Alex was sitting on the couch, doing something with his phone, and at the sound of the curtain being pushed back he looked up.

An expression she didn't recognize flared in his eyes, a flash of intense blue. Then he put his phone away and got up off the couch, stalking toward her.

There was something predatory about the way he moved. A sleek, fluid motion that set off all kinds of alarm bells ringing in her head. She tensed as he came closer, her instincts going into fight mode, one hand already moving toward where her gun should be.

He's not a threat. He's your employer. Stand down.

God in heaven. What was she doing?

Katya fought down the urge to move into a defensive posture, clenching the hand that had gone for the gun instead. It left her arm at an awkward angle, but then that was okay, since everything about this was awkward in the extreme.

If he'd noticed her going for her weapon, he gave no sign, coming to a stop in front of her, giving her figure a long, slow scan.

She stood there, her awkwardness increasing, not knowing what to do with herself. Being the center of attention felt wrong on every level, since protection was all about remaining out of the spotlight.

Finally, Alex's gaze lifted to hers. "You don't like it." It wasn't a question.

Well, her discomfort was probably quite obvious. "No. The dress is too tight. I won't be able to run in this or fight."

He smiled and it looked likefor oncea smile of genuine amusement. "Running and fighting isn't generally a prerequisite for being my girlfriend, Katya."

"I'm still your bodyguard, sir. That fact remains no matter who I'm pretending to be."

His gaze dropped again, to the bodice of the dress. And he frowned. "You're a soldier. Aren't you supposed to be able to adapt to difficult terrain? I'm sure you can figure out how to run and fight adequately in a dress. But first of all, that god-awful bra has to go."

A prickle of irritation chased through her. She was wearing her usuala black, utilitarian sports braand no, of course it didn't go with the dress. But it gave good support and that was all she required from her bras.

"My sports bra is not 'god-awful,'" she said. "It's excellent under Kevlar."

"Kevlar? Jesus. Since when do my girlfriends wear Kevlar?" He made a motion toward the huge gilt mirrors. "Go on. Go and see for yourself what I'm talking about."

A strange reluctance gripped her. She hadn't worn a dress since the last winter ball at the exclusive military school she'd attended. Wearing those frilly, frothy gowns that all the other girls had gotten so excited over had felt wrong to Katya. Made her feel like that little girl her mother used to take to the GUM department store in Red Square and spoil with pretty dresses. Or to the Moscow Botanical Garden to see the roses.

An indulged, weak little girl who'd fallen apart when her mother had died.

Katya wasn't that girl now, though, her father had made sure of it, and it wasn't as if wearing a dress would change the years of training that had gone into making her who she was.

Dismissing the reluctance, Katya went to stand in front of one of the mirrors, staring fixedly at her reflection. The green silk hugged her curves, her legs left bare by the mid-thigh-length hem, making her look ... not like herself. Like someone softer, more feminine, vulnerable, weaker ...

Katya decided to ignore the woman in the mirror, concentrating her attention instead on the bodice of the dress where the edges of her sports bra showed, the thick black straps over her shoulders spoiling the look.

"See what I mean about the lingerie?" Alex wandered over to stand beside her, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

"I don't have to wear this," she said. "I can-"

"You'll wear what I tell you to wear," he cut her off, a thin edge of iron running through his voice. "This isn't about you and your comfort zone. This is about the job I'm employing you to do."

More irritation crackled inside her, but she dismissed it the way she'd dismissed her reflection. He was right. This wasn't about her. This was about the job he'd employed her to do and one he was going to pay her very well for. Getting annoyed about the clothes she had to wear was personal and not at all professional.

Still, there were some aspects about this particular mission that he hadn't briefed her on and that was definitely something she needed to remedy. Information was important to any protection job and she needed more.

"A job I've yet to be briefed properly on," she reminded him. "I hope you were planning to do that before we leave?" She didn't bother hiding the pointed tone of her question. If he could make snide remarks about her undergarments, she could do the same about his lack of planning.

Unexpectedly she caught a glimpse of something in his eyes, a hesitation almost. "All in good time," he said, turning away. "Go try on the next dress. And ditch the bra."

The next dress was on a clothes rack that Scott had wheeled over, a number of other dresses hanging there that all looked either frighteningly brief, tight, or otherwise impractical. But as Scott disappeared into her workroom again, Katya kept her mouth shut on her protests.

Mikhail depended on the success of her mission for Alex St. James, which made doing a good job of it imperative.

She tried to keep hold of that thought as she contorted herself into various different outfits, all of which were uncomfortable and constricted her in some way. They were all pretty much impossible to wear with a holster, and Kevlar was going to be out of the question.

As she shuffled out of the changing area for the tenth time, the gown this time floor-length, strapless, and made out of some kind of fabric that looked like liquid gold poured all over her, she said, "You're going to have to get a few things made for me if I can't wear my holster."

Alex looked up from the rack of clothes he was leafing through. He didn't say anything for a moment, staring at her intensely. Then he came toward her in that long, loping, dangerous prowl.

"What things?" He swept his gaze over her, blue eyes glittering. Like he was ... hungry.

Disturbed, she turned to face the mirror, since no matter how uncomfortable she found her reflection, it was still better than looking at him with that hungry expression in his eyes. "I can't wear my weapon if I'm in these dresses. I need an alternative to my holsters."

He moved behind her, his footsteps muffled by the thick white carpet, standing much closer than she was comfortable with. In the mirror she could see him, nearly a head taller than she was, his gaze following the line of the gown over her hips, stomach, and thighs, all the way to the floor.

A tight, restless feeling turned over inside her, making her uneasy. She didn't like these dresses, didn't like the way they made her look. Made her feel. As if she wasn't totally in command of herself anymore. As if she were someone else.

Katya focused on a point over her shoulder, away from him and the disturbing reflection in front of her.

"What kind of alternative?" His breath feathered the back of her neck and over her shoulders, left bare by the gown.

God, were those goose bumps? She didn't look to check, because if they were she didn't want to know.

"I'll need purses with a weapons compartment. Makes drawing easier. Though for some of these dresses a thigh holster will work."

"That can be arranged." His straight dark brows twitched, his gaze switching from the dress to something at the back of her head. "Hmmm. This gown is perfect. But ... hang on...."

She didn't know quite what he was doing until she felt his fingers in her hair. Her spine stiffened. "Sir?"

He didn't respond, but she could feel him pulling gently on her braid and then warmth down her back as he completely unraveled it.

Her breath caught as he combed through her hair, spreading it out over her shoulders, and when the tips of his fingers brushed her bare skin a small sound nearly escaped her.

"Better," he murmured. "Oh yes, much better. See? Look at yourself, sweetheart, and tell me what you think."

Katya lifted her gaze to the mirror, but this time it was different. This time the past came rushing down on her like an avalanche, swallowing her whole.

There was a woman in the mirror. A woman in a golden gown that clung to every curve, with her hair spread out over pale shoulders, cheeks lightly tinged with color, green eyes flecked with gold like summer leaves turning in the autumn.

Mama- Katya blinked. Hard. No, she didn't look like her mother in the slightest. Anna Ivanova had been shorter, curvier. Prone to crying at the drop of a hat or laughing just as easily. Over-emotional. Vain.

Her mother going to the Bolshoi with Katya's father. In a golden gown, her hair down, Katya had thought she looked like an angel from one of the beautiful icons in St. Basil's Cathedral. Katya had clung to that gown, begging her not to go out, not to leave.

"I'll never leave you, little cat," her mother had murmured, catching her up in her arms. "Never in a million years."

But she had left Katya. In the end, Anna had left everyone.

"Beautiful," Alex said in Katya's ear. "Don't you agree?"

The images of the past wavered, insubstantial as smoke. Ridiculous to be remembering these things now. Anna Ivanova was seventeen years dead and her daughter was a soldier, not a clingy, desperate child.

Katya forced away the memories, studying herself with an objective eye. "I look the part."

"You most certainly do." His hands came to rest on her hips, a featherlight touch. "Though I'm afraid, darling, you'll have to lose the underwear."

She held herself motionless, aware of the way his fingertips were resting on her. As if the material of the dress weren't even there and he was touching her bare skin.

"Why the underwear?" She kept her voice cold and flat.

"Shows through the dress, see?" Gently he ran the tip of one finger along the slight line that marked the waistband of her panties. "My lovers tend to be very conscious of that kind of thing."

She met his gaze in the mirror. There was a challenge there. A dare. He was pushing her, wanting to shock her, no doubt. Because that's what he did.

He was probably telling the truth about the underwearhis women did tend to be very fussy with their appearancebut if he was expecting her to blush and refuse he was going to be sadly disappointed.

She wasn't one of his lovers. She was a special forces soldier from a highly specialized unit. She'd killed men before, and if she wanted to she could probably kill him.

She would not be unsettled by a few silly dresses and the touch of his hand.

Katya stepped away from him. With a certain brisk efficiency she reached up under the gown and pulled down the plain, black cotton panties she wore, stepping out of them and balling the cotton up in one hand. Then she smoothed the wrinkles out of the gold material and shot him a cool glance. "Better?"

His eyes had widened and she was very satisfied to see surprise lingering there. "Well, that was unexpected." He raised a brow. "Are you sure you don't want me to hold them for you while you check in the mirror?"

Of course. He had to keep pushing, didn't he?

"No, thank you," Katya said. "Are we done here, sir? I'd really prefer that we get on to that briefing session you mentioned. I need to draw up some security plans, and for that to happen I'll also need more information about where we're going and why."

Alex didn't reply, only giving her a long, measuring look, an odd smile playing around his beautifully shaped mouth.

That wasn't the best move you could have made.

No, perhaps it hadn't been. Because she had the sense that she'd woken a sleeping tiger. And he was hungry.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I think we're done here." Then he turned. "Scott? We'll take the whole fucking lot."

CHAPTER FIVE.

As the car came to a stop, Katya was already leaning forward, her hand on the door handle, all ready to get out first.

"No," Alex said flatly. "Remember who you are now." And he could almost see the mental readjustment it took for her to sit back down in her seat.

Jesus Christ. They hadn't even left the country and she was already forgetting who she was supposed to be.

"I'm sorry," she said, her mouth a hard line. "It won't happen again."

Yes, it would. It was inevitable. He'd bet a million bucks on the fact that Katya hadn't ever played this kind of part before, and it seemed obvious that she wasn't going to slip into it easily.

Had he made the wrong decision in wanting her with him? Perhaps he should have gone alone after all.

Then again, Zac had been clear he shouldn't turn up for the Apocalypse poker game without some kind of backup. Especially when Conrad would be expecting Tremain to turn up, not Alex. Though probably by now the guy would know Tremain was in the hospital and would have written him off the list of players.

Which was fine. That would give Alex a massive advantage in terms of the element of surprise, because nothing put opponents off more than shocking the hell out of them.

And he was going to need that advantage.

This game was going to fuck with his head in a big way simply because of who Conrad was, and if Alex wasn't totally confident that was going to get to him. Normally he had no problem with out-psyching people. But this ... This was different.

You're afraid.

No. Fuck, no. He wasn't afraid. The past was over and done with, and it couldn't touch him now. He was going to arrive in Monaco with a beautiful woman on his arm, confident, powerful. In-fucking-vincible.

Alex glanced out of the window of the limo to where his Gulfstream stood waiting on the airport tarmac while the last of their luggage was loaded. "Don't make promises you can't keep, sweetheart," he muttered.

"I don't," Katya said in the same flat tone. "Neither do I make the same mistake twice."

He looked at her and wanted to smile. Because she sounded exactly like her usual stoical Russian bodyguard self and yet the woman sitting opposite him now didn't look even remotely like a bodyguard.

In one of Scott's exquisite suits, she was tall, elegant, and although she'd never be conventionally beautiful, the potential he'd already glimpsed, had been fully realized now.

The skirt she wore was high waisted and slim fitting, ending just above her knee, outlining the swell of her hips and the long, lean length of her legs. The matching jacket was buttoned and belted, the plain white blouse she wore underneath setting off the soft green of the fabric. On her feet were a pair of sexy little black ankle boots, another purchase from Scott's. Her hair he'd decided she could leave loose, since the color of it was beautiful and he liked it over her shoulders.

A stunning woman. A woman worthy of being on his arm.

It made something hungry come to life inside him.

He settled back in his seat and folded his arms. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge. And you should know better than to offer challenges like that to gamblers like me."

A crease deepened between her fair brows. "It's not a challenge. Merely a statement of fact."

Which naturally roused all his competitive instincts like blood in the water roused the appetite of a shark.

This time he did smile. "Would you care to place a small wager on that?"

"Excuse me?"

"A bet, Katya darling. You said you don't make the same mistake twice. I bet you will."