyebrows puckered. “But can't you use your influence to help him? I thought―”
“Of course I’ll do what I can, but like I said, it’s just not up to me.”
Kerry looked at him. Did he know more than he was letting on?
He gazed down at his plate, avoiding her eyes. A flutter of disquiet went through her.
“Ready for coffee and dessert?” Sharon pushed back her chair and stood. Moving with elegance and grace, she disappeared into the kitchen.
This was only the second time Kerry had met Roger's wife. The first time had been at their wedding seven years ago. In a misguided attempt to try to establish some kind of relationship with Jana, Kerry had gone back to San Diego for the wedding, but the weekend had been a total waste of time. Jana had been so caught up in the “society wedding of the year” that Kerry might as well have been invisible for all the attention she'd received from her mother. She'd been stupid to even try. Jana would never change. Something would always come before her daughter.
Kerry took a sip of water and frowned at Roger. “So, Roger, when, exactly, am I going to get to see Mikhail?”
He put down his wine glass and looked at her. “I don’t know, Kerry. If I did, I’d tell you.”
He was telling the truth, Kerry realized. And her disquiet turned to fear.
* * * * *
Sean paused in front of the pretty first-class flight attendant and extended his hand, giving her a lazy smile that sent the blood rushing to her 4th of July and apple pie Southern Belle features.
“Grand flight,” he said, deliberately intensifying his brogue as he squeezed her hand. American women loved Irish accents. “And, indeed, it was such a pleasure conversing with a beautiful, intelligent woman like yourself.”
The girl practically shuddered in delight at his compliment. “Thank you, Mr. O'Flanagan,” she said in a syrupy southern drawl.
He figured her undies were soaked by now. The long flight from Salt Lake City would've been unbearable if he hadn't entertained himself by seeing just how quickly he could get the girl hot for him simply by using his eloquent voice. He knew if he'd really poured on the charm, he probably could've boffed her in the lavatory, but he'd had no desire to take things that far. He was a family man at heart, and Elena was his family. No matter how comely the women were, he didn't intend to be unfaithful to his one true love.
But flirting, now, that was a different matter all together.
The flight attendant simpered up at him. “How long are you going to be in Washington, Mr. O'Flanagan?”
He shrugged. “Just a few days at the most. I have some business interests to attend to.”
“Well, I have a layover tonight,” she said, her china-blue eyes hopeful. “If you like, I could show you around the city?”
For a moment, he visualized rolling around on the sheets with the saucy redhead. A tantalizing idea, but…no.
He put on a regretful face. “Oh, love, that would be grand, but I'm afraid my night is already booked. Otherwise…”
Disappointment flared in her eyes, but apparently she was a quick thinker, because she reached into her pocket and handed him a business card. “Call me sometime. I fly in and out of Seattle all the time.”
He smiled. He'd told her he was a businessman based out of Seattle, amused at the way her eyes had lit up when he added that he'd probably be flying this trip off and on for the next few months. “I'll certainly do that. Bye, now.”
He stepped off the plane and headed down the corridor leading to the Dulles terminal, whistling a pop song by that John Mayer kid. It was being played to death on American radio stations, and he couldn't get the bloody tune out of his mind. Surprising, really, that he was in such a good mood. Especially after reading The Irish Times about a drug bust at Dublin Airport that had ended up with the capture of one of his men. That meant over 60,000 Euros down the drain, for fuck’s sake! Ah well, easy come, easy go. For every IRA man who got picked up for drug-running, there were a dozen more to take his place. Anyway, right now, Sean had problems closer to home.
Fagan had screwed up again, but admittedly, this time it hadn't been his fault. Not that Sean was going to assure him of that. Better to let him think he was in trouble because the CIA had outsmarted them all and found Kozlof and the girl first. But Sean had a plan.
It was a gamble, of course, but being a student of human nature, Sean felt like the odds were on his side. Kozlof and the pretty American ice dancer had been on the lam for almost a week, in close quarters, presumably, during those cold winter nights driving across America's heartland. Common sense told him that if you put a good-looking male who didn't appear to have any homosexual tendencies with a luscious young female like Kerry Niles, there was bound to be some sexual sparks ignited. And from what he'd heard about Mikhail Kozlof, he was a man of integrity even if he had something of a reputation as a “ladies' man.” Whether he felt just sexual attraction or a genuine caring for a woman, he would have an emotional investment in the woman's future.
Sowhat if that woman's future was threatened?
Smiling, Sean stepped out of the terminal into the brutal March wind. His timing was perfect because several Washington Flyer cabs were waiting for passengers along the curb. He strode to one, opened the back door and slid in.
“The town of Occoquan, please,” he said to the driver, his voice cheerful. Then he sat back and relaxed as the cab pulled into the stream of traffic heading away from the airport.

Tango's Edge - Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The weathered stone house nestling in the snow-covered trees at the summit of Mount Carmel looked like a postcard of the ultimate winter getaway. It looked like…
Kerry drew in a sharp breath, braking gently on the snow-packed winding road, as the thought went through her mind. It looked like a honeymooner's paradise. The perfect place for a getaway, a place to while away long, lazy afternoons making slow, sweet love.
Her hand trembled on the steering wheel as she pulled up next to a navy BMW with Maryland tags. There were several other expensive cars in the parking lot, some from as far away as New York. Apparently, Dale was doing well for herself. Kerry glanced at Mikhail, her cheeks still burning from her amorous thoughts.
“Well, this is it. Mount Carmel Inn. What do you think?”
Soft floodlights illuminated the stone house and its protective boundary of snow-powdered trees. The stone walkway leading from the small parking lot to the steps had been cleared and salted. Carriage lights framing the burnished oak door with etched glass sidelights beamed a cheerful wintry welcome as did the flickering candles set in crystal blocks lining the steps to the porch. Frozen luminaries, Kerry recognized. She and Grandma Vive had made similar ice candles in Utah that had lasted all winter long. Dale had certainly used her Finnish heritage to turn this place into a winter wonderland.
“Is very beautiful,” Mikhail said quietly, staring at the inn. “Looks like perfect place to…” He turned his head, his eyes finding hers. “…love you.”
Kerry gasped, her gaze darting away in confusion. Flustered by his directness, she turned off the ignition and reached for her purse on the back seat. She tried to sound casual, but the catch in her voice gave her away. “I haven't seen Dale in years, and I know she'll have a million things to talk about.”
He nodded and reached for the door handle. “I am patient man.”
She got out of the car and pulled on her coat for protection against the biting wind. A few flurries drifted through the night air. The radio station they'd picked up in Harrisburg had called for clear weather through the next few days, but maybe up here in the higher altitude, they would get a little snow.
Good, Kerry thought. Getting snowed in up here with Mikhail wouldn't be a devastating problem. Funny, how a few hours ago, she'd half-convinced herself she was traveling with a desperate Russian spy. What had she been smoking?
The front door of the house opened as they made their way up the walk, and a slim woman with a grayish-blond bob called out an excited welcome. Earlier, Kerry had called Dale from a pay phone in Harrisburg, asking if they could stop by. Her father's former fiancée had been thrilled, exclaiming that by incredible good fortune, she'd had a cancellation just that morning, and a suite was available. Apparently, with nearby Ski Liberty doing a brisk business in an especially snowy winter, the Mount Carmel Inn had been packed to capacity all season long.
An omen, Kerry had thought, as she hung up the phone. She was through fighting her attraction to Mikhail. Obviously, whatever was going to happen between them was meant to be. And now, even the fates were giving their approval.
“Kerry! It's so good to see you!” Beaming, Dale Tuomas stepped gingerly out onto the front porch. “Careful, now, both of you. It's icy.”
Fresh-cut pine boughs carpeted the entrance to the house, a sight familiar to Kerry from her early years in Utah with her father and grandparents―a Finnish tradition that simultaneously welcomed visitors into a home while keeping slush from snowy boots out. Would Dale also have cozy felt boots waiting inside the foyer for guests to change into upon entering? Grandma Vive kept a supply of them handy throughout the winter.
Kerry walked up the steps, past the flickering luminaries, feeling butterflies jumping in her stomach. It was silly, but she couldn't stop thinking about how the pre-teen Kerry had treated this lovely woman. Oh, she hadn't been obnoxious―not the way she'd been with Jana when she'd first moved to San Diego. But she'd never exactly welcomed Dale into their lives. She'd been too threatened by her, and by her father's obvious love for the woman.
“Hi, Dale.” Kerry smiled at her, but made no move to touch her. “Thanks for letting us come by.”
Dale's gentle blue eyes swept over her. “You're all grown up! Come here.” The woman reached out and enveloped Kerry in a warm embrace. “Oh, I'm so glad you're here.”
At first, Kerry was startled, but breathing in her familiar scent of lavender and thyme, she relaxed into Dale's hug as a memory washed over her. Another time when she had been the one embracing Dale. The day of her father's funeral. Kerry had found her sobbing quietly in Grandma Vive's kitchen, and without hesitation, she'd gone to her and wrapped her arms around the woman's willowy waist.
“It's okay,” she'd murmured. “We'll get through this together.”
And that had been her first real overture to the woman who'd wanted to come into her life and be a mother to her. Too late, Kerry thought now as she hugged the older woman tightly, swallowing a marble-sized lump that had formed in her throat. She'd accepted her too late.
Dale finally released her, laughing softly. She turned to Mikhail who stood just behind Kerry, and extended a slim hand adorned with a glittering sapphire ring. “Hello. I'm Dale Tuomas. Welcome to Mount Carmel Inn.”
Kerry cleared her throat. “Dale, this is…my friend, Mikhail. I told you about him on the phone.”
Dale's eyes scanned Mikhail, and Kerry immediately realized they would pull nothing over on her. Not that she'd intended to do that. She'd planned to tell Dale everything, but she could see by the appraising look on the woman's face that it wouldn't be necessary.
Mikhail shook Dale's hand, murmuring a greeting.
“Well, come on.” Dale smiled. “Let's get in out of the cold. Have you two eaten? I just started a pot of homemade potato soup, and I made fresh bread today.”
“Sounds heavenly,” Kerry said, following Dale into a spacious pine-floored foyer.
The interior of the inn looked exactly how Kerry would've expected. It spoke of Dale's Finnish heritage with clean, fresh lines, potted plants and personal touches of elegance and comfort throughout. Colors of cobalt blue and pristine white predominated, accented with natural fabrics and soft sheepskin rugs.
“Oh, but first, let's get you situated in your suite.” Dale took a key from a pine writing desk on one side of the foyer. “You'll probably want to shower before dinner. But…” Her high cheekbones grew rosy as a thought occurred to her. She looked from Kerry to Mikhail. “I told you on the phone there's only one available suite. Ordinarily, I would have a spare bedroom to put you up in, but they've got this special thing going on at Ski Liberty…”
Kerry met her gaze. “No problem, Dale. We'll make do.”
Her smile returned. “Okay, then. Your suite is this way.”
Dale led them down an enclosed glass breezeway that led from the back of the house to a separate building. “I had this built on when business picked up a few years ago,” she said, her voice humming with pride. “I had people on a six month waiting list to get into the inn. Can you believe that?” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at them. “Word of mouth really got around. I've had a lot of politicians from Washington and…” She winked. “A few celebrities. And now, I have you two. Anyway, I decided to build on this special suite. It's the most luxurious of all of them. Here we are―the Summit Suite.”
She unlocked the door, and stepped aside so Kerry and Mikhail could enter. Kerry stepped into the living room, and caught her breath. A huge stone fireplace immediately drew her gaze, taking up the expanse of one wall, a cheerfully blazing fire in its grate. A cluster of cobalt velour chairs and an L-shaped white sofa were positioned around it for maximum enjoyment. In front of the sofa, a glass coffee table held a beautifully bound book about Gettysburg and a two-pound box of Godiva chocolates. Kerry immediately decided that Mikhail could enjoy the book, and she'd take care of the chocolate. But then remembering his fondness for Ding Dongs, she resigned herself to sharing.
On the other side of the room, a breakfast bar separated the living room from a full-sized kitchen. A basket of fruit and nuts rested on its sea-green marbled counter top.
“I don't expect you'll be cooking,” Dale said, moving into the kitchen and opening cabinets. “But just in case, you'll find the cabinets well stocked with staples. Coffee, hot chocolate, popcorn. Of course, I'll be bringing breakfast to you at whatever time you choose tomorrow morning. Just fill out this little card with what you want, and leave it on the door handle. Now, let me show you the bedrooms.” She headed down a hallway, gesturing for them to follow. “There are three bedrooms in this suite. We often get a lot of families who come for a week of skiing.”
Kerry glanced back at Mikhail, and saw the amused look on his face. She blushed, reading his mind.
We will only be using one bedroom.
“Oh, this is the bathroom.” Dale paused at a door on the left. “We have a Jacuzzi, candles, bath oils, and music is piped in from the stereo in the living room. And we have a separate shower, of course.” She smiled. “I imagine you'll be fighting over that in a few minutes. Car trips are so tiring, aren't they?” She turned and headed back down the hall.
Kerry felt Mikhail's hand on her shoulder, and a second later, the warm air of his breath as his mouth dipped toward her ear. “No need to fight,” he whispered. “We can always shower together.”
A delicious shiver snaked up her back. “Behave yourself,” she said under her breath, flashing him an admonishing frown. He gave her a slow, suggestive smile. The smoldering look in his eyes turned her knees to mush. “I mean it, Mikhail!”
“The master bedroom,” Dale said, standing at the threshold of the room straight ahead.
Kerry stepped inside, her eyes widening. “Oh, Dale! It's gorgeous!”
A Scandinavian pine king-sized bed dominated the room, its iron-framed canopy draped with white lace. Beside the bed on a matching nightstand awaited a chilling bottle of wine in a silver ice bucket. A floor-to-ceiling pine armoire held court adjacent to the bed, and on the other side of the spacious room, two soft chairs cuddled around another stone fireplace, a smaller replica of the one in the family room. A fire was burning in this grate, as well.
Dale saw Kerry looking at the fire, and smiled. “I know. I love the smell of wood fire, too, but it's just too inconvenient for guests. I had the fireplaces changed over to gas after the first year of business. It was an easy decision to make after one of the guests practically burned down the whole place.” She clapped her hands together and grinned. “Well, that's the two-dollar tour. Tell you what, you two get settled in. Shower, take a nap…whatever. And I'll go finish dinner. Eight o'clock, okay? I don't usually serve dinner to my guests, but then, I don't consider you guests, but family. Will that be enough time for you?”
“Sure, that'll be fine.” Kerry didn't have to look at her watch to know it was pretty close to six-thirty. “Thanks, Dale. It's a beautiful place.”
“Yes,” Mikhail said, giving Dale a warm smile. “Is lovely…just like our hostess.”
Dale beamed, and her color heightened. She glanced from Mikhail to Kerry. “I'm beginning to understand how he talked you into helping him.”
A startled look crossed Mikhail's face, and Kerry almost burst out laughing. Apparently, he'd had no idea that Dale had figured out who he was. She looked back at the older woman, her lips twitching. “Yeah, if I didn't know better, I'd swear he was Irish, considering how good he is at talking blarney.”
Dale shook her head wryly. “Reminds me of someone I used to know.” She turned to go, and it wasn't until she’d stepped out of the room that Kerry realized she'd been referring to her father. It had never occurred to her before, but Dad had possessed a charisma very much like Mikhail's. Was that why she felt so close to him?
“See you at eight,” Dale called out as she opened the entry door. It closed behind her.
Kerry stood in the hallway, staring after her, and then she sensed Mikhail's approach. A moment later, his arms curled around her waist. He drew her against his hard, muscled body, and she caught her breath at the swell of his erection against the small of her back. His mouth trailed along the length of her neck. “I vote for…whatever,” he murmured.
Heat pooled deep in her belly at the touch of his tongue against her skin. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. His hands molded against her abdomen, stroking.
“Mmmm…what do you mean…whatever?”
His mouth drew away from her neck momentarily. “Dale’s suggestions.” He paused to nip at her throat. “Shower.” Another soft stroke of his tongue. “Nap.” He lapped again. “Whatever.” The tip of his tongue curled into the shell-like opening of her ear. “I like whatever.”
Liquid fire shot through her bloodstream, and Kerry shivered. With an effort, she drew away from him, and turned around to cup his face in her hands. “Stop this right now!”
His blue eyes gazed back at her, guileless. “Stop?”
“Yes, stop. We have…uh…” She lifted her hand to peer at her watch. “Exactly…an hour and thirty-five minutes before dinner. We need to bring in our stuff, shower…” She sniffed, and made a disgusted face. “God! I can't believe you want to make love to me when I smell like this. Has it been that long, Mikhail?”
“You smell like fresh daisies,” he protested, reaching for her again.
She backed away. “No! Later, Mikhail. Trust me, you'll be glad we waited.”
He looked doubtful, but then sighed. “If you say so. I will get luggage.”
“Good.” She smiled at him. “I'll go ahead and jump in the shower. Can you bring my suitcase into the bathroom? And no peeking, okay?”
He gave her an affronted look. “Do I look like kind of man who would resort to peeking?”
She laughed, and gave his blond head a ruffle with her fingertips. “Yeah, as a matter-of-fact, you do.”
Mikhail's heart dipped as she gave him a saucy smile and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. For a long moment, he stared at the closed door, his heart bumping. The realization had come out of nowhere, simultaneous with Kerry's come-hither smile, and it had jagged through him like a lightning bolt.
He was in love with her.
* * * * *
Kerry stepped into Dale's kitchen, wearing her oldest pair of faded jeans and a thick off-white turtleneck sweater. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and because she hadn't wanted to take the time to blow-dry it, she'd French-braided it and secured it with an elastic band. She was anxious to talk to Dale one-on-one. There were so many things she wanted to say.
The kitchen smelled heavenly with the aroma of baking bread, brewing coffee and whatever was cooking on the stove. Potato soup, wasn’t it? The slim blond woman stood at the stove, stirring chopped carrots into a cast-iron Dutch oven. She looked good, Kerry thought. Life must've treated her well in the seventeen years since she'd last seen her. She must be, what? Close to fifty now, Kerry guessed, yet her trim, athletic body could pass for a woman of thirty. Oh, how Dad must've loved her. Now that Kerry could look at it without the jealous mind of a twelve-year-old, she realized what a great match Dale had been for her father. Like him, she came from tough Finnish stock, and loved the outdoors, especially when it came to winter and all the snow activities that came with it. She skied, almost as well as Dad had, and like him, loved snow-shoeing and ice fishing. They'd gotten along so well.
A wave of sadness washed over Kerry. Why had she never seen that? Poor Dad. He'd had such a bad marriage with Jana. He'd so deserved a woman like Dale. Why had things turned out the way they had?
Dale looked up and smiled. “Oh, hi. You look nice and fresh.” Her brow furrowed. “What's wrong, Kerry? Why such a sad look on your face?”
Kerry shook her head and spoke candidly. “I was just wishing I'd been nicer to you all those years ago.”
Dale wiped her hands on a towel hanging on the stove, and then shook her head. “Oh, honey. You were just a kid afraid of changes. I knew that.” She closed the distance between them, and took Kerry into her arms. “I had no doubt I'd get you to love me. All I needed was time.”
Tears clogged Kerry's throat as she clung to Dale, remembering that horrible evening the two of them had waited in the Whistler Lodge for news of her father. And then, it had come, and their lives had been shattered. “And time was the one thing we didn't have,” Kerry said, her voice breaking.
Dale stroked her braid a moment, and then released her. Tears shimmered in her blue eyes. “No. But I've never regretted a moment I spent with Kell. He was the love of my life.”
“I know.”
Dale turned back to the counter. “I just made a pot of coffee. You want a cup?”
“That would be awesome.” She took a deep breath, trying to gain control of her tremulous emotions, and slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar. She watched as Dale took two Dutch blue ceramic mugs from the cabinet. “So, Dale, you never got married in all these years?”
Dale glanced over at her and smiled, the laugh lines around her eyes deepening. “I almost did a few years ago.” She poured steaming coffee into the mugs. Its rich, Colombian aroma drifted through the air, causing Kerry's stomach to rumble with anticipation. She was starving! How long had it been since she'd had that Wendy's cheeseburger?
“What happened?” Kerry asked as Dale placed a mug in front of her and pointed out a matching ceramic sugar bowl on a Lazy Susan.
Dale shrugged and took a cream pitcher out of the refrigerator. “Oh, I was dating this guy for a while, and he wanted to get married, but…you want cream?” At Kerry's nod, she placed the creamer on the counter, and went on, “When it came right down to it, I couldn't do it. I had my life, this place, the solitude. And I decided…” She shrugged. “I was happy with the way things were. Why change it?” She gave a sad smile and positioned herself on the stool next to Kerry. “Well, he didn't see things the same way, and eventually, he moved on. I couldn't blame him.” She took a sip of coffee, then met Kerry's gaze. “It's just hard, you know. I kept comparing him to Kell, and he came up wanting.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I guess a psychiatrist would have a field day with that, huh?”
“Oh, I'm thinking they've probably heard it all before,” Kerry said lightly.
Dale set down her coffee mug and turned to her. “So, whatever made you go on the run with your good-looking Russian? It's been all over the news. What are your plans?”
Kerry laughed. “One question at a time. I don't really know why I did it. Let's just say he's very convincing.”
Dale's eyes danced. “I'll bet he is.”
Kerry felt her cheeks warm at the innuendo in Dale's voice. Was it so obvious she was attracted to him? Well, duh! Could it be because she was panting after him like a love-starved puppy?
“As for our plans, we're heading to my step-brother's house in Occoquan, Virginia, and then, I guess he'll take Mikhail into CIA Headquarters for…what is it…debriefing? It's been quite an adventure, I'll say that. We almost got caught in Colorado by a Russian goon and his Irish partner, but managed to get away.”
Dale's gaze sharpened, a glimmer of worry appearing in her eyes. “Just that one close call? People like that don't usually give up.”
Kerry's brow puckered as she stared down into her coffee mug. “I know. I've been thinking about that, too. We haven't seen a sign of anyone tracking us since then. We've been really watchful, too. That is weird, isn't it?”
A buzzer went off on the stove, and Dale slid off the stool. She turned it off, and then opened the refrigerator door to pull out a half-gallon of milk. Frowning, she poured some into the cast-iron pot on the stove, stirring. She covered the pot again and placed the wooden spoon on a plate near the burner.
“My guess is…they're waiting for you in Occoquan,” she said slowly, looking up and meeting her gaze.
Kerry's heart lurched.
“They've probably figured out where you're headed and they plan to get to you before you can get to your step-brother.”
Kerry felt the blood drain from her face. Of course! Dale was right. That was exactly what they were going to do.
“I can't let them get to Mikhail, Dale,” she said quietly. “What are we going to do?”
Dale smiled, and turned back to the refrigerator. She brought out a head of lettuce and fixings for salad. “That's easy enough. We'll simply have your stepbrother come to you. I'm sure he's been alerted to the situation, and is expecting you. We'll simply call him, and have him drive up here and get you.” She rinsed the lettuce under running water and placed it into a spinner. Then she looked up and gave Kerry a radiant smile, her eyes misted with tears. “I'm so glad you found the love of your life, Kerry.”
* * * * *
“After you, angel moy.” Mikhail stepped back from the door of their suite and smiled.
Kerry's heart, which was already beating about a thousand times faster than usual, wrenched up a notch. Great, she thought. She'd have a heart attack at the tender age of twenty-eight, and her plans for a sensuous evening featuring sweet, slow love-making with Mikhail would be ruined.
It had been tough getting through dinner, carrying on polite conversation with Dale while feeling Mikhail's burning gaze upon her, and knowing what they planned to do once they were back in their suite. Hard to concentrate, to say the least. And of course, Dale knew exactly what was going on, except that Kerry had a feeling she thought they'd been sleeping together for some time. If their speed at getting through dinner, and then dessert and coffee, was a puzzlement to her, she didn't let it show.
By the time they excused themselves, it was nine-thirty. Much to Mikhail's frustration, which he tried, and mostly succeeded at hiding, Kerry had insisted on helping Dale with the dishes. Finally, after saying goodnight, she'd followed Mikhail back to their room―at a pace faster than she'd ever seen him move.
She stepped past him into the living room of the suite, and the door closed behind her. Pressing a hand over her pounding heart, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. This was so silly! She felt like a timid virgin in a Victorian novel, about to be ravished by a rakish highwayman. One that was gorgeous, and ultimately heroic, of course. But really! She'd been around the block a few times. Her affair with Joshua had stripped her of all innocence years ago. So, why did she feel something uncomfortably close to…?
She swallowed hard, and clutched a hand to her suddenly unsettled tummy.
…fear?
No, not fear. Nerves. But sometimes, the two emotions were very close cousins, and damned if they didn't have the same result on her equilibrium.
The skin on her arms tingled as she felt Mikhail's approach behind her. She turned abruptly, and drew in a sharp breath at the smoldering look on his face. His eyes roved over her, bluer than ever, heated to a slow simmer.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her. “Day has been long, yes?”
Kerry tried, but couldn't speak. Her heart was still pounding like a kettledrum, and her stomach felt like it was going to make her the star attraction in a Humiliate Kerry Show. Mikhail's eyes focused on her lips, and as his head lowered for the kiss, she brought her fingers up to cover his mouth.
“Wait!”
He paused, eyes questioning.
“Onions,” Kerry said. “Dale had onions in her potato soup.” She breathed air onto her palm, sniffed, and then faked a cringe. “Yep. Onions. I've got to go brush my teeth first…and when I'm done, you might want to do it, too.” She whirled around and hurried down the hall to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Leaning against it, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Idiot, she thought. He probably thinks you're some kind of freak. And maybe you are. Cradling her tumultuous stomach, she took another deep, cleansing breath. Non-freaky people didn't get queasy at the thought of making love. But why now? This had never happened before. She liked sex. Always had. But this time, oh, God! This time, it was with Mikhail.
Another deep breath, and the butterflies in her tummy began to dissipate. Good. Maybe it was all in her head. She went to the sink and began to brush her teeth. A memory flitted through her mind. That other time they'd almost made love. She'd been brushing her teeth while he went for condoms. Why was it she hadn't had butterflies that night?
Because you weren't in love with him then.
She gasped and stared into the mirror. Her startled eyes stared back. Oh, God! It was true, wasn't it? She'd fallen head over heels for the man. No point in denying it any longer. She spit into the sink, grabbed a glass and rinsed out her mouth, still musing over this revelation.
She'd gone and done it now, hadn't she? Exactly what she'd told herself she couldn't, under any circumstances, do.
What a moron.
Shaking her head, she rinsed off the toothbrush and grabbed a tube of lipstick from her cosmetic bag. Color! That's what she needed. She looked as if she'd spent an afternoon at the blood bank. She smeared the lipstick on, and examined herself in the mirror. Better, but her face still looked only slightly healthier than an anemic albino. Maybe some blush would help.
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom, her face completely made up―foundation, eye shadow, blush―the works.
“Mikhail?” She glanced around the living room, but it was empty.
“In here,” he called out from the bedroom.
Her brow furrowed. His voice sounded odd. There was an undercurrent of…something…in it. Anxiety? Maybe even fear?
Kerry headed down the hallway. She hoped Mikhail wasn't having an attack of nerves, too, or they'd never get this show on the road.
“Mikhail, what―?”
She stepped into the bedroom and stopped short, eyes widening.
“Please…” Mikhail spoke slowly and carefully. “Get…it…off…me?”
Kerry began to laugh. She couldn't help herself. It was the funniest thing she'd ever seen in her life. Mikhail lay in the bed, bare-chested, his body rigid with fear at the tiger-striped cat lying on his stomach. It, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease, nonchalantly licking its paws.
Mikhail's eyes darted from the cat to Kerry, still standing in the doorway, giggling helplessly at the sight of a grown man terrorized by an adolescent kitten. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled. “It's just so…so…”
“Go away, cat,” Mikhail said, glaring. “Kerry, please! Take cat away.”
“Okay, okay.” Kerry went to the bed and grabbed the cat, which protested with an annoyed meow. “Ah, it's so cute!” She cradled the animal in her arms, stroking its soft belly. It peered up at her with golden eyes and stretched its mouth in a feline yawn. “How can you be scared of such a sweet little thing?” Kerry asked, scratching the cat's neck. A contented purr rumbled from its throat.
“Long story,” Mikhail said grumpily. “Please, take cat out.”
“Okay. I'll be right back.”
She deposited the cat outside the entry door, and it trotted off toward the main part of the house. She wondered when it had gotten into their suite. Probably when Mikhail had brought in their luggage. Dale had mentioned at dinner that she had a couple of cats, and now that she thought about it, at that very moment, Mikhail had looked as if he'd bit into something hideous. That could be a problem to their budding relationship, Kerry thought, considering that she was most definitely a cat person. She'd grown up with cats at Grandma Vive's, and had planned to get one for herself once she'd established a stable home. Typical. And now, she'd gone and fallen in love with a cat hater.
Oh, well. Too late now. Kerry headed down the hall toward the bedroom. Funny, she didn't feel nervous anymore. Nothing like laughter to drive away the pre-sex butterflies.
As she passed the bathroom, she saw the door was closed, and behind it, she heard the sound of running water. The shower, not the sink. She smiled. Poor Mikhail was trying to shower away cat residue. Somehow, she found that endearing.
In the bedroom, she stripped off her sweater, and then slid her jeans down her hips. She turned to the mirror and gave her body a critical scan. In anticipation of the night, she'd chosen to wear her lacy rose-colored bra and matching panties―attire appropriate for seduction. Reaching up, she released her hair from the French braid, and it tumbled to her shoulders in shining black ripples. She liked the way it gave her a hippie sort of look. But…she frowned…the make-up was all wrong. What had possessed her? She looked like she was auditioning to appear in Christina Aguilera’s “Moulin Rouge” video. With a groan of disgust, she reached for a tissue and began to rub off as much make-up as she could without water or make-up removal, which, of course, was in her toiletry bag in the bathroom with Mikhail. Oh, God! Maybe she should go back to the bathroom and wash her face after Mikhail got out. At this rate, Roger would be here before she and Mikhail made love. Except…
She grinned. She hadn't exactly called him yet. Tomorrow, she'd decided. Tonight would be for her and Mikhail, with no thoughts of anything else.
There. Her face looked almost normal now, except for the unnatural red of her lips. Potent dye, that stuff. Probably saturated with cancer-causing agents. She'd have to change brands. Surely one of those environmentally safe cosmetic companies made a shade similar to Wicked Devil Red. Then, again, maybe she should reconsider the shade, she thought, as she scrubbed at her lips with a tissue. This one definitely screamed out tart.
“Laskovaya moya…”
Kerry whipped around at the sound of the Russian phrase. And her breath left her body.
Mikhail stood in the doorway, totally nude. She stared, her heart tripping into overdrive. Totally unself-conscious, he watched her as she absorbed the beauty of his body―the toned, hair-roughened chest, the muscular biceps, the narrow waist and hips. Legs, strong and corded from years of skating and ballet, carpeted with golden hair. Her cheeks burned hot as her gaze swept over his groin. Natural blond, she saw. And most definitely aroused.
Apparently, that old wives' tale about big feet, big cock, was true.
Her temperature shot up another degree. She quickly averted her eyes, and turned to the mirror to fiddle with her hair.
Like a graceful panther, Mikhail crossed the room and stood behind her, not touching, but so close she could feel his body heat. He gazed over her shoulder into the mirror, his eyes meeting hers.
“You are most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” he said softly.
Still holding her gaze in the mirror, he reached out, and his fingertip skimmed over the freckles that dotted her nose and cheekbones. He smiled, and her heart dipped.
“I love your freckles,” he said, his Russian accent thicker than ever.
“I hated them as a kid,” she spoke breathlessly as his finger traveled down her face to her neck. “But I had a change of heart about them when I got older. I decided they were mine for better or worse, so I might as well accept them.”
He bent his head and planted a gentle kiss against her neck. A tremor ran through her. Her legs suddenly felt so weak, she was sure they were about to give out on her. His lips were the only part of his body making contact with hers, but his heat rolled over her, turning her blood to lava. He looked up, again meeting her eyes in the mirror. Then positioning his hands on her shoulders, he drew her bra straps down, and then followed the movement with his lips, kissing one shoulder along its length, then the other. Kerry's legs began to tremble more violently. Reaching both hands around, he unfastened the front closure of her bra, then parted the lacy material. For a moment, his eyes watched her face, and then moved down to her taut brown nipples. He gently drew the bra off her shoulders and let it drop.
Kerry drew in a ragged breath, watching him. His breathing was irregular, too, his eyes bright with desire. For a moment, he didn't move. Then finally, his big hands came around her and cupped her breasts. Her sharp intake of air broke the silence. She watched his hands, mesmerized by his long, artistic fingers. Silver glinted in the firelight―his pinkie ring she'd noticed that morning when he'd asked her to skate with him. He always wore it. Did it have some special significance for him? There was so much she needed to learn about this man who so captivated her.
His eyes met hers in the mirror. “I love your breasts, as well,” he murmured, his hands stroking her. “Ever since that night in hotel, I have been dreaming about your lovely breasts.”
He nestled against her, still caressing her, and now, she felt his rigid heat against the small of her back. She closed her eyes and arched her body against his. A ragged groan splintered from his throat.
Abruptly, he turned her in his arms, and grabbing a handful of her hair, he angled his mouth over hers. There was nothing subtle about his kiss. Her mouth opened under the onslaught of his tongue, her nails digging into the skin of his back. His erection prodded at her belly, insistent, urgent. Her head swam. She wanted him inside her now. She was frantic for him.
But Mikhail had other ideas. Breaking the kiss, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. His body covered hers, his hands roaming over her, touching her neck, throat, breasts, and tummy. It was as if he wanted to touch her all over, and all at once. Meanwhile, his mouth traveled its own seductive path. His tongue delved into her navel, and she writhed, her fingers entwined in his hair. He reached the lace edge of her bikini panties, and kissed his way along it―tender, wet kisses on her lower belly. His fingers explored the sensitive spot of tender flesh on her inner thighs.
“So sweet,” he murmured, raising his head slightly. “Just like I knew you would be.”
Kerry moaned and arched toward him, begging for him to touch her. She ached for him. Somehow reading her thoughts, he brushed his fingers over the damp crotch of her panties, and she flinched and cried out. Hooking his fingers on each side of the elastic, he drew the wisp of material down over her legs, and tossed it to the floor.
“Mikhail, please…” Kerry cried out, thrashing her head back and forth. She needed…she had to have…
He pulled her down on the bed and parted her legs. She felt his breath upon her swollen heat, and then, finally, his hard, wet tongue took her into the stratosphere.
Still quaking from her intense climax, he gathered her into his arms, and held her. After she was finally still, he cradled her face in his hands, and took her mouth in another long, soul-shattering kiss. Afterwards, she gazed into his eyes, her finger tracing the scar on his face from jaw to cheekbone.
“Oh, Mikhail,” she whispered. “I never dreamed…”
“It is exactly how I dreamed,” he said. He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a rectangular packet. When had he put the condom there? He deftly opened the foil, and rolled the condom onto his stiff shaft. She caught her breath, her heart hammering. And just like that, her body was at a simmer again.
He moved over her, covering her body with his own, supporting his weight with his hands. His penis pressed against her pubic mound. “I do not want to hurt you,” he said softly. “But I am…so much…want…” He shook his head. “I will try to be gentle.”
Kerry grabbed a handful of his blond hair and nudged his head down so her mouth could take his in a succulent kiss. “I have…want, too,” she said, and smiled. She rotated her hips against him in a saucy invitation. Her smile widened. “Make fuck to me, Mikhail.”
“No,” he said, eyes solemn. “Not make fuck. Make love.”
He slowly entered her, and she gasped, closing her eyes in astonishment at the exquisite sensation that rivered through her. He didn't move for a moment, but just held motionless, allowing her to feel his fullness, his strength.
“Okay?” he asked, watching her.
She chewed her bottom lip, trying to hold back, to hold onto the rightness of the moment. “Yes.”
He began to move. He held her gaze, his hands smoothing back her hair as he loved her. Keeping a steady rhythm―sweet and slow―he dipped down to play with her lips, using his mouth and tongue. In between, he watched her, his eyes riveted on hers as he gauged where she was, what she wanted. And always, that slow, exquisite drive in ever increasing intensity.
Kerry was lost in his blue eyes, in the magic of their union, the rhythm and tempo and primal need. At the moment of her climax, Mikhail called out her name in a hoarse voice, and with one final powerful stroke, he shuddered in release. Kerry clung to him, gasping. Finally, he collapsed against her, his breath hot against her neck. She felt his heartbeat pounding, in synch with hers, and the lyrics from a U2 song swept through her mind. “Two hearts beat as one.” She smiled.
He lifted his head and gazed down at her. Her heart contracted at the tender look on his face. Cradling the sides of her head in his hands, he traced his thumbs over her brows, and then followed the caress with light kisses, first over her brows, down the bridge of her nose to finally settle with sure mastery on her lips. With a soft moan of surrender, she kissed him back. When their lips parted, Kerry gazed up at him, still intensely aware of him inside her.
“I don't want you to go,” she said softly.
His eyes glimmered with sadness. “I do not want to go.”
Her words, she knew, held a deeper meaning, but she wasn't sure what it was. Thoughts skated through her mind like passing clouds. He felt so good inside her, she didn't want him to go, but it was more than that. She didn't want him to go to Langley. Some weird sixth sense inside her warned that if she turned him over to Roger, he'd disappear out of her life, and she'd never see him again.
Slowly, Mikhail withdrew from her, and turning on his side, gathered her up against his heated, damp body. Her lips brushed the hollow of his throat, and she breathed in his spicy male scent. He tightened his arms around her, his hand moving sensuously down the small of her back. His lips brushed over her forehead in a delicate feather-touch. For a long moment, there was silence in the room with only the hiss of the gas fire, and the sound of their soft, mingled breathing.
We're so in tune, Kerry thought.
It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, this feeling of rightness, lying here in Mikhail's arms. She thought back to that first moment in Geneva when she'd watched him doing his stretches before taking to the ice. Even then, he'd captivated her. And now, she'd done what she'd been warning herself not to do from the moment he'd taken her hand and led her into a dance on the ice. She'd fallen in love with him―and even more foolhardy, had made love to him. But God, she didn't regret it! What, now, though? Where would they go from here?
A sigh rumbled from Mikhail's throat, and Kerry's heartbeat faltered. Was he regretting it already?
“My mother was murdered,” he said quietly.
Her pulse jumped. She searched for something to say, but before she could think of anything, he went on. “She was working for an Estonian newspaper, and she discovered that the KGB conducted drug experimentation on a Sami village in the early Seventies.” As he spoke, his voice grew progressively quieter. Kerry lay still in his arms, barely breathing. “Entire village died. My real father was one of victims. This, I found out just few months ago. At first, I wish to ignore this. Go on with my good life as privileged Russian athlete. I say to myself it is old history. That nothing will bring my parents back to life. But then, I realize that if I turn my back on what happened, my parents will have died for nothing, and I am then, no better than their killers. This is why I asked you to help me.”
He rolled her over so he could peer down into her eyes. His face wore a solemnity Kerry had never seen before. “I do not know what will happen tomorrow,” he said. “Your step-brother will probably take me away to safe house. I do not know when I will see you again.”
Kerry's fingertips touched his lips. “It won't be long,” she said quickly. “Once you tell your story to the CIA, they'll put you in protective custody, and yeah, you might have to stay in hiding for a while, but I'm sure Roger will let me visit you. As soon as the danger is over, you'll be free to go anywhere you want.” She almost added, “with me,” but bit back the words at the last second. She didn't want him to think she was putting pressure on him just because they'd slept together.
The somber look remained on Mikhail's face. “Kerry…” He traced the line of her eyebrow with his thumb. She trembled at the gentle caress. “They may send me back to Russia,” he said slowly. “The information I have may not be strong enough to allow me to stay.”
Her heart lurched. She fastened her hands on his jaws and forced him to meet her eyes. “No! I refuse to believe that. Roger won't let you down, Mikhail. I won't let him.”
He stared at her a long moment, then said, “He may not have choice. I want to believe you are right. But I am very much afraid now.” His fingers brushed back the hair from her forehead, and then moved over her cheekbone to gently cup her jaw. His eyes held hers, so tender it made her heart ache. “Especially now. I cannot imagine a life without you.”
Kerry smiled through sudden tears. Her hand curled around his, and she brought it to her lips, brushing his knuckles. His silver pinkie ring glinted in the moonlight streaming through the skylight. “You always wear this. Does it have special meaning?”
He smiled. “Nadya gave to me when I won first medal at fifteen.” He turned his hand in hers to peer at the ring. “It fit ring finger for two years, then I had to move to little finger because of growth spurt. Later, I show you inscription. It says 'To Mikhail, Son of my Heart.' Nadya has always treated me as son.”
Kerry saw the wistful look on his face, and her fingers tightened on his. “You really miss her, don't you?”
He nodded. “I wish I could bring her here. She loves America.”
“Maybe you'll find a way to do that someday. Maybe I can help.”
He drew her close, his lips brushing her forehead. “I can do nothing for Nadya until I know what future holds for me here.”
Kerry drew away just far enough to place her fingers on his lips. “Let's not think about tomorrow,” she said softly. “Let's just make tonight last.”
She drew his head down for a kiss, and as soon as his mouth met hers, she stopped thinking.

Tango's Edge, Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Heart pounding a kettledrum beat in his chest, Mikhail raced back to the motel room. Somehow, O'Malley had tracked them down. How? How had he known? And how had his men found them so quickly? No time for that now. They had to get the hell out of here. Thank Christ he'd gone into the office when he did. The alternative made him weak in the knees. They would've been caught like reindeer in the headlights of a snowmobile.
He unlocked the door of the motel room and burst inside. “Kerry! We must go!”
The room was dark in the late afternoon gloom, but in the light of the TV, he saw a blur of movement, followed by what sounded like a whoosh of air and then a strangled squeak of pain, followed by a Russian profanity.
“Mikhail!” Kerry rushed toward him, her face pale-blue in the light of the TV. “We've got to get out of here!”
Mikhail moved across the room and looked down at the groaning man folded into a fetal position. He was clutching at his genitals, his face twisted in agony. A stranger. “No shit. And he is not alone. Get your stuff.”
It took them only a moment to grab everything they could carry, but after Kerry reached the Jeep, she tossed in her suitcase, and whirled around, still clutching her purse. “Wait!”
Already inside the Jeep, Mikhail watched in horror as she ran toward the office. “What are you doing?” he shouted. Had she lost her mind? He opened the door of the Jeep to run after her.
She was standing in front of a black Mercedes, fumbling around in her purse when he reached her side.
“Kerry! We must go!”
Ignoring him, she pulled out a lethal-looking nail file, and squatting by the front left tire, rammed it into the rubber. A soft hissing sound broke the silence. She grinned and hurried back to the left rear tire. Just as she was standing up, the office door opened and a man stepped out.
“Shit!” Mikhail muttered, grabbing her arm. “Come on!”
They ran. Mikhail heard a shout behind him. He risked a look backward as he jumped into the passenger side of the Jeep, and saw the man's feet slip on the ice. Kerry scrambled into the truck and inserted the key into the ignition.
“Fuck!” the man shouted, as he tried to stand, and fell again.
Kerry turned the key, but the engine only grumbled, refusing to turn over. “Damn,” she muttered as the engine protested. “I should've been coming out and starting her up.”
The man was on his feet again and running toward them. Kerry turned the key again, pressing on the accelerator. “Start, you bitch. Start!”
The man reached Mikhail's door, and began pounding on the glass. And at that moment, the engine turned over and began to run, albeit, raggedly. Mikhail stared into the man's weasel-like face. His dark hair was cropped short, his forehead low and broad. He grasped at the locked door, cursing, his mouth twisted in a snarl revealing a half-dozen rotted teeth.
Kerry thrust the gearshift into reverse. The Jeep bucked, and for an awful moment, the engine coughed and sputtered. Mikhail's stomach dipped. But as Kerry thrust into first, it recovered. She pulled out of the parking lot, tires skidding on the icy road.
“Do you think he'll come after us?” Kerry asked, glancing into the rear view mirror.
Mikhail looked over his shoulder at the road. No headlights yet. “Not in that car. Thanks to you. Besides, he’ll have to wait for his partner to recover from whatever you did to him.”
Kerry glanced over and gave him a wry grin. “Let's just say he'll be hitting some high notes for a while.”
“How did he get in?” Mikhail asked.
“I thought it was you. That you'd forgotten your key. When I opened the door, he pushed his way in and grabbed me. I was so startled, I froze. Then when I heard you at the door, my instincts kicked in and I did a little maneuver on him, something I learned in self-defense class.”
Mikhail looked at her. “You surprise me, Kerry Niles. Over and over. That was smart thinking. To ruin tires.” He shook his head. “But very risky.”
Kerry shrugged, her eyes fixed on the road. “We had to make sure they don't follow us. As for the other thing, I started taking self-defense classes a few years ago after a good friend of mine was raped. This is the first time I've ever had to put what I've learned to the test.”
Mikhail looked out his window into the darkness. “Because of me. I should never have brought you into this.”
Kerry didn't speak for a moment. Finally, she looked over at him. “Okay, I know you feel guilty, so let's get it out of your system. Because from here on in, I don't want to hear it. You told me from the beginning it could be dangerous. You said someone might come after you. I agreed to help you, even with that knowledge. So, let's just do the job and get you to Virginia, okay? So, who do you think it was?”
Mikhail ran a hand through his hair, not surprised to find it was trembling. “Sean O’Malley. Elena’s boyfriend. I just do not understand how his men knew where to find us so quickly.”
“Unless they've been tailing us from the very beginning,” Kerry said.
“But why? How could they know?”
She shook her head, but didn't answer.
He looked at her. “Were you not frightened?”
“Of course. I'd be an idiot not to be.”
“Let me see your hand.”
She glanced at him, her brow wrinkled. He held out his hand, fingers beckoning. Kerry took her right hand off the steering wheel and placed it in his.
At the touch of her warm skin, a memory of her bare breasts flashed through his mind. He remembered the sweet taste of her lips, the promise of her body pressing against his. And to think, if he'd had a condom, they'd probably be in the hands of the O’Malley right now. And maybe dead.
He dropped her hand as a chill went through him.
“So?” Kerry asked. “What was that all about?”
“You are not trembling. Your face still has color. And you say you were frightened?”
Kerry sighed. “Well, it's a funny thing about me and fear, Mikhail. I don't show it the same way most people do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as long as the adrenalin has kicked in, I'm okay. It's only afterward that…oh, damn.” She took a hand off the wheel and clutched at her belly.
“What is wrong?”
Kerry slammed on the brakes. The Jeep shuddered as she pulled off the road, coming dangerously close to a mound of snow. She shoved the gearshift into park, and clutching a hand to her mouth, jumped out of the vehicle and slammed the door. She'd parked so close to the snowdrift that Mikhail couldn't open his door. He could only watch helplessly as Kerry slipped and slid her way to the front of the Jeep where she squatted, retching into the snow.
Mikhail opened the center console, and found a packet of travel tissues. He had a handful of them waiting for her when she slipped back into the driver's seat, her eyes tearing, her skin as white as the snow drifts outside.
She gave Mikhail a sheepish look. “That's what happens when I get scared. After it's all over. It's better than it used to be. When I was first competing, I'd have to make a beeline for the bathroom as soon as I left Kiss & Cry. We'd better get out of here.” She shifted into first and pulled out onto the empty road. “I think it would be a good idea to stick to the highway instead of the interstate, don't you? So…this Sean O’Malley. That’s not a Russian name. What’s the deal with him?”
Mikhail stared grimly ahead into the darkness. “He is ruthless man. Worse than KGB ever was. Rumor has it that his pub in Tallinn is front for racketeering and gun-running for IRA.”
She slanted him a glance. “How do you know all this?”
“Like I said, is rumor.”
Kerry's hands tightened on the steering wheel as the Jeep skidded on an icy patch. “I still don't see how they found us so quickly.”
Mikhail braced himself on the console, grimacing as Kerry easily handled the skid and kept going at a pace way too fast for the snow-packed road. Yet, he didn't tell her to slow down. With those goons after them, they needed to put as much distance between them as possible. He glanced at her profile. Her face was tense as she concentrated on the road, yet, not panicked, or even especially frightened. He admired her courage. But perhaps she just didn't realize how dangerous their situation had become.
“So, tell me, what is this little trick you used to overpower that Russian? He looked like big, muscular guy.”
She glanced at him and grinned. “It's called 'bite the shit out of his hand and then knee him as hard as you can in the balls.' I also like the 'ram your knuckles up his nose followed by a nut twist with the other hand' move, but it all depends on the position he's got you in.”
“Remind me never to piss you off,” Mikhail said wryly. Then he sighed. “This changes things, yes? I had hoped we'd be able to get closer to Virginia before they let the dogs go for us.”
He sounded so sad that Kerry decided not to joke about his screwed-up colloquialism. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. Their eyes met, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. That if Sean O'Malley's men hadn't arrived, they'd probably be making love right now.
She looked back at the road. “We'll trade in my Jeep for something more…discreet in the morning. And we'll keep to the back roads. It'll be okay, Mikhail.”
He was silent for a long time, and then he said, “I hope I will not be sorry I brought you into this.”
“I wanted to do it. I'm still glad I'm doing it.” She bit her bottom lip and then went on, “My father started working for Greenpeace after he won his Olympic gold. It used to upset me when he'd go away for long periods of time. I remember once he was going to miss my seventh birthday, and I was really ticked off at him. He was on his way to Newfoundland to save the baby seals instead of staying home and celebrating my birthday, and I just didn't get it. Why was that so important? What about me? Wasn't I important to him, too? You know what he said? ‘Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices to do what you know is right.’ That's what I'm doing, Mikhail. I don’t know why you feel you have to leave your country, but I do know, just for the short time I've known you, that you wouldn't do it for an insignificant reason. That's why I'm helping you, and I don't regret it. I won't regret it.”
“I hope that will be true.” He gazed into the darkness out the passenger window. “I would tell you if I could,” he added softly. “But I must not. It could put you in even greater danger.”
She nodded. “I understand that.” She glanced into the rear view mirror to see if they were being followed, and was relieved to see nothing but darkness behind them. “Why don't you get some sleep? I'll wake you in a couple hours and let you take over.”
He nodded, and adjusted his seat back. After a few moments of silence, Kerry reached for a CD. Maybe a Van Morrison would calm her nerves.
“Perhaps it is for best,” Mikhail said suddenly.
She glanced at him. “What?”
He didn't look at her. Just stared up at the ceiling of the Jeep. “You and me,” he said quietly. “What did not happen back in motel room.”
Kerry's heart thudded. She knew he was right. She agreed with him. Absolutely. But God, it hurt to hear him say it. She swallowed hard, and found her voice. “Yes, you're right. It is for the best.”
He didn't speak again as they drove on through the darkness toward the Kansas state line.
* * * * *
The road conditions improved the closer they got to Kansas, and by the time they crossed the state line, a weak sun was just beginning to rise.
Kerry yawned, and glanced over at Mikhail who was taking his turn at the wheel. “You okay?”
He nodded. “This Jeep Cherokee, I like. Handles very good.”
“Yeah, I like it, too.” She frowned. “Too bad…” Then she caught herself.
He looked over at her. In the early morning light, she could just make out the sober expression on his face. “Too bad you must sell?”
“It's okay,” she said. “I've been thinking about trading it in, anyway. Get something a little more…you know…feminine.”
That made him grin. “I think Jeep Cherokee is perfect for you.”
She slanted him a derisive look. “Are you saying I’m not feminine?”
Color flooded his face. “No! You misunderstand. You are…most feminine, but unlike any woman I have ever met.”
“Oh, I was just giving you a hard time. Look!” Her eyes fastened on a green sign along the roadway. “Norton is less than two hours away. We should get there about the time the used car lots open. Still no sign of our friends?”
Mikhail shook his head. “No. Very little traffic.”
“Good. Maybe they still think we took the interstate.”
Mikhail stifled a yawn, and then said, “Kerry, I'm famished. We never had dinner last night, remember?”
Oh, did she ever. His words immediately brought to mind those exquisite moments on the bed, the warmth of Mikhail's body, the touch of his hands and his mouth tenderly exploring hers. Heat shot through her, and biting her bottom lip, she reached out to turn the temperature control down a notch.
“I'm hungry, too,” she said. “Should we risk stopping for breakfast?”
Mikhail shrugged. “We have to eat.”
They found a truck stop, and pulled in, carefully glancing around to make sure no one was watching them before they got out of the Jeep.
Everything seemed normal inside, just the usual mix of truck drivers and families on the road. A waitress led them to a booth overlooking the parking lot, and they ordered eggs, bacon and coffee. As before, Mikhail remained silent, allowing Kerry to do the ordering. This time, though, the waitress barely acknowledged him. Kerry supposed they'd been successful in turning him into just another American guy, albeit, a really great-looking American guy.
An hour later, they were back on the two-lane highway heading for Norton. It was eight o'clock when they pulled into a used car lot just off the road. Kerry turned off the ignition, and looked at Mikhail. “You'd better let me handle this. Your accent would really make you hard to forget.”
The corner of his lip lifted in a wry smile. “No problem,” he said. “I play henpecked husband.”
The used car lot was quiet this early, and Kerry didn't see a salesman anywhere. Hands tucked deep in the pockets of her insulated parka, she picked her way through the brown slush, casting a critical eye over the variety of vehicles in the car lot. Mikhail followed behind her silently.
“So, we're going to stick to the northern route,” she muttered, thinking aloud. “Because they'll assume we're planning to stick to I-70…the sane route in the dead of winter. That means we need to find something that can handle the snow. But what? I have no idea how much they'll give me for the Jeep.”
Mikhail stopped behind her, eyeing a sleek black Camaro. Kerry noticed and gave a short laugh. “No way, Mikhail. Move on.”
“Ah, you're breaking his heart, Ma'am. Be a sport.”
Kerry whipped around to see a little man with twinkling blue eyes standing a few feet from them, his hands tucked into a black parka etched with Buddy’s Pre-Owned Autos. He grinned, and Kerry immediately felt a kinship with him. In some weird way, he reminded her of Grandpa Johan. Used car salesman, she reminded herself sternly as she automatically returned his smile. Not to be trusted.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning to you, folks. What can I do you for?”
Kerry took a deep breath. “Well, my…er…husband and I want to trade in our Jeep Cherokee for something more…oh, I don't know…practical?”
The salesman's eyes widened, but he recovered from his surprise quickly, thrusting out a gloved hand. “You can call me Buddy.” He shook Kerry's hand, and then Mikhail's who nodded and smiled, but didn't speak. “Okay, now…let's see…” The car salesman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Something more practical than a Jeep Cherokee. That's a tall order…uh…” He slanted a look over at Mikhail. “Something wrong with the Jeep?”
“Not at all,” Kerry said quickly. “It's just that…uh…” With a flash of inspiration, she patted her belly through the thickness of her parka. “We have a little one on the way, and we just want something…you know…sturdier. Safer. Something good in snow, but not too expensive. Something good for a long trip. But not too flashy. In fact, the more boring, the better. You got anything like that?”
Buddy's eyes burned with curiosity as he looked from Kerry to Mikhail. Mikhail grinned and nodded. “Um…well…I'll have to think on that,” Buddy said. “Tell you what let's do. Let me take a gander at that vehicle of yours, and then we'll know what ball park we're in. How's that sound?”
“Hunky dory,” Kerry said, starting to enjoy the game. “Come, Michael. Let's go show Buddy our car.”
A half hour later, they sat in Buddy's office signing the papers for the trade of the Jeep for a 1997 Volvo.
“She's really good in snow,” Buddy was saying as he put the paperwork together. “Yes, Ma'am, chocolate on a stick in snow. You're going to really enjoy her. I drove her over from KC during a sumbitch of a blizzard…excuse me, Ma’am…a couple months ago, and didn't have nary a problem with her. Too bad, though, we don't have something in a better color. That charcoal gray is a little drab, but hey, it'll get you where you want to go, and that's what counts, right?”
“I like the color,” said Kerry. “And so does Michael. Don't you, Michael? Don't you like the color?”
“Uh huh,” Mikhail said slowly, with a smile that looked about as genuine as Pamela Andersen’s breasts.
Buddy flashed him an appraising look. “You're the strong, silent type, aren't you, partner?”
Kerry laughed. “Oh, that's Michael, all right. Only speaks when he has something to say. And of course, it's hard to get a word in edgewise with me around.” She laughed heartily.
Buddy slid some papers over the desk toward them. “Okay, just need both of your John Hancocks right here, and you'll be on your way with your new car.”
“Oh, Michael doesn't have to sign,” Kerry said. “The Jeep is in my name, and I'm going to write you a check for the balance…although, I really think you should let that two thousand slide. Seems like a fair trade to me…but…oh, well…we've been through this, haven't we?” She reached for the pen.
Buddy sighed. “This is the very best I can do, Mrs. Niles. You got my word on that. Okay, now, we're all set,” he said as Kerry signed the papers. He stood and gave her the keys, then stretched out a hand. “She's all yours. Good luck to you.” He turned to Mikhail, hand outstretched. “And you, sir. Come on back when the Missus gives you permission to buy that black Camaro out front.” His eyes twinkled with humor, and Kerry could practically read his mind.
You'll get that Camaro, friend, on the day Hell freezes over.
“Okay, then…” Kerry jangled the keys. “You ready to hit the road, Michael? It's a long way to California.”
“Uh huh,” Mikhail said.
A few minutes later, they slid into their newly acquired Volvo, Kerry, of course, at the wheel. She waved warmly at Buddy as they pulled onto the street.
“No point in shattering Buddy's illusions,” she said with a grin, “about who’s wearing the pants in this marriage.”
Mikhail eyed her. “You enjoyed that, did you not?”
Kerry laughed, and a tingle of pleasure raced through him at the joyous sound of it. He was glad she could still laugh after their close call last night.
“Mikhail, you've got me all wrong! Do I look like the type who would enjoy hen-pecking a husband?”
He examined her thoughtfully. “Not hen-peck,” he said finally. “But I think you are woman who enjoys having her way. Being in control.”
Kerry turned this over in her mind, and then gave a grudging nod. “I suppose that's true. When you've been on your own…figuratively speaking…as many years as I have, I suppose it's hard to give up control.” She glanced at him. “Do you find that unattractive in a woman?”
A slow flush crept over his face, and he avoided her eyes, looking out the window at the town of Norton. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, but she heard it all the same.
“I find nothing unattractive about you, Kerry Niles. And that scares hell out of me.”
* * * * *
The day passed quickly as they sped toward Missouri, taking turns driving, and stopping only for gas and a quick lunch in St. Joseph. They hoped to make St. Louis by nightfall, but it didn't look good. Darkness came early in the plains in February, and the pregnant gray ceiling of clouds hinted of more snow, and perhaps lots of it. Despite Buddy's promise that the Volvo was “chocolate on a stick” in the snow, Kerry wasn't looking forward to trying it out in a blizzard. Or was she kidding herself? Was she just making excuses to prolong her time with Mikhail? She'd never been nervous about driving in snow before. What was different about now?
There was no doubt in her mind, though, about their fatigue. They'd been driving now for over sixteen hours, with only three breaks. Despite taking turns at the wheel every two hours, they both were exhausted. There'd been no sign of their pursuers, and finally, at four o'clock in the afternoon, Kerry said what Mikhail had been thinking.
“Let's pack it in for the night.”
As they approached the small town of Mexico, Kerry saw a quaint L-shaped motel, a throwback to the Sixties, with rooms that opened up directly to the parking lot. Not exactly the safest place to stay, but Kerry knew if they continued on, they would be in more danger from a car accident than being caught by O'Malley's thugs.
She pulled up under the portico of the office where a big neon sign flashed, “Office. Vacancy.”
“We might as well keep playing the hen-pecked husband and overbearing wife,” she said, opening the driver's side door. “I'll check us in.”
There were only a couple of other cars in the parking lot, she noticed. One with Minnesota tags, the other with Nebraska. A white dog sniffed around a garbage can at the side of the office building, looking up at her approach, and giving a half-hearted wag of his tail.
“Hey, Pooch,” she greeted him. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”
A stray snowflake drifted down from the dark sky. Her heart lifted. Snow, she pleaded to the heavens. Snow all night, all day tomorrow, for a month. The more the better. Snow is my new best friend.
Five minutes later, she stepped out of the office with a key. Mikhail was reclining in his seat, eyes closed in slumber. Kerry regarded him tenderly for a moment. Poor baby. You didn't know what you were getting yourself into, did you? I guess I didn't either.
But oddly enough, she didn't regret anything. Despite the danger, the fatigue, the uncertainty of what the next day would bring, she couldn't regret being here with him. For the first time since her father died, she felt fully and joyously alive, and even with the fear of bad people chasing them, she wanted to hold onto this time, this adventure. Hold onto every precious moment with Mikhail.
Oh, God. What is happening to me? She hadn't felt like this since those early days with Josh. When she'd felt like she was walking on air, and every tissue, every blood vessel inside her felt electric and wild and heady with newfound love. But look what that had got her. A broken heart, a police record and a stern dressing down from the USFSA.
She gazed at Mikhail's sleeping face, and despite the warning bells tolling inside her head, she wanted to reach out and touch him. Brush her fingers down his bristled jaw, trace the outline of his full, perfectly molded lips. It took everything she had to turn away from him and start the engine. He awoke, his senses at full alert.
“I've got us a room, Mikhail,” she said, her voice husky. “In a minute, we'll be able to crawl into a nice warm bed and sleep. Doesn't that sound wonderful?”
He gave her a warm smile, and its power was such that she felt shattered, as if her defenses were crumbling into a thousand tiny pieces.
* * * * *
They slept in separate double beds through the night, so exhausted that neither of them moved even when the winds whipped up to a howling frenzy, and the snow, mixing with sleet, beat against the small window overlooking the parking lot.
When Kerry finally opened her eyes and stretched out her legs with a long, satisfied groan, she thought it was still the middle of the night. It was unbearably hot in the room and so dark she could barely make out the large bump on the other bed hunched under a blanket and a purple paisley bedspread. Her skin was slick with sweat, her hair damp. She threw off the bed covers, and felt immediate relief. The drawstring pajamas and skimpy camisole top she wore was soggy with perspiration.
She'd turned up the thermostat upon entering, and hadn't bothered to turn it down before crawling thankfully into her bed. She supposed she should get up and turn it down now, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.
Turning on her side, she looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table and saw that the illuminated hands indicated it was six o'clock. Impossible, she thought. She'd had to have slept more than two hours. Gingerly, she swung her legs over the bed, and stood, glancing again at Mikhail's slumbering form.
God, wasn't he steaming under all those covers? She crept across the dark room to the thermostat and turned it down to sixty-five. There, that should cool it off in here. Then she moved to the window to peer out and make sure everything looked as it should. She caught her breath.
A glaze of ice covered the window so thickly it was like looking through a frosted shower door. That's when she noticed the wind. She must've been hearing it all the time, but she'd just assumed it was the furnace. But no, it sounded more like the howl of a lonely wolf as it whistled through the eaves and hammered against the fragile walls of the old-fashioned motel.
Kerry tiptoed to the door, and turned the double latch, then cautiously, opened it a crack. The wind whistled in, bringing with it a torrent of whirling snow. A pale, ghostly light told her she'd been wrong. It was six in the morning, not night, but it was definitely not the kind of morning for travel. A drift had piled up knee-high on the threshold, and from the look of things, the snow wouldn't be stopping any time soon. Kerry slammed the door and locked it, her heart pounding.
Oh, thank you, God. Yes, this is exactly what I prayed for.
She turned back to her bed, a pleased smile on her lips. Might as well crawl back under the covers and get some more sleep. They weren't going anywhere today.
Just as she reached her bed and sat down on it, Mikhail moaned and threw off his covers. Kerry's heart jolted at the sight of his bare chest and his long, lean haunches as he stretched out on his back, clad only in a pair of red boxer shorts. A slow-moving tide of heat crept through her, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Oh, how she wanted to follow her instincts and cross that small space separating his bed from hers, crawl up next to him, and fit her body against the pulsating heat of his.
He was totally vulnerable to her now, still lost in whatever dreams that were playing across his brain. If she wanted to, if she had the nerve, she could slide her hands over the light carpet of hair on his chest, travel up his strong, corded neck, and capture his mouth with hers. He would make slow, sensuous love to her, and not even be fully aware he was doing it. She knew she could make it happen.
If she had the nerve…