She ignored him. "Do you really think that merely because I haven't had sex, I know nothing about it? That I'm some kind of innocent girl?" She tightened her fingers around his wrist, letting him feel her strength. "I wasn't in the army to look pretty and be on the recruitment posters. I was a soldier. I was in the army to protect my country. I've taken lives and I probably will again. So don't make the mistake of thinking I'm an innocent just because I haven't been with a man."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You think innocence is entirely about sex? It's not. When you've had your soul ripped to shreds in front of you, then you can talk to me about innocence."

She stared at him, caught suddenly by the glitter of what looked like pain in his eyes. That heavy weight in her chest shifted again. "Your soul? How?"

"I'm not answering that question now, sweetheart." He twisted his wrist, breaking her hold. "We're done here."

No, oh no, they weren't. She'd heard the roughness in his voice when he'd begged her to save him, felt the strain in his muscles and seen the shake of his hand. He'd been desperate. Well, so was she.

She wanted this. Wanted the intoxicating, heady rush that filled her when he touched her. Wanted to know what would happen if he kept doing it.

But more than any of that, she wanted to save him.

"You asked for my obedience. You asked for control. And I gave both to you." She made no effort to shift and allow him room to get out of the chair. "Do you think I gave you those things for nothing?"

His gaze was shadowed, his expression impenetrable. "And what about that promise you mentioned? The one to Mikhail? Were you saving yourself for him?"

A thin thread of guilt wound through her. Yes, she had made a promise to Mikhail. She'd promised to accede to her father's wishes and marry him once he'd returned from the last mission. Loyalty was the bedrock of her existence and part of that was a certain physical loyalty.

But you're not in love with him and he's not with you ...

"I don't love him." She said the words aloud, making them true. "And he's not with me. I'm not saving myself for anyone."

"So why haven't you had sex yet?"

"Because I haven't found anyone I've wanted to have it with. That doesn't mean I don't want it."

Alex gave a soft laugh. "You don't know what you're asking for, Katya mine."

"So show me."

He was silent a long moment, his gaze razor sharp as he searched her face. "I will do whatever I want," he said softly. "Are you prepared for that? In public? In a room full of people?"

He was trying to intimidate her. Make her change her mind, no doubt about it. "There are screens. No one can see us. You also said you wouldn't hurt me or embarrass me, remember?"

"Fuck, darling. You trust me that much?"

On the surface Alex St. James was the least trustworthy man she'd ever met. But the night before last, she'd seen behind the playboy mask. She knew that whatever he was doing here with Conrad South, it was costing Alex and, though he'd told her he had his own reasons, he wasn't doing it entirely for himself. He was here for his friends. For his sister.

"Yes," she said unhesitatingly. "And now it's your turn to trust me."

His eyes darkened, and for another long moment he didn't move.

Then suddenly he shifted, easing her body farther to the side, into the crook of the armchair, twisting until the wide expanse of his shoulders added another layer of privacy to the screens already shielding their little nook from the rest of the room.

He lifted his hand again, running his fingers along her jaw, before sliding them down her neck, his thumb resting in the hollow of her throat. A shiver swept over her, as if his touch had just sensitized every inch of skin.

"Keep still," he murmured. "I'm going to touch you. And while I'm touching you, I want you to talk. Tell me about Russia. Tell me about Moscow."

His fingers moved to trace the line of her collarbone and her mouth went completely dry, goose bumps rising on her skin. "W-why?"

"Because I asked you to. No questions, no protests, Katya mine."

Katya licked her lips, trying to get her mouth working. "Moscow is ... beautiful. In winter you can skate in Gorky Park." His fingers trailed further across the swell of her breasts as they pressed against the fabric of her gown. "And the snow on St. Basil's Cathedral ... It's so perfect it doesn't look real." And down again, stroking the curve of one breast, pausing to circle lightly around her nipple.

She shivered, fire rippling through her, sweet and unfamiliar, an insistent ache between her thighs gathering tighter. Her nipple was hard and sensitive, her breathing uneven.

"Go on," he said quietly. "Tell me more."

"In summer, the roses at the botanical garden smell so good." His fingers now spanned her breast, his palm cupping the weight of it. "A-and there is the Bolshoi Theatre.... The dancers are ... so graceful."

Alex's fingers circled her nipple, tracing the hard outline gently over the fabric of her gown. Her breath hissed at the sharp edge of pleasure that slid through her and she had to fight to remember what she was saying.

"Keep talking."

She swallowed. "There's art down the Arbat ... a shopping street." Her voice sounded thick, husky, his gaze on hers as his fingers moved, lazily toying with her nipple, squeezing her breast gently as if measuring it. "You can get your p-portrait painted...."

The flame in his eyes burned and she wanted desperately to keep talking, to keep doing exactly what he told her to. Because she could see how affected he was by this. By her.

The rest of the room faded away, dimming at the edges of her sight. All she could see was his face, the deep, hot blue of his eyes, the red stain on his cheekbones. The desire he didn't hide.

"Do you like art, Katya?" His voice was insistent, his fingers circling around and around the hard point of her nipple. Then he pinched her. "Or did you prefer dance?"

She barely heard him as the arrow of sensation pierced her, a soft, needy sound escaping her throat, and she shifted, unable to keep still. The movement arched her back, pressing her breast even more firmly into his palm, the heat of it burning through her dress.

"Answer my question," he ordered roughly, the sound of his voice as much a caress as his touch. "And keep still."

"D-dance," she managed to say, hoarse as his fingers continued to tease her. "I ... w-wanted to be a dancer when I was little." The words were spilling out and she couldn't seem to stop them. "But my f-father wouldn't ... let me."

"Why not?" There was an intensity in Alex's expression: the gambler studying an opponent. Which was odd, since she wasn't his opponent. Yet she didn't feel threatened by it. No, more like the opposite. Being the center of his attention was profoundly erotic.

"Answer me," he whispered, that searching, fierce expression consuming her. The hand on her breast slid lower, over her stomach, out toward her hip, then back again, the heel of his palm coming to rest lightly over the most sensitive part of her, his fingers facing down and spread like he was guarding her sex. "Or I'll stop touching you."

"My mother d-died. And he thought dancing was ... weak." The pressure of Alex's hand on her clitoris increased, then began to move in tiny, precise circles, and she forgot entirely what she'd been saying. The sensation was electric, a shock of pleasure filling her up. Her hips lifted helplessly, her body quivering, her breathing becoming ragged. "Oh ... God...."

"Dancers are strong, Katya," Alex murmured. "There's nothing weak about them."

No, he was wrong, but she couldn't think why because the subtle movement of his hand was building the pressure slowly, inexorably, until she wanted to scream. She felt like she was going to break open and everything she was would come spilling out. And he would see it. He would see her exposed and raw and vulnerable.

Weak. Breakable.

"You're wrong," she said raggedly, desperately. And she fumbled for his wrist, trying to pull him away. "I can't ... you have to stop."

His movements paused, but his hand remained exactly where it was. He leaned over her and the look on his face ... it was like he knew exactly what she was feeling. Like he could see her fear.

Her heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears and she couldn't breathe. Where had this fear come from? She didn't understand it.

"Katya." There was a gentle yet inflexible note in his voice. "Take your hand away. That's an order."

Yes, an order. That was familiar. That was something she could do. Her fingers loosened and fell away.

"Now close your eyes."

And she did, letting the darkness protect her.

Then the heel of his hand began to rock against her again, his fingers pressing lightly. "You said you trusted me," he whispered in her ear, his breath feathering over her skin. "So do it. It's my turn to keep you safe."

The words touched something inside her. Something deep. No one had ever protected her, at least no one who wasn't a fellow soldier. She'd always been expected to protect herself. But this was unfamiliar territory and she needed someone at her back.

She needed Alex.

Katya shuddered as the pressure built once more. "Alexei..." His name in Russian, a mere breath. "Pozhaluysta..." Please.

And he answered, his mouth covering hers as the movement of his hand brought the pleasure to an intense, aching point. And she let him take the moan that broke from her as the point exploded, the orgasm detonating, a shock wave moving through her body as intense as a nuclear blast.

There were lights behind her eyes, a bright spray of color like the flash of fireworks at a parade. Holy God....

She couldn't stop shaking, but he kept his mouth on hers, kissing her, silencing her sharp gasps until the intensity began to lessen, the heat fading into gentleness. Until the quivers vanished and she lay still in the crook of the armchair, her breathing returning to normal.

Eventually his mouth moved away, but she didn't open her eyes.

Strangely, she kept thinking of that woman she'd seen kissing Alex back in New York. And how flushed the woman had been and how she hadn't understood why.

Well, now she did.

"Katya." His voice was soft, murmuring near her ear.

She didn't want to open her eyes, but eventually she cracked her lids open to find his gaze on hers. Steady. Watchful. The spark of desire glowed steadily there too, but if he was impatient for anything he gave no sign.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." It came out more as a croak, but she didn't care. "Are you?"

A smile flickered around his mouth. "Not really. I'm going to have to wait awhile before we can move."

"Why?"

Alex took her hand and moved it surreptitiously down over his groin. "That's why."

Beneath the wool of his pants she could feel the long, thick length of his erection, the look in his eyes glinting as she touched him. "Do you want me to-" She stopped, suddenly unsure about what to offer him.

But he only lifted a shoulder. "No. It's going to be a little difficult right here and now anyway." He eased himself away from her, giving her a bit of space, bracing himself on the arms of the chair to keep her further hidden from view.

"What about you?" She had to ask. It felt wrong to take all that pleasure for herself and offer nothing in return.

"I don't need anything."

She frowned. "But ... You're hard."

"I just watched you come. That would make any man hard."

"I don't want to just take, Alex. I want to give too."

"No." The word was final. "Oh, I got what I needed, sweetheart, believe me. But anything more will make things unnecessarily complicated and it's a distraction neither of us can afford."

Disappointment gathered in a small, hard knot, which was strange. Because he was right. And she'd never expected this to happen anyway. Yet for some reason that didn't make her any less disappointed.

She glanced away so he wouldn't see it, trying to find and put in place her armor, her professionalism. "Yes. I understand."

But perhaps for the first time, even though she did understand she didn't agree.

Because for the first time, she knew what she'd been missing out on for the past ten years of her life. And now that desire was out of the box she'd locked it in, out of the cage she'd designed for it, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to put it back in again.

She wasn't even sure if she'd be able to.

CHAPTER TEN.

Alex lounged back on the red velvet couch and kicked his feet up on the desk. The Fourth Circle bar was gearing itself up for another night, staff moving here and there, stocking the bar, adjusting the lighting on the dance floor, shifting around some of the furniture, or doing various other tasks.

He frowned as one of the bartenders passed him wearing the skin-tight black trousers, loose white shirt, and red brocade waistcoat that were part of the men's uniforms. It was supposed to be reminiscent of a Victorian gentleman's outfit, except a bit rakish and disheveled. Like they'd just come half-dressed from their mistresses' beds. But Alex wasn't so sure about it now. It seemed a bit ... obvious.

Maybe it won't be your problem too much longer.

Alex scowled as the thought insinuated itself into his brain, making the spreadsheets he'd brought up on the laptop on the table in front of him blur.

A couple of days since Conrad's reception and Alex still hadn't had any word about whether the guy had accepted his bet and was going to play or not. The anger since that night remained inside him, a hot coal of rage that wouldn't go out.

For the past nineteen years he'd been fooling himself. Letting himself believe the lie that what Conrad had done to him didn't matter. Because it was easier and less painful than to accept that it did.

But as it turned out, it wasn't either easier or less painful.

Fuck, he wanted that prick sitting across the gaming table from him. Wanted to reduce him until he wasn't a man, only a begging, weeping, humiliated mess. Hurt him the way he'd been hurt.

The need was so intense he could almost taste it. Was this what it had been like for Gabriel when he'd been trying to destroy his father? This anger? This desire for blood? It had never touched Alex before because he'd never let anything or anyone get close enough to him to matter. But now ...

On the dark wood of the table, his phone went off.

Alex glanced down at the screen as he reached for the vodka he'd poured himself.

Speak of the fucking devil. Gabriel.

Alex reached for the phone and hit the button. "What?" he demanded without preamble. He'd already called Zac about what had happened at the reception, naturally leaving out a few of the more personal things, but passing on the names of the other players there. Any information was good at this point and Zac had wanted to follow up on the other people participating in the game.