Chapter 44 Aleksandr
ALEKSANDR
"Awoman with an expensive car" in that small town. The words echo in my head long after Danil leaves to make calls. I stand at my office window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and white, my mind working through possibilities like a chess player calculating moves.
Lena sits curled in the leather chair near my desk, her legs tucked under her, still wearing that green sweater that makes her eyes look almost black.
She's been quiet since Danil dropped the news about John Davis, her fingers worrying the hem of her sweater, and I want to cross the room and still her hands with mine.
"We need to go to Montana," I say, turning from the window. "Talk to Davis directly."
Her head snaps up. "We?"
"You're coming with me." I move to my desk, already pulling up flight schedules on my laptop. "I don't trust leaving you here unprotected while I'm gone."
She stands, moving toward me with that graceful walk that makes my cock stir. "You think whoever killed Pavel might come after me?"
"I think we don't know enough to rule it out." I close the laptop. "We leave tomorrow afternoon. Pack warm clothes."
"You're very bossy when you're being protective." But there's no heat in her words, just something that sounds almost like affection.
"I'm very bossy all the time." I catch her wrist as she passes, pulling her between my legs where I'm leaning against the desk. "You just notice it more when it's about keeping you alive."
Her hands rest on my shoulders, and the touch sends electricity through me. "What if Davis recognizes you? Really recognizes you, not just suspects?"
My hands find her hips, feeling the curve of her waist through the soft cashmere. "He's retired, not active. And he's asking questions about Pavel's death, which means he's suspicious too. Enemy of my enemy and all that."
She laughs, the sound low and warm. "You're going to make an alliance with a former FBI agent?"
"I'm going to have a conversation with a man who might have information I need." I pull her closer until her thighs press against mine. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Her fingers slide into my hair, and I have to fight the urge to strip that sweater off her right here in my office.
"Sometimes." I stand, forcing her to step back. "Go pack. I have a meeting with my lieutenants in an hour."
She studies my face for a long moment, those midnight blue eyes assessing me, then she nods and walks out of the room, her tight little ass swishing from side to side, making my mouth water.
The meeting happens in my private conference room. Ronnie sits to my right, his brown eyes sharp and focused. Two other captains flank him, both men I've known for over a decade.
Danil stands near the door, arms crossed over his massive chest, watching everything.
"Tell me about Yuri's finances," I say, skipping pleasantries.
Ronnie slides a folder across the table. "We traced his bank records going back six months before the Montana… trip. Regular cash deposits, always under ten thousand to avoid triggering reports. They total just under two hundred thousand."
I flip through the statements, noting the pattern. Every Tuesday, like clockwork. "Source?"
"Offshore account. We're still working to trace it, but whoever set it up knew what they were doing. Multiple shell companies, different jurisdictions, the works."
"Professional." I close the folder. "Not some amateur with a grudge."
"Agreed." Ronnie leans back in his chair. "This took planning. Resources. Someone with serious money and patience."
My mind goes immediately to Katya Rostova. She has the motive, the money, and the patience. But something doesn't fit. The woman in the hotel footage had auburn hair, and Katya's is darker. Could be a wig, but why bother with that level of disguise if she's already using an offshore account?
"I want increased security on all my properties," I say. "Double the guards, rotate shifts so no one gets complacent. And I want eyes on Katya Rostova. Where she goes, who she meets, every phone call she makes."
"Already done," Danil says from his position by the door. "She's been quiet since the party. Too quiet."
"Yeah, that's what concerns me." I stand, signaling that the meeting is over. "Someone tried to kill me and failed. They're either regrouping or they think I'm too distracted to see the next move coming."
"Are you?" one of the other captains asks. "Distracted?"
The question hangs in the air, and I know what he's really asking. Is Lena a weakness? Am I compromised?
"I'm focused on finding who betrayed me and making sure it doesn't happen again." My voice drops to that quiet tone that makes men nervous. "Anyone who mistakes that focus for distraction will learn otherwise. Permanently."
The captain nods quickly, and I see him swallow hard. Good. Fear keeps people honest.
After they leave, Danil lingers. "You didn't tell them about Montana."
"They don't need to know my movements." I pour vodka for both of us. "The fewer people who know where I am, the safer we are."
"And Lena?"
"Comes with me." I drain my glass. "Non-negotiable."
He studies me for a long moment. "You're in love with her."
The words hit like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I want to deny it, to laugh it off, to remind him that men like me don't fall in love. But the lie won't come.
"That's a problem," I say instead.
"Why?" He takes his vodka in one swallow. "Because she's Lena Orlova? Because you ordered the hit on her? Or because loving someone makes you vulnerable?"
"All of the above." I refill both glasses. "Take your pick."
"For what it's worth, I think she's good for you." He sets down his glass. "You're different with her. Better."
"Better doesn't keep you alive in this world."
"Maybe not." He moves toward the door. "But what's the point of staying alive if you're just existing?"
He leaves me with that question and a bottle of vodka that suddenly seems very appealing.
Hours later, I find myself outside Lena's door. It's past midnight, and I should let her sleep. Should give her space and time and all the things a decent man would offer.
But I've never been decent, and right now I need to see her more than I need my next breath.
I knock once, then enter without waiting for permission. She's standing by her dresser, folding clothes into a small suitcase. She's changed into sleep pants and a tank top, and the sight of her bare shoulders makes my mouth go dry.
"I could have been naked," she says without turning around.
"If only." I close the door behind me, engaging the lock. "Need help packing?"
"I've been packing my own bags for twenty-six years." But she's smiling when she finally looks at me. "I think I can manage."
I cross the room in three strides, backing her against the dresser. My hands bracket her hips, caging her in, and I watch her pupils dilate. "What if I want to help anyway?"
"Then you're just looking for an excuse to be in my room." Her hands come up to rest on my chest, and even through my shirt, her touch burns.
"I don't need an excuse." I lean down, my mouth finding the curve of her neck. She tastes like soap and something uniquely her, and I can't get enough. "I want you."
Her breath catches. "Aleksandr."
I lift her onto the dresser, stepping between her thighs. Her legs wrap around my waist automatically, pulling me closer, and the heat of her core against my cock makes me groan.
"We shouldn't," she whispers, but her hands are already pulling at my shirt, yanking it free from my pants.
"Probably not." I capture her mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and barely controlled violence. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare," she growls, then bites my lower lip hard enough to sting.
I strip her tank top off in one smooth motion, and the sight of her bare breasts brings my cock to full attention. I palm them roughly, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they harden into tight peaks. She arches into my touch, her head falling back against the mirror.
I growl, leaning down to take one nipple into my mouth. She tastes like salt and heat, and the sounds she makes go straight to my dick, skittering along my nerves along the way.
Her hands fumble with my belt, and I help her, shoving my pants down just enough to free myself. I'm already hard, already aching, and when I slide my hand between her thighs, I find her soaking wet.
"Fuck, Lena." I circle her clit with my thumb, watching her face as pleasure builds. "You're so ready for me."
I position myself at her entrance and thrust home in one hard, smooth stroke. We both groan at the sensation, the perfect fit of our bodies.
I set a punishing pace, driving into her hard enough that the dresser bangs against the wall with each thrust. She meets me stroke for stroke, her hips rolling against mine, taking everything I give her and demanding more.
"Look at me," I command, and her eyes snap open. "I want to see you when you come."
She holds my gaze as I reach between us, finding her clit and rubbing tight circles. Her inner muscles start to flutter, and I know she's close.
"That's it, baby. Let go."
"Only if you come with me," she gasps out breathlessly.
Those words almost make me come that second.
For answer, I grasp her hips tighter and increase my pace.
"Now!" she cries out. Her inner walls pulse along my cock, milking it, and I can't hold off any longer even if I wanted to.
I let go with a growl, sinking as deep as possible inside her.
She squeezes her legs even tighter around my waist, holding me there while my body pulses and I shudder with the exquisite pleasure.
When I can breathe somewhat normally again, I lift her off the dresser and carry her to the bed, laying her down gently before climbing in beside her.
She curls against my side, her head on my chest, and I pull the covers over us both.
"I'm not the same man who ordered the hit on you," I say quietly into the darkness. "But I'm not entirely the man Sasha from the cabin, either."
She's quiet for so long, I think she might have fallen asleep. Then her hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. "Who are you, then?"
"Something in between." I press a kiss to her hair. "I'm trying to figure that out."
"Let me know when you do." Her voice is already heavy with sleep.
I hold her as her breathing evens out, as she drifts into sleep, still pressed against my side. The moonlight streams through the window, painting her face in silver, and I realize with absolute certainty that I'll do whatever it takes to keep her.
It's not just about her safety anymore. It's not about protecting an asset or maintaining appearances or any of the logical reasons I've been telling myself.
I've fallen in love with her.
I'm in love with Lena Orlova, and that scares the shit out of me.