Page 6 of Exacting Vengeance

Gently, he touched two fingers to the side of her face, just below her eye where the last of the bruise was still visible. For a long moment, Alex stared at the purple marks, then their eyes met. In his, there was understanding. Remorse.

He knew.

Alex knew what she’d been going through, and she felt ashamed. She pulled his hand away from her face, but held fast to his fingers. “Please. Don’t,” she whispered.

“Don’t what?” In slow increments, as if he were giving her a choice, he leaned in closer. His golden gaze dipped a fraction to her lips.

Did she want him to kiss her? God help me, yes.

Parting her lips would be an open invitation. She parted her lips.

The contact was gentle as his warm lips feathered over hers, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine that she’d never experienced before. She took a deep breath, expecting, hoping he would deepen the kiss.

With a groan, he clenched his jaw and turned away. He pulled their locked hands below the water’s surface and threw a quick glance at the yacht. A moment later, he released her hand but not before giving it a squeeze.

Viktoria could practically see the emotional guardrail he’d thrown up. Part of her was disappointed, but it was better this way, and they both knew it. She shouldn’t get to know him. What good would it do? Nothing could ever happen between them. Yuri and his friends all had mistresses, but she could never be like that, and Yuri would never tolerate it. “We should probably be getting back.” Before Yuri woke up and discovered she wasn’t on the yacht.

“Yeah. Probably.” He exhaled. “In a minute.”

When he turned and touched her face again, his nostrils flared and his lips parted slightly. If he wanted to finish what they’d started, she’d be a willing participant.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat and stood. “We should go.”

During the swim back, she couldn’t ignore the one, all-consuming thought taking up every square inch of her brain: Alex Tarankov made her want something that had been missing in her life for years.

Life, itself.

Chapter Four

Moving forward, avoiding Viktoria Petrova as much as possible was Alex’s plan. He’d barely touched her lips with his. Now it was all he could think about. How her breath had fanned his face like a warm feather, the brief taste of her lips tantalizingly sweet. He was on the brink of doing something supremely stupid, and he had to pull back.

Over the last few months, he’d seen her across the room at one event or another. He’d kept his distance, adeptly avoiding having to speak with her, but it had been impossible not to notice the occasional bruise marring her soft, creamy skin. If he could maintain his cover and whisk her away from Yuri Petrov, he would. But again, she wasn’t his business and wasn’t part of the undercover op.

If only Yuri hadn’t ordered him to escort her to Novikov’s New Year’s Eve party. To keep an eye on her, he’d said, while he took care of some business. What business, he wouldn’t say, leaving Alex wondering if it had anything to do with another kidnapping. Whatever was keeping him from attending Novikov’s annual bash had to be important.

A bad feeling overtook him as he turned into Yuri’s driveway. He noted the ridiculous number of motion sensor lights that flicked on every few feet. Yuri had told him the entire property was wired, except for the inside of the house. But only because he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

He parked in front of the garage and tapped his fingers on the wheel. How long had it been since Diane died? Two years and counting. In all that time, Viktoria Petrova was the first woman he’d thought about. On any level, let alone one that was interfering with his mission. Fate was playing a dangerous game with him.

Alex’s supervisor—Mike Morrison—told him his confidential informant was attending the banquet. This CI hadn’t been returning Mike’s calls, and the guy was their only source of intel on the kidnapping-murder scheme. That was a lead Alex couldn’t pass up.

Several feet before he’d gotten to the front door, the overhead light came on. He rang the doorbell and heard a series of musical gongs. When the door opened, Viktoria’s face was flushed. On her normally pale complexion the color made her even more beautiful.

“Hi,” she said, smiling shyly. She was glowing, vibrant. It was a look he hadn’t seen in the months since he’d gotten to know her a little better. It was also the first time he’d been around her when Yuri wasn’t. “Come in,” she said.

As he went inside, he noted yet another fading bruise on her cheekbone. He ground his teeth, resisting the urge to punch the wall in lieu of Yuri’s face. “You look great,” he said. To him, she did. A modestly cut maroon cocktail dress hugged her body in all the right places. Unlike the other women in Bratva circles, the only jewelry she wore were tiny pearl studs in her ears.

“No, I don’t. Did Yuri order you to flatter me all night? You don’t have to, you know. I won’t rat you out.”

“Those were my words, not his.”

A near-smile lit her face again, and his heart constricted painfully. He’d bet money Yuri never complimented her about her looks or anything else.

She tucked a strand of thick gold hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” She gave him a look that said she was truly sorry, but he hardly noticed. He was gone, lost, sinking into the entrancing blue whirlpool of her eyes.

“Forget it,” he managed to choke out. “C’mon. Let’s go eat some of that expensive food Novikov’s paying for.” He held out his arm, serious about the food. She wasn’t eating enough.

She took one last look at herself in the hallway mirror, frowning, then removed the pearl studs from her ears and set them beside the laptop resting on the hall table.