"This isn't a game," she said repressively. "It's a matter of professional pride."

"Ah, but life's a game, isn't it? So why not play?" He stared at her because it was easier to stare at her, to push her, than think of their destination, no matter how many silent pep talks he gave himself. "Let's try this. If you make another slip, I claim a forfeit and whatever the forfeit is, you have to pay it."

Her gaze narrowed as if he'd spoken in some kind of ancient language she couldn't translate. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because it's fun? Because it adds spice to a boring trip? Because I'm your fucking employer and you need to do as you're told?"

As always, she didn't rise to the bait. "I'm sorry, but this concerns my ability to do my job and I take it very seriously. It should not be reduced to a game of chance."

"Jesus. You really know how to suck the fun out of everything."

Katya glanced out the window at the jet. "Sir, if I'm not much mistaken, we're going to be late taking off if we don't start boarding."

So she was going to ignore him, was she? Blow him off the way she always did?

Fuck that.

Excitement coiled tight inside him. The thrill of the hunt, of a challenge to be met. It had been a long time since he'd felt that spark, too damn long. Once it had been the game that did it, the cards in his hands, the roll of the dice, chance his plaything. Or booze, or drugs, or sex, or money. Yet those things inevitably palled, their pleasures brief.

This, though ... This was different.

Because of her. Because she's different.

Yeah, well, maybe she was. And messing with her crossed the line. But he'd never been one to give up a thrill for however long it lasted and he wasn't about to start now.

Not with Conrad South only a few hours away.

"By all means, let us board." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "But as soon as we're on that fucking plane, you're going to make me that bet, Katya Ivanova. And if you don't like it, you can stay here."

Her eyes widened fractionally, but she didn't say anything.

Alex smiled. "Now," he continued in a more normal tone. "I'm going to get out of this car and then I'm going to offer you my hand. You'll take it and walk with me to the jet. And you're going to smile like this is the best thing that's ever happened to you, are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Katya replied, expressionless.

"And that's another thing. No 'sir.' Unless you're naked and I'm holding a whip."

Wretched woman didn't even bat an eyelid. "I will call you 'sir' in private, as per our relationship as employee and employer. In public I will call you Alex."

He didn't know he'd been waiting to hear his name on her lips until she'd said it, her faint Russian accent making the long A sound incredibly sensual.

Dear God, he was going to have to be careful here. Otherwise she could turn out to be a toy he enjoyed playing with rather more than he should.

He got out of the car, the cold already beginning to bite, and turned, extending his hand to help Katya out. She hesitated only briefly, reaching for him. He closed his fingers around hers as she slid out of the car, gingerly maneuvering herself. Her skin was cool to the touch, gradually warming as she straightened. For some insane reason he didn't want to let her go, so he didn't, lacing his fingers through hers.

She resisted a second and then her hand relaxed. A smile turned her mouth. It was fairly wooden, but only he would know that.

"Excellent," he murmured as they turned toward the plane. "Oscar worthy even."

"Thank you," she replied, still smiling that wooden smile.

What would a natural smile look like?

The idle thought crossed his mind and stuck there like a fishhook catching on a rock. Had he even seen Katya smile? Properly? No, he didn't think he had. In fact, he'd never seen her angry either, or in any other way emotional.

You could make her emotional.

The thrill lurking deep inside him was electric as they boarded. Oh, that was bad, very bad. But shit, he'd never been a good boy, had he? And getting an unguarded emotional reaction out of his Russian bodyguard was a challenge he couldn't refuse.

Katya was expressionless as the stewardess showed her to one of the seats and helped her stow the Prada purse that was the only hand luggage she'd bought with her. Yet Alex didn't miss the way her gaze scanned the jet's interior, measuring, assessing.

Goddamn bodyguard.

He sat down in the chair beside her, buckling up his seat belt, conscious that the unease he'd been feeling all day had gradually begun to ease now he was in the jet.

It was one of Alex's favorite places to be in all the world, its interior the place he spent more time in than any of his personal apartments in the Nine Circles clubsall saving the New York apartment. He liked the sense of freedom that came from being thousands of meters above the earth, unconnected to anything or anyone, untethered and soaring.

Sometimes he'd just sit in the luxurious white leather seat and stare out the window at the clouds passing below, not thinking of anything at all. It was the closest he'd ever gotten to true peace.

He reached over and put his hand over Katya's where it rested on the arm of the seat.

She glanced at him, eyes narrowing, but didn't pull away.

"Take my hand, darling," he murmured. "And lean in while we take off. Pretend you're scared and you like being close to me."

A flash of what looked like irritation crossed her features; then it was gone and that wooden smile was back. "Certainly, s-I mean, Alex." Her hand turned over, fingers curling around his, and she edged closer to him.

A thread of her scent caught him, and not the expensive perfume he'd ordered for her, the kind one of his lovers would normally wear, but the sharp, simple smell of oranges. Katya's true scent.

And for some completely inexplicable reason, the tension in his gut that had been sitting there for the past two weeks eased even further. As if the smell of her and the warmth of her fingers around his made some kind of difference.

Insanity.

Yet he didn't move away as the plane took off, nor did he let her go.

Katya's muscles had locked up. Ridiculous. All he was doing was holding her hand and yet it felt like she had a hot coal resting in her palm. She didn't like the sensation any more than she'd liked any of the other uneasy feelings being close to Alex St. James seemed to generate.

Feelings? It's sexual attraction; don't deny it.

As soon as the plane leveled off, Katya pulled her hand away from him, ignoring the snide voice in her head. It couldn't be sexual attraction. She hadn't experienced any of the same physical symptoms when she'd been close to Mikhail, and if there was one man she should feel them for it was him. Not for some self-indulgent, selfish American playboy.

Well, whatever they were, she had to ignore them. They were distracting and that could be dangerous. That could end up being fatal for either her or her client.

She had to be on her guard.

The stewardess approached, tall and blond and willowy, smiling at both of them, not only Alex. It was strange to be on the receiving end of such attention. Bodyguards were supposed to fade into the woodwork, not be noticed. Yet another damn thing about this mission that made Katya uncomfortable.

Alex ordered drinks before she had a chance to refuse, undoing his seat belt and grabbing one of the gossip magazines on the table in front of him.

"I shouldn't have anything to drink," Katya said. "Not while I'm on the job."

He dropped the magazine in her lap. "You'll have to. Not unless you want pregnancy rumors happening, since that's the only reason one of my lovers wouldn't have at least one glass of champagne."

Apparently nothing about this was going to be easy.

Frowning, Katya looked down at the magazine in her lap. "What's this?"

"Research. I don't know how much celebrity gossip you're aware of, but if you're with me you'll need to be up with who's who."

She wasn't interested in the slightest about the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Hadn't she seen all she needed to in the past three months with him anyway?

"Will we be encountering any of these people?" She gestured at the magazine.

"Maybe. That's the wonderful thing about Monaco. You never know who's going to turn up." There was an undercurrent in his voice that made her think he meant something by the words, though what she had no idea.

Yet another reminder of the glaring gap in her knowledge: the reason for this visit in the first place. He'd been very good at avoiding the subject whenever she tried to bring it up over the past few days and she was starting to think that he didn't want to tell her, though she couldn't imagine why. Didn't he want to keep her up-to-date? Make her as effective as possible in protecting him?

God, how she hated not knowing things. She didn't feel like she'd had enough intel about what they were heading into in Monaco, and that could turn out to be a problem if they weren't careful.

She'd spent some time researching Monaco, the layout of the Fourth Circle, one of his Nine Circles clubs where they'd be staying, as well as the Four Horsemen casino this poker game was supposed to be held in. However, she had nothing to go on about the Apocalypse poker game itself, since there appeared to be no info available about it. A fact that did not make her feel any better about this whole mission.

She'd even done a quick search for information about the owner of the casino where the game was supposed to take place. One Conrad South. But she hadn't been able to turn up much about him either. At least nothing she didn't already know. He was the rich and apparently very private owner of the Four Horsemen, one of Monaco's most exclusive casinos. And that was it.

All in all very disappointing.

The stewardess brought over the champagne, placing two glasses on the table in front of them.

Alex leaned forward and picked up his glass, raising it. "A toast, darling. To a wonderful week in Monte Carlo." That look was back in his eyes, the one he'd given her in the limo before they'd gotten onto the plane. When he'd demanded she accept that bet. A dare. A challenge.

Well, she hadn't appreciated it then and she didn't appreciate it now. Especially not with her mile-wide competitive streak, the same one that had driven her to graduate at the top of her class at military school. That had driven her to prove herself to her father, to be the strong soldier he'd wanted her to be.

To prove you're not weak like your mother.

Ah, but that was one thing she didn't have to prove, not anymore.

Katya picked up her glass, pasted what she hoped was a dazzling smile on her face, and knocked her glass against his. "To Monte Carlo."

His mouth curved as he took a sip of the wine, sprawling back in the chair next to her. "Very good. But it's going to take more than a smile and champagne to convince people you're my latest acquisition." He glanced at the heavy and no doubt horrifically expensive Rolex on his wrist. "We have about nine hours before we reach Monaco, so I'm thinking we could get in some practice with a few things."

She allowed herself one sip of wine before putting it back on the table. It was dry and quite a bit more delicious than she expected, but she didn't normally drink and didn't want to start now, no matter what he said about pregnancy rumors.

"Yes," she said. "Excellent idea. I have some questions." Now perhaps she could finally pin him down about the real reason they were attending this poker game.

He gazed at her over the rim of his wineglass. "I wasn't thinking about questions, sweetheart."

Katya shifted surreptitiously in her seat, trying to loosen the fabric of her skirt. It was annoyingly tight and she didn't like it. In fact, she didn't like anything about the restrictive outfit Alex had chosen for her today. Then again, she was probably going to have to get used to that, since most of the outfits she'd be wearing would be restrictive.

Just as she was going to have to get used to not having her weapon on her.

She'd tried to tell herself that was a good thing, since becoming too reliant on your gun was a mistake. Besides, if she wanted a deadly weapon, the heels of the stilettos she'd been forced to wear and couldn't walk in would do nicely.

"What do you mean then?" She shifted again, her feet aching. "I'm still expecting a briefing on the situation we'll be walking into when we get to Monaco."

Alex waved his glass negligently. "It's a poker game. What more do you need to know?"

"You've never been worried about being seen with a bodyguard at any of your other poker games. Why is this one different?"

"I'm not sure that information is relevant to the mission."

"Forgive me, sir, but everything is relevant to the mission. As I think I've explained to you, the more I know, the better I can protect you."

There was a gleam she didn't trust in his eyes. "And you just made another mistake."

Oh dammit. Alex. His name was Alex. Why did she find it so difficult to say?

He put his glass down. "Make me that bet, Katya. It'll help keep you on track if nothing else."

She didn't make mistakes, at least not usually. And she certainly didn't want to turn her job into a game. "You've left it too late. We're in the air now. I can refuse."

"I can also not help you find your boyfriend." He smiled. "See? We're even."

Katya had a sudden vision of herself flinging the wine in his face, then following it up with a swift punch to the throat. It was a very satisfying vision. Unfortunately, though, violence wasn't exactly the most intelligent way to deal with difficult clients.

She needed to be subtler than that, especially with him. "Very well," she said, trying and failing to keep the curt sound out of her voice. "I'll make you your bet."

His smile widened. "Excellent. So, another mistake and you owe me the forfeit of my choice. A mistake being anything that will betray the fact that you're not actually my lover."

"And if I don't make any more mistakes?"

"Fair's fair. When we return to New York, I'll be the one to pay the forfeit of your choice."

"Very well." She made her tone expressionless. "I agree."

He extended his hand, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Shake on it."

Katya didn't hesitate. She reached out and took his hand, delivering the firm handshake she normally used with clients.

Except he didn't let go, and she found her muscles locking up again, that familiar prickling heat creeping over her skin. She met his intense blue stare and her breath caught.

That look ... She'd seen him look at plenty of other women like that, but never had it turned on her. As if she were something delicious he wanted to eat.

No wonder other women melted under that gaze. No wonder they fluttered and swooned like butterflies around him.