So he had. He'd become someone else entirely. Strong and confident. Someone who did whatever the hell he wanted and didn't give a shit about anything or anyone, still less be ashamed of who he was.

Yet for the first time in years, as he sat with Katya in the palatial VIP area of the Fourth Circle, he felt that shame again like a hot coal in his gut.

The party had gotten to the raucous stage, packed with the rich and famous of Monaco who'd turned out for Alex's secret party in droves. The dim lighting of wall sconces and Eastern lampshades of colored glass cast glittering reflections off gowns and luminous bare skin, jeweled cuff links and expensive watches. People lounged on red velvet couches or sprawled in large armchairs if they were lucky to find seating. If they weren't they leaned against the opulent red silk walls or stood in groups if they could find a clear space.

Above the crowd, hanging from silken ribbons attached to the ceiling, Katie-Lee, dressed in nothing but a see-through sequined red bikini, did her burlesque act, the ribbons wrapping around her long legs as she spun and stretched like a trapeze artist.

On the red velvet couch beside him, Katya sat with her legs elegantly crossed, encased in the green silk cocktail dress that left most of her shoulders and a long expanse of thigh exposed. Her hands were folded in her lap, resting on her matching green silk clutch. He had an arm around her waist and he could feel the warmth of her beneath his palm.

Her muscles were relaxed, but that didn't mean she would be. He knew that sharp gaze would be scanning the room, looking for threats. And the reason her long fingers rested on her clutch was because her weapon was inside it, within reach.

Since they'd come down to the party, she hadn't put a foot wrong, acting the part of his girlfriend to perfection. Before they'd even gotten to Monaco, Alex had worked out a small fiction about where they'd met, at a Second Circle party, and what she did for a living-a model for Russian Vogue visiting the States. No one would enquire closer. No one would be interested in yet another of his girlfriends.

The VIP area was full of people lounging around on the other couches. Acquaintances of his, and others he'd admitted for political reasons. A famous actress. A singer. A media magnate and his entourage.

Alex had been subtly trying to get information about Conrad and the upcoming Apocalypse game from various different people, but he hadn't learned anything useful. At least nothing he wouldn't be able to find out at the upcoming reception in any case.

A glass of vodka sat on the table in front of him, and even though he was on to his third it still wasn't enough to douse the ember of shame that refused to burn out.

The one that told him he'd gone too far with Katya up in the bedroom. That he'd crossed a line.

He turned his head, looking out over the crowds of people, very conscious of the woman who sat beside him, as simple and elegant in her green cocktail dress as a stalk of fresh grass in a field of overblown hibiscus flowers.

He knew now what lay beneath all that green silk: Long, lean muscles. Smooth, pale skin. Small, perfectly round breasts. A thatch of silky blond curls.

She'd stood there naked and proud, with her chin raised, steadily meeting his gaze. Her cheeks had been flushed, but she hadn't been embarrassed in the slightest. In her eyes had only been courage and determination, a strength of will he'd sensed yet not fully understood until then.

That had been the moment he'd felt the shame creep over him. Shame at himself for what he'd made her do, for punishing her when it was his own unease about Conrad he was taking out on her.

And along with that shame, a spear of complete and absolute lust.

Because she was beautiful, all sleek muscle and a honed strength that only seemed to emphasize her femininity. Christ, he'd wanted her. In a way he hadn't wanted anyone else in years, and that was one hell of a fucking problem.

The balance of power had shifted between them and he'd felt it the moment she'd taken her clothes off, without protest. Without embarrassment. That had been the moment he'd lost the game. The moment she'd won.

And that rendered her completely untouchable. When it came to lovers, he had to be the one in charge, the one who held all the power. There was no negotiation, no compromise. If he wasn't calling the shots, then he didn't get laid. Simple as that.

Katya shifted beside him and he felt the muscles of her thigh bunch, then relax beneath his palm. Strong, sleek. A beautiful female animal. Trained to fight. To kill. To protect ...

An ache clenched hard inside him and he couldn't breathe. How long had it been since he'd wanted something he couldn't let himself have? Too long. Perhaps he'd never done so. But however long it had been, he couldn't have her. Completely apart from the fact that she was his employee, she would never surrender willingly to him. And he couldn't have it any other way.

Alex let his hand drop away from her, moving to put some space between them, leaning forward to get his vodka and take a sip. He was aware of her glancing at him, that familiar crease between her fair brows. Probably puzzling about him again.

Christ, he was a prick. He shouldn't have even started this game with her. She wasn't a player like he was. She had far too much integrity for the kind of shit he liked to pull. Far too much honor.

Beneath the scent of expensive aftershave and perfume, spilled alcohol and the sweat of too many people, he could smell the sharp, faint scent of oranges- Disturbed by the combination of shame and lust, by the way it reminded him of too many things he'd spent too many years trying to forget, he abruptly got to his feet.

"Alex?" She spoke quietly and yet he still heard her through the noise around him, her accent caressing his name like a prayer. "Where are you going?"

"To get another drink," he muttered. "I'll be back."

With his staff circulating around the place, he didn't actually need to move to get a drink, but he couldn't sit there with her any longer, not with that fucking mess of emotions sitting inside him like a lead weight.

Going down the stairs of the stage that set the VIP area apart from the masses, he began to thread his way through the crowd, moving toward the bar. People greeted him as he went and he stopped to chat every so often, smiling, acting the gracious host, pretending, like he always did, that he was having the time of his life.

When he got to the polished black wood of the bar, he turned and leaned against it, staring out over the crowd, his heart beating fast. He didn't look toward the VIP area and Katya, keeping his gaze on the shifting mass of people.

He felt overwhelmed all of a sudden. As if he couldn't stand the noise, couldn't stand the crowds. As if he wanted to be somewhere quiet and dark and silent. Alone.

"Mr. St. James?"

He turned sharply. Beside him a beautiful blonde stood leaning against the bar. She wore a red sequined dress with a plunging neckline that displayed the curves of her generous breasts to perfection. Her pouty mouth was the same color as her dress and was turned up in a seductive smile.

And he felt relieved because this was familiar. This kind of game he'd played many times before, and she was clearly a woman who knew all the rules.

He leaned his hip against the bar. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

Her eyelashes fell halfway, the deep blue of her eyes glinting up at him. "Oh, I just wanted to say thanks for the great party. This place is fantastic." Her accent was British, London from the sounds of it.

Not as sexy as Katya's.

Alex pushed thoughts of Katya from his head. Perhaps this was what he needed to get rid of all these unwanted emotions. A woman, rather than vodka. Sex, his other drug of choice.

"Glad you think so. Can I get you a drink? Champagne maybe? On the house of course."

Her smile deepened and it was as fake as her breasts, but he didn't care. He wasn't after sincerity. Or integrity. Or honor. Or pride. He didn't even particularly want her. Sometimes all he really craved was oblivion.

"How did you know?" She moved closer, put a hand on the bar next to his, her fingers almost brushing the tips of his own. "I'd love a glass of-"

"Alex," a smoky Russian voice said. "There you are. I wondered where you'd got to."

A tall, slender body moved in between him and the woman in the red dress, an arm winding around his waist in a proprietary fashion. Green eyes met his, a spark of what looked like anger glinting in the depths. "You should not leave me like that, darling," Katya purred. "I was all alone."

He didn't move, a shock of desire swamping him. A desire that hadn't been there until she'd shown up. Behind Katya, the woman in the red dress was frowning, a distinctly pissed-off look on her face.

Jesus. Though he never committed himself to any single lover, he didn't usually go off and start flirting with someone else while the woman he was sleeping with was in the vicinity. But of course he wasn't sleeping with Katya, and he'd forgotten for an instant who she was supposed to be. This time it was his fault. He was the one who'd slipped up.

Meeting Katya's gaze, he held himself still, trying to ignore the way every sense he had seemed to be attuned to her arm around his waist and the nearness of her body to his. "My apologies, sweetheart," he drawled. "I was just getting a drink. As you can see."

She put a hand to his chest, letting it rest there. "I'm not sure it's a drink you're after." Turning her head slightly to include the woman standing behind her, she said, "Sorry, but I'm going to have to steal my boyfriend away. We have some business to attend to."

A flash of anger crossed the blonde's face, anger that was out of proportion to a simple thwarted seduction, but Alex didn't have time to work out why that was because Katya had stepped back, was lacing her hand in his and starting to lead him away.

He didn't protest, allowing her to pull him through the crowd a little way before he stopped dead, pulling her up short. "Nice show of possessiveness, Katya mine. You do the jealous girlfriend very well. Did you practice that in the shower?"

She turned on him, the lines of her face set, a fierce look in her eyes. "You need to come with me," she said quietly, forcefully, ignoring his tone. "I have to talk to you."

A petulant, childish anger flared into life, but he fought it down, determined not to give in to the emotions she seemed to draw from him so easily. Raising a brow, he said, "And since when do you get to issue the orders?"

She stepped closer, specks of angry gold glinting in her eyes. "Since I've been given the job of protecting your life. And since you don't seem to take that very seriously, I have to."

"But my life isn't in any-"

"We need to have a discussion, Alex," she said fiercely, enunciating his name very clearly. "And we need to have it now."

What the hell? What had brought this on?

A petty thought occurred to him. Perhaps she really was jealous.

Why the fuck would you think that? For her to be jealous she'd have to feel something for you, and she doesn't.

Jesus, this situation really was starting to slip out of his control if he found that disappointing. Time to claim some of the power back.

"Sure," he said easily. "We can go to my office. It's near the bar."

Without waiting to see if she would follow, he turned and headed through the crowds of people, going around the bar and toward the expanse of mirrored privacy glass, partially obscured by velvet curtains.

He pulled aside the curtain to find the door handle, keying in his personal code to unlock the door. Then he held it open and stood aside, waiting as Katya went past him into the dim office beyond.

Pulling the door closed after him, the sound of the club instantly muting, he hit the light switch, hidden lights in the ceiling casting a wash of soft illumination over the room.

"Okay," he said, "so I fucked up with that woman. I'm sorry; that was my mistake."

Katya put her hands behind her back, falling into her "at ease" stance, giving no sign she was satisfied or otherwise with his apology. "You said your life wasn't in any danger, but quite frankly, sir, you have no idea. That woman you were speaking with? I overheard her in the ladies' bathroom talking to someone on the phone. She said she was going to 'get closer' to you."

Shock moved through him, slow and thick. He took a breath, struggling to get his head together. "What? When was this?"

"Earlier in the evening. Just after we came down. I've been watching her all evening. She tried to get into the VIP area but was denied."

Holy shit, he hadn't even noticed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You were in no immediate danger and I had the threat under control."

Fucking hell. "Did you get any hint of a name?" he demanded. "Any clue as to who she was talking to?"

"No, sir," Katya answered crisply, fully in soldier mode now. "I only heard her as she was leaving the bathroom. By the time I followed, she'd already ended the call."

Alex turned, stalking toward his desk and running a hand through his hair, needing to move. Needing to think. His thoughts felt sluggish, the alcohol sitting like acid in his stomach.

So, clearly that woman had not been after a random hookup. She'd targeted him for a reason. But why? And who had sent her? What did they want? No one had known he was even in Monaco until this evening, so whoever had sent her had to be someone in Monte Carlo- Fucking Conrad South. It had to be.

Alex's heartbeat accelerated, his mouth drying. He put his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned against it, trying to hold on to something because, Jesus, it was clear he didn't have a good grasp on anything else at the moment.

You fucking idiot. You weren't paying attention, were you? You were too busy playing with her ...

Behind him Katya said, "I'm here to protect you, sir. But I can't protect you if I don't know the direction the bullet might come from. Which means I need that briefing. I need to know why we're here and I need to know now."

Katya stared at Alex as he leaned over the desk, his shoulders hunched, his arms rigid. This was about more than a poker game; she was sure of it. Because if she didn't know any better, she'd have said that Alex St. James was afraid. He'd never appeared afraid of a game before, which meant there was something about this game that was getting to him. This was personal in some way.

He didn't say anything, his posture so full of tension he was practically vibrating with it.

Outside the office the bass thump of the music was so deep she could feel it in her chest. But the room must have had some kind of heavy-duty noise dampening going on, because that was the only sound. It was strange to be in here in the quiet while outside a party was going on.

The office was as opulent and excessive as the rest of the club, lots of wood paneling and deep red velvet curtains over the windows. Tall bookshelves and a claw-foot armchair near the desk, the decor reminiscent of a Victorian gentleman's study.

Alex didn't say anything and she thought for a moment that she wasn't going to get her explanation. Then he said, "We are here for a poker game. But..." He paused.

She waited, watching him, the light glancing off his inky hair.

He'd been silent with her ever since he'd walked out of the bedroom. Even when they'd gone downstairs and he'd introduced her to people as they'd sat on that overblown red velvet couch, his arm around her in a possessive show. But he hadn't spoken to her directly or made one of his subtle digs. He hadn't even looked at her.

It was clear her victory up in the bedroom had changed things between them, and she could take a guess as to why: Alex St. James didn't like to lose. So now he was putting distance between them, as if he'd decided he didn't want to continue the game they were playing. And that was disappointing. Because for some insane reason, she wanted to keep playing it.

The silence was so loud. Deep as the bass of the music.

"The organizer of the game is a man called Conrad South," Alex said finally. "He owns the Four Horsemen casino. He's ... an old enemy of mine."

That she knew already due to her research, but not the personal connection. An enemy. Interesting.

Katya frowned at Alex's strong back. "You don't want to play." It came out more as a statement than a question, since it was obvious to her that he didn't want to.

"No." His voice was soft. "I don't."

"So why are you?"

"It's a long story."

"I would like to hear it."

He didn't turn, but she could hear the soft outrush of his breath. "We think there's something more than gambling going on in Conrad's casino. I'm taking part in the game as a bit of reconnaissance, since no one else can play poker as well as I can."

"We?"

"My friends ... Zac, Eva, and Gabriel."

Katya studied the rise of Alex's broad shoulders, his bent head. "How do you know there's something more going on?"

Slowly, he shifted, turning around to lean back against the desk, his long fingers curling over the edge of the wood. His jacket was open, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. The light from above shadowed the flawless bone structure of his face, leaving his eyes in darkness. He wasn't smiling now and she had the impression that she was seeing yet another layer of him. Perhaps the man he truly was, not the debauched playboy he showed to the world.

A deeper, more thoughtful kind of man.

Curiosity twisted inside her. As if he were a jeweled box she wanted to open to find out what was inside.

"Like I said, it's a long story. Around a month or so ago, Gabriel got involved with my sister and found out a few of my family's nasty secrets. Like the fact my father and some friends of his were involved in an underground casino years ago. Not just gambling, but drugs and prostitution too, all kinds of shit. Dad owned the casino, ran up a lot of debt. He ... committed suicide after it all got out of hand." Alex's voice was weirdly flat, toneless. Like he was reciting a story. "One of his friends stepped in to cover up his links to the casino and ended up marrying my mother. Gabe discovered this guymy damn stepfatherwas still laundering money for this fucking casino. We were hoping to discover more about it, but my stepfather had the bad manners to get himself shot before he could give Gabe any information."

It took a moment to process. Alex's stepfather shot. Drugs. Prostitution. She hadn't known what to expect as an explanation, but it wasn't that.