The Russian Seduction (6 page)

Kostenko allowed this strategic retreat, thank God, because she needed a minute to reassemble her fractured poise. But at least she didn’t seem to be the only one who’d been disconcerted, since annoyance at the interruption made him scowl.

Extracting the flat silver phone from his pocket, he glanced at the display, then uttered a curt apology and flipped it open.

“Damn it, man,” he growled into the receiver. “What is it?”

While he handled the call, Alexis retrieved her pen and pulled herself together. He’d just been testing the waters, hadn’t he? Taking a sounding of her terrain, to assess how vulnerable she might be—a recent divorcee whose ex’s infidelities were public knowledge—to the same trick her team had just pulled on his. Or maybe Kostenko viewed her as a juicy bonus, a way to indulge his appetite for adventure while getting back in his government’s good graces

But she was no longer a starry-eyed kid, to be swept off her feet by a casual touch. God knew she’d done enough experimenting at Stanford during those four heady years of freedom when she’d thought—mistakenly, naively—that she’d broken free of her father’s smothering shadow.

She’d learned enough about herself in all those beds to figure out that sexual bliss for women was an urban legend. That the mechanical shock of climax was something she could induce in herself without the bother, the risk, the head-games of a seduction. She’d learned to barricade herself against the inevitable feelings of loss and abandonment that sucked at her once her casual flings were over. Above all, she’d learned not to rely on the temporary mirage of intimacy—that brief escape from the gnawing ache of solitude, when she cuddled with the guy for an hour or two afterward.

If she’d wanted a meaningful relationship, she would have had to cede control to someone else. She hadn’t cared to make herself that vulnerable.

So she understood that Victor Kostenko could offer her nothing more than a fleeting thrill, with the added fillip of danger thrown in. It was hardly worth losing her career over, no matter how strongly her sex-starved body reacted to his touch.

“I can’t come there now,” the captain growled into his phone. “For once, they’ll have to manage their crisis without me. I’ll eliminate the loose ends tomorrow.”

He snapped the phone shut, with another gruff apology for the interruption. Composed, Alexis extracted the documents from her briefcase and managed a wry smile.

“Careful, captain,” she murmured. “First an invitation to the ballet, and now suddenly you’re observing social courtesies. Much more of this, and I’ll suspect you of being human after all.”

“That would be a mistake, Ms. Castle.” He smiled, the convulsive tightening of his lips that didn’t denote humor. “I can see you’re determined to sandbag me with that damned demarche. Better do it now, before the intermission’s over.”

Though she couldn’t help feeling a bit off-balance—which had to be what he’d intended, right?—Alexis drew on her years of diplomatic experience and felt she made a credible job of it. The captain listened with narrowed eyes, accepted the U.S. documents with a flicker of scorn for the political niceties, and rapped out a few points in response.

Predictably, the Russians continued to deploy the fiction that their navy occupied Ukrainian waters while they conducted training exercises with the host nation. When in fact the Ukrainian president had declared the exercises over a week ago, and politely asked the Russians to get out.

As an aggravating factor, Ukraine’s reform-minded president was now threatening to expel the Russians from their shared Soviet-era naval base in Sevastopol if the blockade wasn’t broken. Clearly, little Ukraine was scared shitless, but Alexis privately considered the threat a mistake. Evicting the Russians from their rented base in Ukraine would eviscerate the Russian naval presence in the Black Sea—a blow Moscow would never tolerate.

Instead of dissuading the Russians with the threatened expulsion, Ukraine was forcing their hand.

Alexis jotted down Kostenko’s arguments, paying careful attention to the diplomatic hedge-words he pronounced with such disdain. Of course, the Russians were taking advantage of the fact that Ukraine wasn’t yet a NATO ally, despite strong U.S. support. Unfortunately for Ukraine, the European allies were reluctant to risk their troops on behalf of a struggling democracy with profound economic challenges. Not to mention an environmental disaster like Chernobyl still oozing radionuclides over broad swaths of its terrain.

By the time the lights dimmed for the second act, Alexis was satisfied that she’d carried out her instructions. Better yet, she’d made such a performance of passing the documents that no one watching could possibly construe this cozy
tete-a-tete
as anything but an official meeting.

Now she was itching to make her excuses and get out of there. She had a reporting cable to write, and she needed it on Geoff’s desk by start-of-business tomorrow to head off any more unsubtle hints about her precarious position. But Kostenko was just wrapping up, as if he’d timed it that way, when the curtain rose on the second act. Not
Swan Lake
as she’d thought, but rather
Giselle
, another classic ballet, the tragic tale of two lovers parted by death.

Her diplomat’s sense of dignity wouldn’t permit her to cause a disruption by rushing out like a frightened virgin just because he’d hit on her—especially when she distrusted his motives so thoroughly. Before leaving, she would send a strong message to Victor Kostenko: it would take far more than an inappropriate sexual come-on to disconcert or divert her.

Maybe she needed to prove something to herself as well. She’d never run away from a professional challenge. She’d certainly never needed to run from a man whose sex appeal held any danger of overwhelming her perennial self-control. And she damn well wasn’t going to start running now.

Even if she knew she was playing with fire. She’d been a woman playing in a man’s world her entire career. She’d always been able to handle the heat without getting scorched.

Though she’d seen the ballet before, Alexis had to admire the exceptional dancing, the breathtaking scenery, and the classic traditional choreography. As she tucked away her notebook, she paused to savor the unobstructed view—a novelty in the Bolshoi from any seat. Certainly her unruffled calm must be sending the right message, because Kostenko seemed to be keeping his distance.

I’ve proven my point. So I’ll leave in five minutes
, she decided, leaning forward to appreciate the live orchestra that gave voice to Adolphe Adam’s graceful melodies.

In her peripheral vision, the captain too seemed absorbed, his harsh features intent, the fingers of one hand idly tapping out the rhythms on his thigh. She’d read in his dossier that he was into classical music—God help her, extreme sports and classical music, a real Renaissance man. And of course he’d married a ballerina, though his ex danced in a different ballet company, and thus wouldn’t be performing tonight.

The ballet swept toward its sorrowful climax. In torment, the unfaithful mortal hero beheld the ghostly lover who’d killed herself over his betrayal, while she danced with other pale spirits among the moonlit tombstones. Alexis turned fully toward the stage, away from her companion, determined to prove her utter indifference to him—despite the edgy awareness she still couldn’t seem to shake.

Her senses snapped to full alert when he leaned in close behind her, measured breath teasing her neck.

“How would you describe the theme,” he whispered, “to one who hasn’t seen it?”

So much for her vaunted indifference. Tremors of unease rippled through her at his nearness: an aggressive global power that was her country’s greatest rival, and he was breathing down her neck. A sleepless eye that watched in the deep, a cunning predator with infinite patience—and now he’d fixed his sights on her.

“The theme of this ballet?” She held herself apart, and strove for a casual tone. “Lost love, I suppose, or something equally melodramatic. What else would it be?”

“Are you so indifferent to passion?” He uttered a soft laugh. “As for myself, I think the theme is longing…for the physical consummation of love.”
Whisper-light, his lips brushed her nape and lingered there, caressing. Even as the shock of his touch jolted through her, a shudder of raw pleasure rippled along her nerves, turning her bones to water, dancing like tongues of fire over the fine hairs along her body. As the intimate darkness embraced them and the violins moaned, the deep throb of oboes and bassoons vibrated through her blood.

My God, I’m in way over my head here.
She gripped her elbows with shaking hands.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, captain?” she whispered.

“The hell if I know,” he murmured against her skin, stirring tendrils of her hair. “Last night I concluded that you’ve been positioned by your government to compromise me—since it worked so well the last time, with my unfortunate predecessor. I’ve been cautioned that a prudent man would refrain from springing for the bait, no matter how… enticing it may appear.”

He paused. “But I’ve never been known for being prudent. As you’ve undoubtedly read in my dossier, Counselor.”

“According to your dossier,” she said huskily, striving to regain her footing, “you’re an adventure junkie. You’ve never met a risk you won’t take. Isn’t that right, captain?”

“While you’re a model diplomat whose conduct in country is invariably flawless,” he breathed. “However, I find continuing to address you as ‘Counselor’ while I’m inhaling your fragrance is something of a stretch, even for a man of my considerable talents. Alexis…may I call you this?”

“Do you really think I’m such an easy mark?” she countered softly, far too conscious of his breath teasing her skin. “This is about retaliation, isn’t it? A little diplomatic ‘tit-for-tat’ for the stunt we just pulled on you.”

“Don’t you think that would be a bit obvious, even for my government? You would be the very last woman I’d target, for precisely that reason,” he said calmly. “And you can believe I’m the last man they’d use. I’m in disgrace, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Then why am I here?” she whispered.

Though she had to admit his arguments made a certain degree of sense. Russian ops usually
were
quite a bit more subtle. They were experts at the art of deception. Besides, Victor Kostenko didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who’d perform sexually on demand, for the Motherland or anyone else.

“If you require a justification you can cable back to Washington, tell them tonight was about dialogue.” His warm breath on her neck receded as he straightened. “Opening a back channel for communication between our countries, yes? If we…enjoy one another’s company in the process, this is not a crime.”

Tell that to her boss, who’d just been booted out. Or to his, who’d just been fired.

Sure and strong, his hands closed over her shoulders. “The performance is ending, Alexis. I’m going to take you someplace else now.”

“You know we can’t do that,” she said sharply, alarm flashing through her. “Besides, there’s really no point to prolonging this appointment. I believe we’ve each accomplished our meeting objectives.”

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured, accent thickening.

“In fact, we shouldn’t even be here—”

“Sshhh.” He sounded amused, damn the man, as he chided her for making noise in the theater.

“Captain,” she said firmly. “I have a cable to write.”

“Tsk, tsk. I really should be offended, Counselor. Evidently, you’d prefer an evening at your desk composing a reporting cable to another hour in my company, despite all my efforts to impress you.” He squeezed her shoulders, as if that would settle her right down. “Wait here.”

He wouldn’t wait for her assent—knew she wouldn’t accede to this clandestine ‘dialogue’ he claimed to want. He was breaking every rule in the book, though she could tell herself she’d been swept along by the moment, that he’d given her no choice. But that would be a cop-out, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t seize control if she refused to cede it. Yet she hated the thought of running from a challenge, giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her.

Or was something else going on in her devious brain? She’d have to be pretty naïve not to acknowledge, at least to herself, the way her body reacted when he touched her. She was a healthy, thirty-two year old woman who’d been celibate a bit too long, but her sex drive had picked a pretty inconvenient moment to reassert itself.

While Kostenko retrieved her coat, Alexis recited in her mind the top ten list of reasons why she wouldn’t be going anywhere with him. Anyhow, if seduction was his strategy, where could he possibly take her?

To his place, wherever that was, past the security cameras and the all-knowing eyes of his concierge? To some thousand-bucks-a-night, Russian Mafia-run hotel where the staff knew him by name, where he’d taken countless other girls who were as intrigued by him as—admittedly—she was?

Or even worse, a guaranteed disaster, did he expect her to initiate the protracted administrative procedure necessary to clear him into the Embassy compound, where her townhouse was? God, her shiny Foreign Service career would be in shreds by sunrise if she tried that.

Given her rank and his, it would make the
Washington Post
, front page above the fold on a slow news day. She could already see the headlines:
U.S. Embassy Official Compromised in Liaison with Senior Russian Officer.
And then, in smaller print:
Involvement of Moscow Intelligence Organs Suspected.