smiled perfunctorily at his little joke, but Alec could see she wasn’t really amused. Kind of like Keira, he thought suddenly. Keira had never cared for the way their dad thought less of her because she was female. Wasn’t that why Keira had always fought with brothers who were physically bigger and stronger than she was, to be respected as an equal? Wasn’t that why she’d followed all four of her brothers into the Marine Corps? And wasn’t that why she’d nearly died a few years back, because she was trying to prove to the agency she worked for that she was as good or better at her job than any man?
Alec suddenly realized they’d been jogging for a couple of miles, and Angelina had kept pace with him the entire way. She wasn’t winded at all. Her feet kept time with his in a steady cadence, like the beat of a heart. His heart. The thought disturbed him in a way he’d never been disturbed before, but he didn’t know why.
“What about you?” he asked after a minute’s reflection, trying to bring his thoughts under control by making small talk. “Brothers? Sisters?”
She shook her head. “I had a brother who died when he was a baby. Then there was me. After that, my mother could have no more children. But I have a younger cousin—had a younger cousin—who was like a little sister to me. I have not seen her in many years.” She folded her lips together as if she had intended to say more but wouldn’t.
Alec knew better than to ask her for an explanation. Not yet, anyway. Not with that closed, forbidding expression on her face. So he cast around in his mind for a new topic of conversation and settled on, “I know there’s not much crime here, but aren’t you—I don’t know—a little worried about being out alone this early? I mean, you were obviously on your own in the dark and the mist for some time before we met up. Most women I know wouldn’t risk it. Not in the States, anyway.”
Angelina didn’t say anything. She slowed slightly, and before Alec knew it, she had grabbed his arm, braced herself, and he found himself flat on his back on the grassy verge beside the path, with Angelina kneeling on his chest, one forearm against his throat.
Despite having the wind knocked out of him, the minute he caught his breath he began laughing. He couldn’t help it. “Okay,” he said, admiration leaching into his voice. “You’ve made your point.”
She scrambled up and held out her hand to assist Alec in rising, and he took it. But instead of letting Angelina help him up as she expected, he tugged sharply, pulling her down on top of him again. He rolled over swiftly, taking her with him, until she was wedged tightly between his body and the ground. She squirmed, but he had her pinned neatly by his weight and the firm hold he had on her arms. “Never assume a man’s no longer a threat,” he warned her softly. “Unless he’s dead.”
She stopped struggling then. He gazed down into her face, watching the play of emotions that flickered over it, and was surprised. Chagrin—what he’d expected to see—wasn’t followed by anger at how he’d turned the tables on her. Instead, it was quickly replaced by acceptance of a hard lesson learned. Alec had a feeling Angelina never forgot anything she learned, especially anything she learned the hard way.
Part of him wanted to stay like this, feeling her strong body beneath his the way he’d imagined the day before, but he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of the situation. He jumped to his feet, pulling her up with him.
They dusted themselves off silently. Then, still without saying a word, they resumed their jogging. But something had changed between them. Alec couldn’t put his finger on it, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.
“You are good,” she said finally, surprising him once again. Her tone was admiring, the compliment sincere, not grudging as he would have expected.
“So are you.”
She shook her head. “With some men, yes. But not with you. You are like Captain Zale. I took you by surprise, that is all. I cannot expect to do that again.”
The sun was rising over the mountains now, dispelling the river mist and painting the eastern sky with a rosy glow that reflected off both of them. Angelina was silent for a moment and then said softly, diffidently, “I do not believe your older brothers have all the looks in the family.” Totally out of the blue. As if the subject had never been changed. Her serious blue-gray eyes met Alec’s, and he could see what that admission meant to a woman like her.
He stopped so suddenly she didn’t realize he was going to—he didn’t realize he was going to—and she kept running for a few steps. Then she halted, turned and faced him. “What is wrong?” she asked. “Why have you stopped?”
Why did you say that? He wanted to ask, but didn’t. For the first time since he’d been a callow teenager, he felt unsure of himself. Unsure of the woman he was with. Angelina was so different from all the women he’d known—except maybe his sister—that he didn’t know what to make of her.
The blood was suddenly pulsing through his body. His fingers tingled, his breath ran ragged. Not from running. His body had never felt this way after running. This was an awareness. A sudden, urgent need to eliminate the distance between them. To make her tell him what she meant by that seemingly innocuous statement and the enigmatic expression in her eyes. To touch her. Ravage her. Leave his mark on her.
She didn’t move when he did. Another woman would have quailed at the male intensity in his face. Another woman would have retreated. But Angelina wasn’t like any other woman. She wouldn’t back down. Ever. And something in Alec responded to that knowledge. Fiercely.
She was in his arms before he knew it. They were both damp, sweaty, both fighting for control of themselves, and each other. Her body was firm and hard against his, as he’d known it would be. But it was soft, too, a softness so totally unexpected it disarmed him.
Their lips met, but not in a kiss. No, definitely nothing as tame as a kiss. This was war between them, their mouths fused as if they were both firing shots over the bow in a take-no-prisoners stance. Hunger roared through his body, and an aching need to give her back just a tiny fraction of what she was giving him.
Then it was over. Angelina tore herself out of his embrace, and Alec watched as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, as if she was removing the taste of him from her lips. As if she could wipe out the memory the same way.
“Why did you do that?” she asked him finally.
“Because you wanted me to.” It sounded arrogant put that way, so he added, “Because I wanted to.”
“That is not true.”
“Which? That I wanted to kiss you?” One corner of his mouth twitched upward into an engaging grin. “I wanted to. Oh, yeah, I definitely wanted to, since the first moment I saw you.”
She shook her head. “Not that. You said I wanted you to kiss me. And that is not true.”
His grin faded and he held her gaze with his steady one. “Yes, you did,” he told her, accepting the truth even if she refused to acknowledge it. “You wanted to know what it would be like. We both did. And now we know.” And nothing will ever be the same again.
* * *
Aleksandrov Vishenko sat in his luxurious pied-à-terre in the heart of Manhattan, sipping at his snifter of Courvoisier L’Essence, pondering ways and means. He’d been contacted—through secure channels—by Prince Nikolai Marianescu, the king of Zakhar’s cousin. The cousin who’d failed so miserably eighteen
