Chapter Nine

O h. My. God.

Mia’s heart thundered as Nik’s large hand raked through the wet strands of her hair, fingers tightening, pulling, forcing her head back, as his tongue plunged into her mouth. It wasn’t the kiss of a gentleman; it was a rogue’s kiss. One full of heat, dominance and experience.

Nik Valentine knew how to kiss a girl into oblivion.

Heat streaked through her body, and he was definitely helping her warm back up in more ways than one. Kissing him back, needing more, Mia curled her fingers into his shirt and pulled. Nik climbed over the side, joining her in the tub fully-clothed, and the water rose precariously.

Their mouths never broke apart. He continued to plunder, taste and explore. The tub wasn’t huge, and he managed to wedge a knee against her hip and the other between her legs. When his knee pressed against her center, she whimpered.

He tasted like spearmint gum and even in her addled state, her brain latched onto the fact that he hadn’t smoked since they’d arrived in Russia. Mmm. She loved the way his mouth devoured hers. She’d never been kissed so thoroughly. In fact, she hadn’t been kissed in years. The last guy she’d kissed had been—oh, God, she couldn’t even remember, all memories of him vanishing as a large hand covered her breast. Her brain nearly short-circuited. Nik’s touch lit her up like the Fourth of July and she arched into his palm, ready to blast off like a bottle rocket. He squeezed her breast through the thin barrier of fabric, massaging and plucking her pebbled nipple.

The kiss seemed to go on forever and Mia hoped it would never end. She couldn’t get enough. The slide of his tongue against hers, the way he explored her mouth, drinking deeply, left her panting. Her body grew desperate, and when she rocked her hips, rubbing her pussy against his planted knee, Nik jolted back, as though struck by lightning.

Dazed, she watched him scramble backward and climb out of the tub, nearly slipping in his haste. “Nik—”

He exhaled a sharp breath and stood there on the bathmat, dripping water. “That shouldn’t have happened,” he rasped.

Mia’s gaze dropped to the huge bulge straining against his zipper and licked her lips, eyeing it. Obviously, his cock disagreed. He seemed ready to play.

His brows drew together in a fierce scowl and he turned away. “Finish your bath.”

Before she could say another word, he stormed out. Letting out a sigh, she wondered what she did wrong.

◆◆◆

Ignoring his dick’s response to Mia, Saint stomped into the living room and glowered at the fireplace. He needed to remember who exactly she was and why he was holding onto her. The one and only reason he had stolen Mia Carlisle away from that parking lot was because her father was his enemy and his team planned on using her to catch the bastard.

Simple and straightforward, and definitely no reason for his dick to get involved. No reason at all , he reminded his unruly cock, palming it through his jeans. Whatever had happened in that bathroom, he had to squash it. Immediately.

“Nik?”

“Oh, Christ,” he grumbled, swiping a hand through his cropped hair, and forcing himself to turn back to the bathroom. This had to be the world’s worst kidnapping and the Universe was laughing at him. Mia stood in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, light and steam outlining her pale form like the sexiest angel he’d ever seen.

“I, ah, need some clothes,” she said softly.

Right. Yes, for the love of God, get the woman some clothes. Without a word, he stalked over to the bedroom and walked to the one closet, hoping and praying there was something in there she could wear since their bags were still with Dmitri and Lev’s corpses. Otherwise, she’d be prancing around in that blasted towel until her other clothes dried, and he didn’t think he’d be able to take it.

A coat hung on a hanger, but that was it. Stifling a groan, he turned around and zeroed in on a dresser.

“Anything?” Mia asked, and he glanced over his shoulder. She stood there in her bare feet looking unsure and so damn beautiful.

Gritting his teeth, he yanked the top drawer open and saw a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. Slava Khristu. Pulling them out, he walked over to her and shoved them into her hands. “Here. Put this on.”

“Nik?” She sounded so unsure, so hesitant.

“What?” he growled.

“You seem angry.”

Angry at himself maybe, sure. He never should’ve kissed her much less crawled into the tub with her and touched her the way he had. As if she belonged to him.

Swallowing hard, he shook his head. “I’m not angry,” he forced out. No, he was horny as hell. The temptation to rip that towel off her, pick her up and fuck her against the wall was nearly his undoing.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Why did it bother him that she sounded so unsure? He locked gazes with her and saw confusion swirling in her azure eyes.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he repeated, doing his best to sound cold and distant.

When she took a step closer, he froze. “I liked it,” she admitted softly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, his dick throbbed and he swallowed hard, telling himself to be the cold, indifferent bastard he was. “You’re not my type, Mia,” he said simply.

Her mouth fell open at the insult, but quickly snapped closed. Before she started yelling—or worse, crying—he moved past her, shoving the dry clothes into her hands. “I’m going to start a fire. Make sure you put your wet clothes near it so they can dry out.”

Embrace your inner bastard, he told himself. God knew, he was damn good at being the bad guy. Years of practice had honed his sarcasm into a lethal weapon.

Back in the living room, he gathered some kindling and used his lighter to start a fire. After arranging the logs, he got a good blaze going and sat back, watching the flames flicker and crackle. But as much as he tried to focus on what to do next, he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft Mia’s lips were. How sweet she tasted. And, best of all, how responsive she’d been. She had initiated that unforgettable kiss, had boldly pulled him right into the damn tub, and he’d been helpless to resist.

Okay, that was a lie. He was far from helpless, but he’d liked every wet, thrilling moment. The way their mouths had fused together made his pulse leap.

He clamped his jaw shut, attempting to clear his thoughts. Time to get his wet clothes off. The fire felt good, but he needed a shower and to rub one out. Because his damn cock was so hard, it ached.

The soft pad of Mia’s bare feet pulled his attention, and he turned as she knelt down beside him in front of the fire, laying her wet clothes—including her black bra and panties—out on the brick hearth. The jogging suit was way too big on her, but at least she had clothes on now. Yet all he could see were those pretty puckered nipples, hard and perfect beneath her wet bra when they’d been in the tub. Fuck.

He jumped up as though the fire had burned him and mumbled, “Warm up. I’m going to take a shower.”

She didn’t say anything, and he hurried into the bathroom and closed the door before she could comment. If he didn’t get some goddamn relief, he was going to blow his wad in his underwear like some inexperienced kid.

◆◆◆

Mia stared at the fire, lost in thought. Nik’s rejection stung bitterly and doubts plagued her. Yeah, okay, maybe she shouldn’t have pulled him in for that steamy kiss, but her basic instincts had taken over. She had so many doubts when it came to her desirability and she’d never felt the kind of raw attraction he stirred up. He made her want to cast her inhibitions aside and get naked with him. Which was insane because she was a good girl. And Nik Valentine? He was a very, very bad boy.

It didn’t matter what she wanted, though, because he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested.

“You’re not my type, Mia.”

She’d be willing to bet she knew exactly the kind of woman who drew his attention—women like Nadia.

Her thoughts returned to the town square, where she’d made a wish while rubbing the nose on the bear statue. A wish to be more like Nadia—fierce, tough, strong. A woman Nik would be attracted to.

So much for that, she thought sourly.

What the hell was wrong with her? The man had taken her against her will and admitted his awful plan—to use her against her father. Clearly, it was a plan he and his team hadn’t thought out very well, because Chadwick didn’t give a shit about her.

Rubbing her temples with her fingertips, she knew she had no reason to be angry at Nik’s brush-off. She’d thought there’d been something there, a chemistry, but she was wrong. Now she felt like a desperate, stupid virgin.

It was embarrassing.

The cabin was small and she heard the water turn on as Nik began to shower. Images of his big, wet, naked body covered in endless ink filled her head and she let out a shaky sigh. She’d never met a man more rugged or brutally handsome. All grit and hard edges, and she knew he’d be a demanding lover. Not the kind of man a woman should want for her first time. He’d be rough, unrestrained and wild.

So why was the idea of Nik fucking her such a turn on?

“Wake up, Mia,” she chastised herself. She couldn’t trust Nik no matter how attracted she was to him. He planned on using her, so she had to be smarter and stay one step ahead of him. Standing up, she turned and looked over the small living room. Her attention fell on his leather jacket, and she walked over and slid her hand in the pockets. An empty pack of cigarettes, his lighter, a Swiss Army knife, spearmint gum…and the small key that opened the handcuffs.

Mia plucked the key out and tucked it into her sweatpants pocket. Just in case. She had no intention of being locked up again. From this point forward, she was going to stay one step ahead of Nik Valentine at all times.

◆◆◆

After showering and relieving his hard-on, Saint pulled on the plaid pajama pants he’d found in the dresser and took a deep breath before walking back into the living room. It was late and he was tired. He abruptly stopped when he saw Mia curled up on the floor in front of the roaring fire. It was much warmer out there than in the bedroom and he’d planned on sleeping on the couch. He supposed he could let her sleep on the couch if she wanted to stay by the fire.

Saint leaned down, scooped her up into his arms and laid her down on the couch. She didn’t even wake up, just sighed softly then drew her legs up to her chest. He reached for the blanket and covered her up. She looked so damn pretty and he studied her for a moment. Long lashes fanned her cheeks and her chest rose and fell with even breaths. Forcing himself to turn away, he went into the bedroom, grabbed the comforter and a pillow then returned to the living room.

After laying the bedspread on the floor, he stretched out on his back, scrunching the pillow under his head, and stared up at the ceiling. The fire crackled, lulling him to sleep, and it wasn’t long before he drifted off, dreaming of a beautiful blonde with eyes the color of a summer sky spread out beneath him.

Every couple of hours, he got up and added another log to the fire, making sure the room stayed warm. He also checked on Mia and she barely moved. Good girl. She needed to rest after the adventure they had earlier.

Saint had never been one to need much sleep and he was wide awake by five o’clock. He got up, used the bathroom and wandered over to look out the window. Flurries whipped around and the sky warned of an approaching storm. The last thing he needed was a damn blizzard. He had things to do today, starting with sneaking into Anton Petrov’s lair.

If Nadia had told him the truth—and she had no reason to lie—then Zaitsev and Alexei, one of her men, should be down in Petrov’s subterranean cells. Somehow, Petrov had found out about the Novichok and captured the former Russian chemist. Saint couldn’t let the Bratva get their hands on the deadly neurotoxin. The consequences would be disastrous.

Perm was twelve hours ahead of San Francisco, so Saint decided to call Braxton and fill him and the team in. Wandering into the bedroom so he wouldn’t disturb Mia, he hit Brax’s number.

“Saint,” Braxton answered in his no-nonsense voice.

“Hey, Pharaoh, we’ve got a problem.”

A heavy sigh filled the line. “What now?”

“According to my contact, the Bratva has one of her men and Ivan Zaitsev locked up at Petrov’s compound outside of Moscow.”

Brax swore. “You believe your contact?”

“I do. Plus, it might explain why Carlisle is here.”

“You can’t infil that compound alone. We’re coming out there.”

“I can,” he insisted, voice low, “and the fewer people, the better. Trust me, I know how to get in and out with no one the wiser.”

“What if you need backup?”

“Backup won’t help. Petrov has too many men for our small team to take on. The only way to do this is with stealth and speed. A lone operator. I’ll sneak in, grab Zaitsev and my contact’s man, then we can use Zaitsev and Mia as bargaining chips to catch Carlisle.”

For a long moment, Braxton didn’t say anything. Finally, he relented. “I’ll have Pyro get the jet ready for Moscow. If you change your mind about the team coming—”

“I won’t,” Saint said firmly.

“Roger. Good luck.” Brax must’ve known arguing with him was pointless.

“I’ll call you once we touch down in Moscow.” After disconnecting the call, Saint released a breath. Having Ex Nihilo go to Moscow wouldn’t help and only push things back. He needed to move now and do it alone. Besides, he had an ulterior motive for going without his team.

Saint wanted his revenge. A plan was coming together in his head and this was his chance to destroy the man who had initially embraced him as a child then turned him into a cold-blooded monster. Petrov had pretended to care, but he’d only used and abused him. After tossing him to the wolves and leaving him for dead, Saint had wound up in prison and began obsessing over revenge. One day, he knew he’d have the opportunity to wreak his vengeance.

That day was finally here.

After sending a quick message off to Nadia, he stepped back into the living room. He was surprised to see Mia up already. He watched her stretch like a cat, realize he was there, then openly stare at his bare chest.

“Good morning,” she murmured, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Morning,” he grumbled, heading to the small kitchen to search for coffee. He might be a grump without his nicotine, but he was a beast without caffeine. He lucked out and found some instant crap—not his first choice, but better than nothing. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

While she disappeared into the bathroom, Saint boiled some water, found two mugs and dumped a couple spoonfuls of instant coffee into each one. Mia appeared as he was pouring the hot water and she sat down at the small table. He set a mug in front of her, but didn’t sit. Instead, he propped a hip against the counter and took a sip of the much-needed caffeine.

She lifted her mug and blew on the steaming liquid, studying him closely. “Who is Petrov?” she asked.

“Russian Bratva,” he answered.

“And you think he wants that chemist to give him the neurotoxin you mentioned? What’s it called?”

“Novichok. And, I can’t let Petrov get his hands on it.”

“So, what’re you going to do?”

“Take care of it,” he said simply.

“By yourself?”

“No one knows Petrov’s compound better than I do.”

“And why’s that?”

“See all these tattoos?” He lifted his arms. “Marks from the Russian mafia. I used to be part of the Bratva, Mia. In case you haven’t guessed yet, I’m not a good guy. I’m d'yavol .”

His black eyes held her hostage as she cocked her head in confusion.

“The devil,” he translated.