She lifted her chin, struggling to compose herself. The thought shouldn't affect her. At all. "Forgive me for saying, sir, but I'm not your type."

"And what have you observed about my type?"

"You like smaller women. More ... feminine. Pretty socialites, actresses. I am not any of those things."

"No, you're not small; I'll give you that." His gaze dropped once more down her body and she was aware of a certain kind of heat flashing through her. One she hadn't felt before because men generally didn't look at her the way he was looking at her. "But you're beautiful, Katya; never doubt it. Which makes you very much my type indeed."

That heat had begun to move through her, warming her skin. Her jaw tightened. No, men didn't look at her like that and she'd always been glad of it. Some of the girls at the military school she'd gone to had been pretty, the jewels in the crown of the Russian army, there for the recruitment posters and for the officers to gaze at. To be put in army beauty pageants and looked down on.

But she wasn't one of those women. She still remembered the day after her mother's funeral, when her father had caught her weeping in her bedroom. He'd told her that she wasn't to cry, because her mother had been weak, her suicide an act of supreme selfishness. And that from then on he would protect Katya from such things. He would make her strong. Then he'd collected up all the pretty dresses in her closet and put them in the trash, along with the dolls her mother had given her.

Femininity was a sign of weakness, of selfishness, and therefore not permitted in the Ivanov house. Katya had been okay with that. Strength and purpose were infinitely preferable to the constant ache of grief and betrayal.

"Thank you, sir," she said tonelessly. "But I'm not an actor. I'm not sure I could-"

"All you'd have to do is wear a few dresses, a couple of gowns. Look like you're madly in love with me and sit near me at the poker table. That's it." He shifted in another restless movement. "Oh, and naturally, keeping an eye out for threats to my life."

"People are aware of who I am already. They know I'm your bodyguard."

"Not outside of the States they don't. And even if they read all the crap the media spouts about me and have seen pictures of you, once they get a glimpse of you in a gown they won't be thinking bodyguard; I can guarantee you that right now. They'll probably even think the whole bodyguard thing was only a gimmick."

Despite her best intentions, a shard of anger spiked through her. Since coming to the States, she'd had to deal with this sort of thing a lot from men. Undervaluing her skills, underrating her.

"I'm not a gimmick," she said.

"No, of course you're not. But that could work to our advantage, don't you think?"

"I suppose it could," she allowed. "And then what? After this game has ended?"

"Then I'll give you whatever help you need to find your guy."

Katya didn't say anything for a long moment. It was true she would need help when it came to getting Mikhail out of wherever he was. She did have a few contacts in the army, but Alex had been uncannily correct; they probably wouldn't want to help her and risk potential discovery by the government. The General held a lot of influence and no one would willingly put themselves in his path. Even to help his daughter.

And as for the General himself, no matter that he'd been a mentor to Mikhail, his loyalty was to his government first and foremost. To his political aspirations. He'd been clear that as far as he was concerned, as far as the government was concerned, Mikhail Vasin had died on an unrelated visit to Chechnya. And that was the end to the matter.

She'd known the risks and so had Mikhail. Both of them had understood that the government couldn't afford to acknowledge the presence of a black ops unit or else risk escalating the conflict with the state. But the chance of taking out one of the major terrorist leaders had been worth taking those risks.

Except she hadn't realized how she'd feel when the worst happened. When Mikhail disappeared and the government denied all knowledge of him. When even her own father backed them instead of her.

She should have accepted the government stance as part of the job. But she hadn't.

She'd lost her faith in it and her own father instead.

"It's not brain surgery, darling," Alex said lazily. "I would have thought the decision was pretty easy. You come with me to Monte Carlo and I'll help you get your friend."

Of course it was easy. It would mean another couple of weeks before she could start putting into motion any rescue plans, but without money or contacts, both of which Alex had told her he could get, it would take her much, much longer anyway.

So why did the thought of going with him feel ... threatening? Because in the end it was only a job. She could wear a gown. She could hang on his arm and pretend to be his lover. It wasn't a big deal. And in return she'd take all his help and go and get Mikhail.

Why was she even hesitating?

Katya straightened her shoulders, ignored the trepidation that sat low in her gut. "Of course, sir. I'd be happy to come to Monte Carlo with you."

CHAPTER FOUR.

"So, you're going then?" Gabriel's voice sounded so fucking smug, Alex wanted to throw his phone out the window.

Instead he leaned back against the limo's soft black leather seat and smiled. Though it was probably more of a grimace than a smile. "Yeah, I'm going."

"Honor's gonna be glad about that."

"I'm not doing it for her."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Alex gritted his teeth. The relationship he had with his best friend wasn't what it had been before the guy had started sleeping with Honor. The fact that Gabriel was crazy about her was a point in his favor, but that didn't make Alex any more comfortable with the idea, even though he knew he had no right to be angry about it.

You're jealous of him, that's why. That he's the one protecting her while you sit on the sidelines.

No, for fuck's sake, that wasn't it. He'd chosen to cut his ties with his family; that had been his decision. And he didn't regret it, not for a moment. Not even after his father had killed himself, even though Alex damn well knew that Honor and her mother would be hurting.

Not that he could have done anything about that anyway. He had his own guilt to bear about that little drama. And anger and all sorts of other shit he couldn't be bothered delving into his self-conscious to sort out.

Still, that didn't mean he didn't care what happened to Honor.

"I'm curious," Alex said. "That's all it is."

"What changed your mind?"

On the seat opposite him, Katya turned her head, gazing out the window, winter sun streaking her blond hair.

Alex watched the sunshine pick up strands of tawny, gold, and caramel in her braid. "Oh, a few things," he said casually. "None of which are your fucking business."

"No problem. I'll ask Zac."

Shit. The bastard would probably tell him too. Alex willed his muscles to relax. "Do you really need to know why?"

"I'm curious," Gabriel said, his voice a conscious imitation of Alex's. Then he added in a more normal tone, "Give me all the bullshit you want. Some part of you is doing this for Honor, not just for your own selfish reasons."

Alex shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He hadn't thought it was for Honor at the time, his head too full of Eva's confronting words, but ... Maybe it was. After all, he did owe her a lot. Especially considering it had been the others who'd uncovered her stepfather's shady dealings. And his father's ...

Which you already knew about and didn't tell them.

"You're a prick, you know that?" he muttered into the phone.

"Yeah," Gabriel said, unperturbed. "Oh, and Alex?"

"What?"

"Be careful, huh?"

"Always," he replied flippantly, and ended the call, sticking the phone back into his pocket.

Katya eyed him from the opposite seat. "Everything all right, sir?"

"Everything's peachy, Katya mine." Apart from his erstwhile best friend still trying to be nice to him. The friend who was screwing his sister.

He pushed the thought away. He had more interesting things to do right now. Such as this little trip to Fifth Avenue. A trip he'd organized specifically with Katya in mind. They had a few things to organize before they left for Monte Carlo, and one of them was training his bodyguard in the fine art of being his girlfriend. Which involved clothes. And not just any old clothes, but fine gowns.

And since he didn't trust her to choose them herselfhe guessed she wouldn't be a couture kind of girlhe would be the one doing the choosing. After all, she had to look the part, be believable. And he had rather a lot of experience when it came to women's clothing. Especially taking it off ...

Katya frowned. "Is there something amusing about me, sir?"

"No." Alex made himself relax. "Why do you say that?"

"You're smiling at me."

"Why shouldn't I smile at you? You're looking particularly ... bodyguardish today."

Her brows twitched, the only sign she was aware he was playing with her. "You didn't give me a destination before we left," she said, ignoring his stupid joke. And fair enough. It was stupid.

Alex tapped the side of his nose. "Secret." Yeah, he was being a prick, but the conversation with Gabriel had set him on edge, making him feel restless and antsy. Like he wanted to poke someone to get a reaction. Katya, for example. Childish, maybe, but fuck, after the last few weeks he reserved the right to act like a child. It wasn't every day that your father's sketchy past as the owner of a drug-dealing high-class brothel cum gambling establishment was discovered by your closest friends.

Katya's mouth firmed. "I wish you would keep me updated about where we're going, sir. It makes my job much more difficult if I don't know the terrain."

"It's Fifth Avenue, sweetheart. Not the jungles of southern Asia."

"It's still-"

"We're going shopping. Happy?"

Her brow cleared. "I see. So we'll be going to Hart Brothers."

Hart Brothers was New York's finest and most exclusive tailor, where Alex got most of his custom-made suits. So naturally that's where she'd be expecting them to visit.

"No, alas not," Alex said. "We're going to Scott's."

"Scott's? But isn't that-"

"For women? Yes."

Not just for any woman either. Scottshe only went by one namewas one of the States' premier designers. Which meant spending lots of money. But he had no problem with thatmoney was made to be spent after all.

"I see." Katya gave a brisk nod and didn't ask any further questions.

No, she didn't see. She'd be expecting a meeting with one of his lovers, no doubt. Not an unfair expectation given she'd been to Scott's a number of times with him before on exactly that kind of visit. Alex liked to indulge his lovers, and buying clothes for them wasn't unusual for him.

She would definitely not be expecting to be the focus of such a trip, however.

Briefly he debated whether or not to tell her, then decided not to. He wanted to see how she'd react to surprises, since there were going to be rather a lot of them in her future as his pretend girlfriend. She'd need to know how to handle herself. Probably with aplomb, but then it was good to test these things out first beforehand. A rehearsal as it were.

Oh sure. You just like keeping her off balance because you're fascinated by her.

Well, that was true. He couldn't deny he was intrigued by her and had been from the day she'd started working for him. He'd never met a woman like her, and new and different always captivated him.

"Mr. St. James?" David, his driver, spoke from the front of the limo. "Pull up outside okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine." Alex smiled at the woman opposite him as the limo came to a stop. "After you."

She didn't bother with a reply, since one wasn't necessary; she was always first out of the car.

Katya did her usual check up and down the crowded street, then pulled the door open for him.

"Would you like me to stay here?" she asked as he got out, pulling his cashmere overcoat tighter around him against the chill.

"Not today. I need your beautiful presence with me, my sweet."

"Certainly, sir."

The store entrance was discreet, just a black door with the name Scott on a plaque beside it. There was a buzzer, which Alex pushed, the door swinging open silently after a couple of seconds, allowing him entrance. He stepped inside, Katya following at his heels.

Going into Scott's was like walking into a cloud. White walls. Thick, soft white carpet. A massive sectional sofa in white leather right in the middle of it. Huge gilt mirrors were propped up against the walls, put there for clients to look at themselves while trying on clothes.

Scott herself stood near the couch, a petite, black-clad stunningly beautiful African-American woman in her late sixties.

"Alex darling," Scott said in her lilting southern drawl, approaching him as he and Katya entered, enveloping him in a light, insubstantial hug fragrant with hints of magnolia, her signature scent. "How lovely to see you. It's been too long, my dear."

"Far too long," he agreed. "Were you this beautiful last time I saw you? I swear you get lovelier every visit."

She laughed at his outrageous flattery, a delicate, musical sound. "Oh, honey, you should see the picture in the attic. Now, I hear you're bringing me a very special client?"

He smiled and stepped aside, sweeping his hand around to indicate the tall Russian bodyguard standing silently behind him. "I am. And here she is."

Katya turned her head, looking behind her in turn.

But Scott knew immediately. She shot him a look. "You're serious? Not your usual type, I have to say."

Katya was turning back around, another of those quizzical frowns creasing her forehead. A frown that deepened when she found them both staring at her.

"No," he said, meeting her green eyes, watching as the moment of realization hit her. "She isn't. At least not yet."

"Me?" Katya's voice was careful. "You're talking about me?"