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  When she returned to the kitchen, Dmitri was fully dressed in his now rumpled clothes. He’d set out two plates and a roll of paper towels.

  She put a piece of pizza on his plate, then served herself. She tore into it. She’d worked up quite an appetite.

  He watched her closely, a smile pulling at his lips.

  “What?” she asked, using a napkin to cover her mouth.

  “I like watching you eat. Your mouth is sexy,” he said.

  “Stop,” she said. “It’s hardly sexy to watch me stuff my face.”

  He only grunted in response. They watched each other over the table, but didn’t speak. The silence stretched out, but she didn’t feel awkward.

  He pushed his empty plate to the side. “I’m tired. A very beautiful woman with luscious tits kept me up half the night.”

  She took his plate and stacked it with hers. “Well, that wasn’t very nice of her,” she said.

  He was all dimples again. “I’m an old man, Sophia.”

  She left him alone at the table to place the dirty plates in the kitchen sink. “Then we should go to bed, old man,” she called out over her shoulder.

  “You would like me to stay?” His voice came from right behind her. She jumped—she hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then I will.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling his chin into the back of her neck.

  She was sore, and she was tired, but her body shot off like a rocket anyway. She grabbed his hand pulled him into her bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

  He kissed her, feeling her breasts beneath her clothes. His hand wandered down to her core, gently cupping and massaging her. She pulled off his shirt and then hers.

  She pushed him down on the bed then straddled him, exploring the carved muscle of his chest with her mouth. She found a small ridge of scar tissue beneath his left ribcage and kissed it gently.

  He grunted, grabbed her arm, and pushed her off so he could be on top of her. He pulled down her shorts and underwear, leaving a trail of kisses down her thighs and calf.

  He was slow and controlled this time, gently bringing her to orgasm, watching her the entire time he made love to her.

  Chapter 6

  “Who are the man and child in the picture by your front door?”

  Her body jerked. She’d been nearly asleep when his voice came into her ear.

  He tightened his hold. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

  “It’s fine. I thought you were asleep,” she said.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “Well, what?” she asked.

  “Who are they?” he said.

  She lifted her chin so it rested on his chest. “Why do you get to know about me, but I know nothing about you?”

  “Ask,” he said in Russian.

  “Are you married? Have you been married?”

  He wrapped a strand of her long blond hair around his finger. “I’ve not taken a woman in years,” he said.

  “Yes or no?” she prompted.

  She could see him smile, even in the dark. “No, I am not married. I was when I was very young. More questions?”

  “Yes.” She rested her cheek against his chest. “A million.”

  He chuckled softly. “Your turn. The boy, the man?”

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “My husband and stepson. They’re dead.

  He continued playing with her hair. He didn’t offer condolences or rush to say he was sorry for her loss.

  She should be offended, but it was a refreshing reaction. She was tired of sympathy and sorrow. It overwhelmed her when people felt sorry for her. It pushed her back into her dark cave, and she was tired of living in the dark.

  “When? How?” he finally asked.

  “A year ago. Car accident.”

  He was silent again, but he tightened his hold on her.

  “My turn?” she said.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “What is your profession?” she asked.

  “I’m a businessman,” he said. He paused twirling her hair.

  “What is your business?” she asked.

  “International trade,” he said.

  She turned her face towards him. He was watching her in the dark, something between a frown and a smile on his face. He looked...dangerous.

  “Weapons?”

  His broad shoulders stiffened. She stiffened, too. Stupid Sophia—was this guy even safe to be around?

  “Who told you?” he said. “What did they say?”

  “Hey!” She sat up, keeping one hand on his chest so he stayed down. “That’s not fair. I want to ask you stuff without worrying what you’re going to do.”

  His smile was back. “I like you in charge. Please get on top of me.”

  “No,” she shook her head, but pushed herself higher, “I’m serious.”

  “Fine.” He sat up. They were face to face, with nothing between them. “I’m not a good man. Is that what you want to hear, Sophia?”

  She pushed him back down. Some of the anger left his face.

  “There are good parts,” she said. She trailed a finger down the center of his chest, his sculpted arms, resting her hand near her favorite part. “Tell me.”

  “It is best that I do not.”

  She was silent. The crickets chirped outside, and the whirring fan blew strands of her hair around her face.

  Finally, he answered. “Arms, yes. Not all bad, Sophia. A lot of countries won’t sell directly to some countries. That’s where I assist. I have never been arrested or charged.”

  “But you have done bad things?” She tried not to let hope of a reassurance that all was well creep into her voice, but it did anyways.

  “Yes,” he growled. He sat up again and pushed her down against the mattress, using his hands to gently hold her arms above her head, leaving her stomach and breasts exposed in the cool air. His face was a storm of expressions. “Do you want to talk more, or I shall I make you scream my name?”

  Goosebumps ran down her spine. Whether they were rooted in fear or desire, she wasn’t sure, and she didn’t care. She nodded.

  “What does that mean? Do you want me?” He pressed her arms down harder, but still careful not to hurt her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “I want you.”

  She was afraid of him. She was hungry for him. She was sick.

  He released her arms, stroking them with his fingers. He buried his face in her breasts and teased her taut nipples with his tongue as his fingers slid in and out of her.

  She bucked, pressing her hips into him. He pulled away.

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  He lowered his face so his lips were on her ear. “I want you to say my name when I make you scream.”

  He left his hands on her breasts, but then his mouth was on her core, expertly using his tongue on her nub. She exploded into a million stars, screaming his name.

  * * *

  She woke up early. Damn early. 5:30 a.m. One of his arms was draped over her. She lifted it carefully so she could roll away from him. He stirred, but didn’t wake.

  She slipped on a robe and made her way to the kitchen. Soon, she was humming quietly to herself while she made a very strong pot of coffee.

  She pulled out her favorite mug, a battered and chipped one from the Alamo gift store in San Antonio.

  She put it on the counter, right next to the gun.

  It was just a handgun, but it was there on her counter. This is Texas, after all. No biggie.

  But it was a big deal. It belonged to a criminal. A man who was sleeping in her bed.

  She poured her cup, not bothering with creamer. She stepped out on her porch to listen to the frogs and birds greet the sun.

  She let a little smile creep on her face as she sank gingerly into one of the chairs. She was sore, but in a good way. She’d definitely need a little break from sex
.

  She smiled again, crossing her legs. The sun was creeping over the horizon, spilling light across her skin.

  “May I join you?” He was standing shirtless behind her, mug clutched in one hand.

  “Please.” She extended a leg to nudge a chair towards him.

  He sat next to her, but said nothing.

  She watched him drink his coffee. He watched her back.

  “I like the way you look after I’ve ravaged you. You are most beautiful without makeup,” he said. “Or clothes.”

  She smiled over her cup. “Thank you. You are beautiful without your shirt.”

  He returned her smile. “I have called my driver. I know you must work today. I hope I have not disrupted your routine.”

  She finished her coffee and stood. “You have disturbed my routine greatly. You are welcome to do so anytime.” She moved towards the door to head inside.

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her beside him. “Do you mean that, or do you play with your words?”

  She stood in front of him, staring at his muscular hands around her forearm. “Yes, I mean it.” She pulled her hand back. “Don’t you ever make me declare myself in the morning before I’ve had at least two cups of coffee.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “My apologies, lyubimaya.”

  Beloved, he called me his beloved. She felt warm inside, but didn’t respond to his term of endearment.

  He followed her in as a car honked outside. He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Goodbye.” He pulled his shirt over his head with a sheepish smile and then disappeared out the front door.

  She fought the urge to chase him down, to kiss him one more time. “Christ,” she said. She poured more coffee. “Damn it. Don’t you dare.”

  She stepped into her bathroom and peered at herself in the mirror over the marbled sink. She was all rosy red cheeks and sparkling eyes. Happiness returning after a year of deadness.

  But it was wrong. It couldn’t work.

  On her way out the door, she spotted his gun on the counter. Oh, well. A reason for him to come back, though she didn’t think he needed a special reason.

  Chapter 7

  Andrea peered over the rim of her margarita glass at Sophia. “What’s up with you?” she said. She tossed her long curtain of black hair over her shoulder.

  “What do you mean?” Sophia took a sip of her matching margarita. They’d met at one of their favorite restaurants that had two dollar mini margaritas during the lunch hour.

  Andrea licked the salt from the rim of her glass. “Oh, you know. Rosy cheeks. Stars in your eyes. You’re distracted.”

  Sophia shook out her napkin. “Whatever.”

  Andrea set her now empty glass down. “You haven’t agreed to margarita lunch in forever. It’s not nothing.” She straightened her silverware. “Did you get laid?”

  “Andrea!” Sophia giggled. She hadn’t realized she’d been so obvious. “You’re terrible, you know.”

  Andrea nodded her head, very slowly. “Uh huh. No denials. That means I’m right.” She folded her hands together and waggled her eyebrows. “Who is it? The hot guy from accounting who’s been hitting on you at meetings?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No way. He’s an overgrown frat boy.”

  “Then who?” Andrea said.

  Sophia forced a smile on her face. The shame nagging at her conscience fought with the buoyancy she felt. Andrea was still watching for her, waiting for a response. The waitress saved her by sliding matching plates filled with cheese enchiladas covered with green hatch chili sauce.

  Sophia grabbed her fork and dug in, successfully stopping the conversation. Andrea dropped it, but probably not for long. Andrea never let anything go, and she knew Sophia better than anyone.

  She couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell anyone. She’d slept with a bad man. A very bad man. And she wanted to see him again.

  So badly.

  She finished her lunch with flushed cheeks and made it back to her office by 1:30. The margarita wasn’t strong or large enough to make her feel buzzed, but she still chewed a piece of gum to get the taste out of her mouth.

  Behind the halfway closed door of her office, she was safe again.

  She exhaled deeply, letting the stress of hiding a secret from Andrea escape her. She opened her email and let her eyes run over the emails in her inbox.

  But she didn’t read them, didn’t understand them, and didn’t even really see them.

  She was thinking about him. They way he’d fucked her in her kitchen. The way he’d stared at her when he left. The gun he’d left on her counter.

  She’d been so comfortable. Not afraid.

  But it was sex. Just sex.

  She pulled the note from her purse with Gram’s number on it, turning it over in her hands.

  No.

  She shoved it back in her purse. She was done. Very done with him. She shouldn’t have done what she did, and it was over.

  She wouldn’t feed the little dark parts of her soul any longer.

  She had just put her purse on the floor when Marsha buzzed her over the intercom. “Sophia?”

  “Yes,” she said, a little impatiently.

  “There’s a delivery for you,” Marsha said.

  “Send it in.” It was probably a small gift from one of the recruiting agencies she used to fill some of the more complex positions. As long as it was valued under twenty dollars, she was allowed to accept them, though she’d made it clear she preferred no gifts.

  She turned back to her keyboard, eager to get as much work done as she possibly could. She heard her door squeak open, followed by silence.

  She turned to see the man holding the massive rose bouquet. Her eyes flew from the roses and back to his face.

  “Dmitri!” she hissed. She leapt out of her chair. “What are you? Why...?” She glanced around him at the halfway open door.

  He placed them on her desk. “These are for you. Three dozen, one was not enough.”

  She moved closer to him, running her fingers over the soft petals. “These are beautiful. Thank you.” She glanced at him, clad in jeans and a polo shirt. They looked so casual and wrong on his body. She was sure they weren’t his usual garb. “And thank you for delivering them. In person. To me.”

  He smiled. “It appears no one questions a man with flowers.” He kept his eyes on her, pushing the door closed with his foot. “I had to see you,” he whispered.

  It clicked shut, and her heart raced faster.

  He closed the space between them and pressed his lips against hers. She didn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her body into his. His lips moved across hers. He nipped her lower lip and then kissed her more forcefully.

  She fell into him even more.

  But she was at work. Anyone could walk in at any moment. This was her work space. She pulled away. “We can’t do this here.”

  He cocked a half smile and kissed her on the forehead. “I will leave then, moya devockha.”

  He was gone, quietly shutting the door behind him, after calling her ‘my girl.’

  Damn it.

  She turned back to her requisitions and her now crowded inbox. No more Dmitri. No more.

  She kicked herself for kissing him. For throwing herself at him as soon as he’d shown up.

  She left the flowers at work, doling out half of them into a clear vase for Marsha. Marsha had questioned her extensively, but hadn’t seemed to notice anything strange about the man that had delivered them.

  Impulsively, Sophia grabbed one of the roses out of the vase right before she walked out the door.

  Back at her apartment, she left the little yellow piece of paper with his contact number buried in her purse. She cooked a small dinner, judiciously avoiding even touching the firearm on her counter. She watched TV, which did nothing to ease her restless mind.

  She filled a tall glass with water, cut the stem of the rose, and plopped it in there. She set in on the counter, pleased wi
th the affect.

  She didn’t know why she took only one rose home. She should have thrown them all in the trash.

  It was almost like a trophy, like she had earned the admiration of this man and should be proud of it. And she was, a little, but it made her feel wrong to think of it that way.

  She tried not to think of him. It will pass. Just a crush, an infatuation, maybe. And a good lay, that’s for damn sure. Every woman should get screwed like that at least once in her life.

  When it was very late, much later than she would normally stay up, she bolted her front door and turned on her porch light, like she always did. She picked up the picture of the man and the boy and stared at them for a long time before putting it back and going to bed.

  Chapter 8

  “Sophia, there’s a Dmitri from EBCasp National on line two,” Marsha said.

  “Thanks. I’ll pick it up,” Sophia said over the intercom.

  She took a sip of her bottled water then picked up her phone. “This is Sophia,” she said in her fake, professional voice.

  “Sophia,” he said. His voice was deeper than she remembered. She crossed her legs, a reminder of sensitive places that were still a little sore from their activities from earlier in the week.

  “I’m surprised to hear your voice,” she said

  “Three days with no phone call,” he said. “It’s almost as if you do not want to hear my voice.”

  She had worked hard not to call him, and she had succeeded. She told herself she didn’t call him because she didn’t want to see him, but that was an intense lie.

  She was playing a game. A dangerous one at that. Dmitri, like any other man, liked the chase. A least a little bit...“I’m glad you called. How did you manage? Aren’t you being watched?”

  “Not all the time. Besides, I’m using a secretary’s line here.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “I would like to see you,” he said. “May I take you out for dinner?”

  “Um...how is that going to work?” she said.

  “I’m a free man, not an escaped convict. I will make the arrangements. A car will pick you up at seven.”

  She twirled her finger around her pen. “You left your…thing at my house,” she said.