But that's what he did, wasn't it? He walked away. He escaped. From the night in the Lucky Seven when he'd resolved never to come home, staying away when his father died, that's what Alex had been doing his whole life. It was selfish, but he'd always embraced that, accepted it. It was his armor, his protection. It kept him safe and he'd never felt bad about it.

Until now.

Alex sat there for a moment, looking at her. She had her bodyguard face on, the impassive one that showed nothing. But he could see past that now. He could see the woman behind that mask. And that woman was worried. And hurt. And confused.

She'd given him a gift tonight. She'd saved him from the wave of emotion that had threatened to drown him, and instead of treasuring that gift, he'd flung it back in her face.

You petulant little boy. You're not sixteen anymore. You're a man. Start acting like one.

Alex threw down his cards and shoved the rest of his money into the middle of the table. "I fold."

The others looked at him in surprise, but he ignored them, extricating himself from the booth and coming to stand in front of Katya.

He didn't speak, reaching for her hand and beginning to lead her toward a quieter area near the back of the bar. She stiffened momentarily, then went with him, her hand motionless in his.

When they reached a relatively quiet space, he let go and turned. And before she could move, he stepped in, gripped her upper arms, and pushed her gently up against the wall.

Her eyes widened, but she made no effort to get away. In the dim light he could see the beat of the pulse at her throatit was fast.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded softly. "How did you find me?"

"I called Mr. Woolf to see if he could shed any light on where you'd gone." Her gaze was very direct. "And as to why I'm here ... I'm your bodyguard, sir. And especially after tonight, I need to be wherever you-"

"Bullshit." His hands tightened on her upper arms. He didn't want to hear she was only doing her job. That he was only a client, only a mission. It shouldn't matter, he shouldn't care, but that didn't change the fact that he did. And for the first time in nineteen years he wasn't going to run from it. "You're here for me, aren't you?"

Her throat moved. Beneath the smell of cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and the spilled alcohol, he caught the scent of oranges. Katya's scent. He bent his head, inhaling her.

"The truth, Katya. Give it to me."

"Of course I'm here for you." Her voice was hoarse, yet he could hear the strength in it. "What we're getting involved in with South is dangerous. I have to protect you."

The tightness in his chest constricted and suddenly he felt desperate. "You want me to say it first? Okay, I will. Fucking you on that couch was the most intense sexual experience I've ever had. And I would give anything at all to have it again."

Her jaw lifted, her eyes shadowed in the darkness. "Stop playing with me. Stop-"

"It was special," he interrupted roughly. "It mattered." He moved closer to her, their bodies almost touching. Saying the words out loud made him feel dizzy, as if he were drunk. "And I left because I'm a selfish, fucked-up prick and I have too many excuses. Because running away is what I do. Because the game with Conrad got to me and I was angry, and I used you so I didn't have to feel it." He paused and let the rest of it spill out. "But the real truth is that I left because being inside you laid me open and I had no fucking idea how to deal with it. I still don't."

Shock crossed her face. She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Silent.

"Say something." Desperation gripped him tighter. "Tell me you came for me, Katya. Tell me you came because I matter to you and not just because I'm your fucking client."

He hated this feeling. Hated to be the one wanting something. Begging for it. It made him feel like he was back in that bathroom with Conrad touching him, helpless to stop it from happening. Helpless and vulnerable. Unable to escape. Unable to walk away.

Yet he had to give something to her after what she'd given him tonight, and the truth about himself was all he had.

Whether or not she'd want it was another story.

She was silent for a long time and it was with a strange, hollow sensation that he realized he had no idea at all what she was going to say. Or even what she was thinking.

"Katya." He tried to make it sound like a demand, but it came out sounding cracked instead. A plea or a prayer, he didn't know which.

Her brow furrowed. Then slowly she lifted a hand and touched his cheek. The brush of her fingers made his breath catch. Made the tight feeling in his chest gather even tighter. "Why is that so important to you?"

He couldn't lie. It was like he'd lost the ability. "Because no one's ever come after me before. No one's ever come for me."

The crease between her brows deepened, her fingers moving to his mouth, touching him. "Then yes," she said simply. "I came for you." And her stroking fingers slid into his hair, pulling his mouth down onto hers.

There was so much heat in her kiss. So much sweetness. The way her lips parted automatically, letting him in. The way her tongue touched his, tentatively exploring, then with more confidence. With more hunger.

His chest ached. He wanted to pull her close, devour her utterly, take what she was offering. But he didn't. He didn't want to take anything more from her. It was time for him to give instead.

So he only stood there, letting her explore, letting her deepen the kiss.

He'd never had a kiss like it. Soft. Gentle. Becoming more intense, until he felt her fingers close in his hair. Until she was leaning in to him, her other hand pressed to his chest.

Until they were both shaking.

Eventually he pulled away, staring into her flushed face and wide, dark eyes. "I think it's time to go home, don't you?"

She gave a wordless nod.

The journey back to the Fourth Circle didn't take long, but neither of them spoke during it. As if the weight of the truths that had been revealed hung heavy over them, the air too full of implications for speech. It wasn't the time for talking anyway, not yet. He felt too raw, and by the chill of her fingers in his he knew she felt the same way.

When they finally arrived back in the silence of the suite, the door shut behind them, she looked mutely at him and he saw the need in her eyes.

"We don't have to do anything," he said. "If you want to sleep, we can do that."

"I don't want to sleep."

"Then what?"

"I think you know."

He took a breath. "In that case perhaps it's your turn to show me."

He'd never given a woman control in the bedroom before, at least not when he wasn't drunk. When he was sober, he had to be the one who called the shots because how else could he make sure the sex stayed wholly physical? Keep the emotional distance between himself and his lover?

But he found he didn't want that distance now, not with her. She was special, this was special, and he wanted to mark that in some way.

She closed the distance between them, looking up into his eyes. "Show you how?"

Alex reached for one of her hands and put it to the buttons of his shirt. "You could start by undressing me."

She had no way of knowing the significance of what he'd asked her to do, that he'd never asked a woman to undress him before either. And perhaps that was for the best. Because he couldn't ignore the instinctive whisper of unease that went through him as she began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Nor could he hide the tension in his muscles as she pushed open the cotton.

But of course she saw it, her fingers touching his tight abs as she lifted her gaze to his, questions in her eyes. Yet perhaps she saw his reluctance too, because in the end she didn't speak. Instead she dropped her gaze to his chest, her hands sliding over his skin. Then she stepped in closer and pressed her mouth to the hollow of his throat and he felt himself begin to go up in flames.

Long years of reflexes had him pushing his hands into her hair, ready to pull her head away, control what was happening, and it was only sheer force of will that had his fingers stay slack and not pull. Letting her mouth trail over his collarbone, leaving a trail of sparks.

Trusting her.

Her hands glided down his chest, to his abdomen, stroking, caressing. Making his heart beat fast and his breathing fall out of rhythm. Her hands paused at his belt. "Shoes," she murmured.

He got them off, feeling stupidly clumsy, but then her fingers were undoing his belt buckle, pulling at the buttons of his pants, then drawing his zipper down. And his heartbeat began to rocket out of control and he had to curl his hands into fists at his sides to stop them from pushing her away.

I don't want this. I don't like this.

But no, this was Katya. And she wouldn't hurt him. She would stop if he asked her to, wouldn't she? The words crowded in his throat, but he didn't let them out. Turned out he had some pride after all. Besides, he didn't want to mar this experience for her with shit from the past.

So he locked his muscles, kept his gaze on her as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, then eased his pants and boxers from his hips. She knelt in front of him, pulling the material down his thighs, her breath feathering over the exquisitely sensitive skin of his cock.

Please don't touch me there. It's wrong.

Fuck, why was he thinking this now? He needed to concentrate on Katya. Look only at her.

He stepped out of his clothing and she glanced up, and he knew what she wanted. But he couldn't let her, not now. It was one step too far. He bent and gripped her upper arms, drawing her back up again. Then he pulled her in close, sliding his hands around her waist and down over the curve of her butt, urging her up against him, the softness of her pressing against his cock a sweet ache.

Her palms lay hot on the bare skin of his chest, the gold flecks in her eyes glittering. "You don't want me to do that?"

"What? A blow job? No, not tonight, sweetheart." He pressed her harder against him, feeling desire rise and letting it burn. Letting it make ash of the memories in his head. "I want to be inside you again."

"I know I'm not experienced, but-"

"Another night, Katya mine, I promise." He'd had blow jobs before and they'd never made him have flashbacks like this. But then he'd always directed them, keeping them well within his control. And he didn't want that tonight, not with her. "Kiss me."

"Isn't it my turn to show you?"

"It is." He caught his breath, trying to let go. Trying to give this to her. "What do you want?"

There was a crease between her brows as she studied his face. "I think ... In the bedroom this time. On the bed."

"Kinky. I like it."

"If you don't-"

He bent his head, kissed her once. Hard. "I do. And I want it." He released her and stepped back. "Come on then. Show me."

In the bedroom she made him lie on the bed and watch as she undressed. She didn't try to hide her impatience, her hands not quite so steady as she stripped, and he liked that. Liked that so much. That she was as desperate for him as he was for her.

His unease had fallen away, old memories vanishing in the heat burning in her green eyes. As she came onto the bed next to him, naked, her hair a veil of gold across her shoulders, there was color in her cheeks. "Can I touch you?"

For an answer he took her hand, guiding it to his chest, then letting go, lying back as her fingers moved over him, stroking. Exploring. There was a fierce kind of concentration on her face, as if this was an important task that she meant to finish. That she meant to do her very best with, and fuck, the way she was touching him, it was certainly the very best he'd ever had. Not that he'd ever let another person touch him like this, at least not without instruction.

He had to battle with himself not to tear her hands away and make them go where he wanted them to, take charge of the process. When her mouth began a slow trail down his chest and abdomen, he fisted his hands in the sheets. "You can trust me.... With everything," she'd told him. And intellectually he knew he could. But emotionally he wasn't there yet, if he ever would be. So when her hand reached for his cock, her cool fingers closing around him, he found his own closing around her wrist, stopping her.

Her gaze flickered to his, uncertainty in her eyes. "What? Is this not enough for you?"

"Christ no," he said thickly. "Everything you're doing is perfect." Because it was, but he wasn't ready. "I just ... I know I said this was your turn, but I can't wait. God, I want to taste you so badly." He didn't hide the raw note in his voice, letting it sit there.

"How do you mean?"

He moved, reaching between her thighs, his fingers brushing through damp curls to feel wetness and heat. "Here." He stroked her, making her gasp, watching the look in her eyes flare. "I want to put my mouth here. On your pussy. Taste you."

"But-" She stopped, inhaling sharply again as he brushed again over the soft blond curls between her thighs to emphasize his point. "You won't let me do that for you."

There were orders he could give, but he'd come this far without them; he didn't want to stop now. Besides, the truth could be a very effective deflection. "You think I lied back in the bar? That I didn't mean it? God, I'd give up every single one of my clubs. Every. Single. One." He held her gaze. "For a taste of you." And he meant it. Right now, with her naked at his side, he meant every word.

Her gaze was shadowed, smoky with desire. "In that case," she whispered, "I'm not going to argue with you."

And thank Christ. Because he was starting to get desperate. Again.

He reached for her, helping her adjust her position so she was the one lying back against the pillows. Then he shifted between her thighs, spreading them wide. "It'll be good, Katya mine," he murmured, holding her gaze. "I will make it so good for you."

"I know," she said, and he could see the trust in her eyes.

Everything in him drew tight. He'd given so many women pleasure in his life. But it had never been personal. Those women had been all the same and making them come had been easy because he'd only cared about it an abstract way. Because he didn't want any of his lovers to go away unsatisfied. It had been about him, in other words.

But this wasn't in any way abstract. This was personal. He wanted to make this good for Katya. Wanted to give her pleasure because she deserved it, not because he had a reputation to uphold or a point to prove.

Because whether he liked it or not, he cared.

Fuck, he was kind of nervous. Almost regretted the breadth and depth of his experience. He had the weird thought that this would be almost sweeter if they were discovering this together for the first time. But they weren't, and if he was going to make his experience count for something then perhaps he should be glad now that he could use it to make this the best experience for her.

Wanting to build her anticipation, he didn't put his mouth on her immediately, instead stroking her thighs with light fingers, then her stomach. She shivered. He shifted, leaning forward a little, brushing his mouth over one inner thigh, while he let his fingers trail down through soft, damp curls. She was wet, the folds of her pussy slick under his hand. Stroking her experimentally, he studied her face. Watching how her pupils dilated. Her mouth opening. Her breathing becoming faster. The pulse at her throat accelerating.

Fascinating to see the tells of pleasure. He'd always known them of course, but he'd never watched them on a partner's face, learning them like he learned the tells of an opponent at the poker table. And not for himself so he could exploit them. For her and her pleasure alone.

He eased a finger into her, hearing the sharp inhalation of breath she took, feeling the slight lift of her hips and tight clasp of her flesh around him. So hot and wet.

"Alexei..." His name was a whisper, the edge of desperation in it already.

"Watch me." He slid his finger deeper, brushed his thumb over her clit, the lightest of touches. "Watch me, Katya mine."

Her eyes were black, her cheeks flushed. She didn't look away, keeping her gaze on his as he moved his hand in a slow rhythm. Fuck, that desperate look in her eyes made him so hard he could barely breathe. "Keep watching me," he murmured, and removed his hand.

She made a soft sound of protest, which he ignored. Instead he pushed her thighs wider and bent between them, nuzzling the smooth skin of her taut, flat abdomen, hearing the hiss of her sharply indrawn breath.

Christ, she was so responsive and she smelled so good. The scent of musk and salt, with the tart sweetness of oranges. He couldn't wait to taste her.

Gently he spread the wet folds of her pussy, opening her up like a flower, and her whole body stiffened. He glanced up, just to make sure she was with him, and met her gaze. There was only a thin rim of green around the black of her pupils, her breasts rising and falling fast.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly.

She didn't speak, only nodded.

It was all the permission he needed. He bent and licked her, running his tongue up the center of her sex like she was an ice-cream cone he wanted to keep from melting.

Katya groaned. "Oh ... bohze moy..."