Читать книгу His Christmas Assignment - Lisa Childs - Страница 11

Chapter 4

At that ski cabin in Northern Michigan, Candace had gotten her quota of quiet. She might have needed it then—the boring to outweigh the excitement she’d had and left. Now she needed noise, and it had to be loud enough to drown out the voice in her head that kept calling her an idiot.

She had found it at the downtown club. The music was so loud that it wasn’t heard; it was felt. It throbbed low in her body, beating as hard as her heart. But her heart hadn’t started beating that hard—that frantically—until she’d seen him.

On some level, she’d probably known Garek would be here—since Viktor Chekov owned the club. It was probably why she’d gone home and changed after she’d awkwardly stumbled into the middle of that conversation at the Payne Protection Agency. She’d told herself that she’d just wanted to look her best to make herself feel better.

But she’d wanted to make him feel bad.

As if Garek would care...

He hadn’t sought her out. And now she knew why. He’d reunited with the girl he’d loved since they’d been teenagers. Or so Logan thought. Stacy had denied her husband’s claim even though it was apparently what Garek had confided in him.

Logan had broken that confidence because he hadn’t wanted her wasting her time or her heart again—like she’d wasted it on him.

Yet here she was, wasting her time some more—coming down to a club to torture herself with the sight of Garek and his girlfriend. At least her martini was good. Over the rim of the glass, Candace studied them. They were a distance away since they sat at some raised-up, roped-off table near the dance floor and she sat at the crowded bar.

She’d been lucky someone had given up his seat to her. He’d even bought her martini. He stood near her now, his mouth near her ear as he tried talking to her. She couldn’t hear anything, and it had nothing to do with the music. It had everything to do with that voice in her head—the one that continued calling her names.

Tori Chekov was as beautiful as Candace had suspected she’d be. Petite. Curvy. With long curly blond hair. No one would treat this woman like one of the guys—or a buddy.

But Garek...

He wasn’t flirting and joking as he usually did. Instead he seemed tense, on edge—more cognizant of his surroundings than of the woman who sat beside him. He acted as if he was on a job—not a date.

But he looked like he could be dressed for a date. In a black shirt and pants, he looked dangerously sexy. His blond hair gleamed like gold under the strobe lights from the dance floor.

In Candace’s mind flashed the image of how she’d seen him last, lying naked in her bed, moonlight gleaming off his bare skin. He was almost too beautiful to be a man, but he was masculine, too—all toned muscle and chiseled edges.

How had she left him lying there alone? How had she just walked away?

But she hadn’t just walked. She’d grabbed her half-packed suitcase, and she’d run.

Garek continued his visual surveillance of the club—his attention on everything but the woman beside him. She knew he was assessing the entire building for possible threats like the vigilant bodyguard he was. In that assessment, he turned and his gaze met hers.

The air between them vibrated like the bass of the music. There was an electricity—a connection so overwhelming that she had that urge to run again.

And this time she needed to keep running.

* * *

“Damn it!” the words slipped involuntarily through Garek’s lips as he leaped to his feet.

One of Chekov’s goons reached beneath his jacket for his weapon. “Is there a problem? A threat?”

Tori reached out and grasped his arm. “What’s wrong, Garek?”

He shook his head and lied, “No problem...”

But he had a problem. She sat at the bar, her legs endlessly long and sexy beneath the short hem of her strapless dress. It was red and tight and so damn sexy that it was drawing every man in the club to her.

One of those men placed his hand on her bare shoulder, and Garek ground his teeth together as jealousy and rage coursed through him. He wanted to break every finger in that man’s hand for having the audacity to touch his woman.

Candace was his.

But he couldn’t stake his claim—not without risking her life when Garek put Viktor Chekov behind bars. Because even from behind bars Viktor would be dangerous—maybe even more dangerous because he would be out for vengeance.

And if he wanted to hurt Garek...

He was already hurting, every muscle tense with desire and fear for Candace. He had never wanted any woman the way he wanted her. And making love with her once had only increased the intensity of that desire to madness. His body throbbed with the need to be with her again—to be inside her—because now he knew how amazing it was. How amazing they were together...

“You want me to get rid of her?” a voice in his ear asked.

He touched his fingers, which shook slightly, to his earpiece.

“What?” he asked, fear gripping his heart in a tight fist.

“I can get rid of her,” the man offered.

Because the danger was real, he thought immediately she would be gotten rid of for good—forever. But then he remembered the man talking to him wasn’t one of Chekov’s hired goons. It was his brother’s voice in his ear, offering to help—not hurt.

Not that Candace wouldn’t get hurt. Hell, knowing Candace, Milek might get hurt, too, if he tried to get rid of her. The woman wouldn’t go anywhere unless she wanted to. She was stubborn and strong.

So why had she left him that night?

He wanted to know. Had to know...

“I’ll handle her,” Garek said, although he doubted he was any more capable than Milek of getting Candace to go anywhere she didn’t want to. As a former soldier and cop, the woman had skills. “I need you to watch Tori.”

Her hand tightened on his arm. “Nobody needs to watch me,” she said, her tone as waspish as it had been since he’d taken over as her bodyguard.

She hadn’t welcomed him back into her life. In fact he wasn’t sure from whom he had more to fear: her or her father. Viktor had accepted his explanation for why he’d stayed away after he’d been paroled. Tori wouldn’t even let him explain. She had barely spoken to him over the past two weeks—which was probably fortunate for him, given how nasty she sounded when she did speak to him.

“It’s for your protection,” Garek reminded her.

She pulled her hand away from his arm and sat back in her chair. He didn’t know why she’d wanted to come here. She didn’t dance. She didn’t drink. She didn’t even seem to enjoy the music. Hell, she didn’t seem to enjoy anything anymore. But then, had she ever?

He wasn’t sure if he ever remembered Tori Chekov being happy—even when they’d been younger. He hadn’t had the chance to be a kid; his father and uncle had recruited him into the family business at a young age. And then when his father had gone to prison, he’d gone to work for Tori’s father. She hadn’t had to work, though. Ever.

Her father made sure she had everything she wanted. So why wasn’t she happy?

But then Milek—finally—approached the table, and she actually smiled. “It’s great to see you. Come sit with me,” she implored him.

Milek slid past Garek to take the chair he’d vacated, and his brow was furrowed in bewilderment. Maybe Tori’s warm greeting had confused him since she’d never been that friendly to him before. Or maybe he was worried that Garek intended to speak to Candace.

He wanted to do more than speak to her. He wanted to do everything he’d done to her that night—over and over again. But she’d run from him.

She wasn’t running now—which was good, since it had taken Milek too long to take over for him on protection duty. And the club was crowded, so crowded he had to push his way through a crush of bodies to reach the bar.

For a moment he thought she’d slipped away, but then a man moved and he saw her sitting on that stool, her long legs crossed. She had painted her lips as red as her dress, and they were curved into a smile as she looked up at the man standing over her.

Garek’s blood heated with jealousy and anger. He’d arrogantly thought she had come to the club to see him. But what if she’d actually come here for a date?

He wouldn’t have brought her to a place like this. It was too loud. He would have taken her someplace quiet and intimate—like her bedroom.

He wanted to take her there now. He pushed forward and wedged the other man aside with his shoulder. His maneuver brought his thigh flush against hers. His body tightened with desire.

“Hey!” the guy protested.

Garek turned to him and for once he dropped the mask of humor and let his true feelings show. He also lifted his arm just enough to reveal the holster strapped beneath it.

The guy lifted his hands and backed up. “I had no idea she was yours. Sorry, man.”

“I am not his,” Candace called after the man.

But either he didn’t hear her or he didn’t believe her because he hurriedly disappeared into the crowd. Before turning toward her, Garek summoned the grin and the cocky attitude he had always shown her. “I just found out a few hours ago you were back,” he said casually, as if his heart wasn’t pounding erratically with each breath he took.

He stood so close to her that he could feel it when she breathed in; her breast swelled and pressed against his arm. “I wouldn’t have figured this for your first place to hit.”

She turned back to her drink, running her fingertip around the rim of the martini glass. “You don’t know me,” she said. “So how would you know what kind of places I frequent? Maybe I’m a regular here.”

In her sexy red dress, with her black hair fluffed up and her lips painted—she looked like the other female club patrons. But she wasn’t any more comfortable than he was in his undercover assignment. She visibly fought the discomfort though, lifting her chin as if she was ready to take a blow, and her brilliant blue eyes glared at him.

“I could be a regular,” she insisted.

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. He loved her prickliness. That was probably why he’d spent the past year provoking her—trying to get a reaction from her. Trying to get her attention. He had missed her. He’d missed her so damn bad.

“I know you,” he said. He’d made a point of learning everything about her—while being careful to reveal very little of himself to her.

She shook her head in denial. “No, you don’t. But I know you.”

She had to talk loud—because of the music. But there was still the danger that someone else might overhear her. It was better if no one knew how close they were. Or had been...

Nobody could know what she really meant to him. Not even her. So he lost the grin, and he drew on another mask—one of coldness. “If you actually knew me,” he said, “you would have known better than to show up here.”

“I didn’t show up here for you,” she said, her tone so disparaging he almost believed her.

He glanced toward the crowd into which the guy had disappeared. “That loser wasn’t your date, was he?”

She lifted her martini glass. “He bought me this.”

“So you’re just here to pick up guys?”

She shrugged her naked shoulders. “Why not?”

Because she belonged with him.

“So that’s why you came back to River City?” he asked. “To pick up strange men in bars?”

She glared at him again, her eyes narrowed. “You say that like you doubt I can.”

He hadn’t meant to challenge her. He knew she could pick up any man she wanted. Even him...

And he had no business letting her affect him. But his body ached with wanting hers. “I say that like I wonder why you’d want to,” he clarified.

“I think it’s safer picking up strangers than taking a chance on a man I know.” She sighed. “The men I know always disappoint me.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to point out she hadn’t given him a chance. For a year she had ignored him or fought with him. When he had finally gotten close to her, she had run from him.

“Maybe you didn’t really know them,” he said.

She met his gaze and held it for a long moment before nodding in agreement. “Maybe not...” She wriggled down from the stool, and her body pushed against his.

He remembered that night—remembered how close they’d been, nothing between them as skin had slid over skin. His breath caught in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. But he could hear the warning Milek uttered in his earpiece. “You have a problem.”

He’d already known that. But he glanced up and noticed Viktor had stepped from his back office into the heart of the club. If he saw Candace...

She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear and murmured, “Or maybe I’ve known them too well...”

He shook his head. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come back. You would have kept running.”

Anger flashed in her blue eyes. She didn’t deny, though, she had run.

He stepped aside, so that she could get past him. And he advised her, “Run, Candace, run...”

She called him a name no lady should even know. But she was Candace. She’d fought in a foreign country. She’d fought in her own country. She was the toughest woman he knew. But when she walked past him, he noticed the faint sheen in her eyes. He had hurt her, and he hated himself for hurting her. But instead of reaching for her, he curled his fingers into his hands and resisted the urge.

He had to let her go.

And go she did. Her head held high, her chin up, Candace walked past him as if she didn’t know him. As if she didn’t care...

Had she cared? Had whatever Stacy had said to her compelled her to come back? To try to help save him from himself, or from Chekov?

And had he just thrown away whatever chance he might have had with her?

Like he’d resisted reaching for her, he resisted watching her walk away. Instead he lifted his head and met Viktor Chekov’s gaze. The man had avoided prison for so many years because he didn’t miss anything. He knew how to find and exploit the weaknesses of his enemies.

Had he just discovered Garek’s greatest weakness?

* * *

Candace’s eyes stung. But it wasn’t with tears. It was the cold that was getting to her. While she’d retrieved her long jacket and winter boots from coat check, she still wasn’t warm enough. The winter breeze penetrated her jacket and chilled her to the bone.

She should have used the valet parking. But she’d wanted easy access to her vehicle in case she’d needed it. Two blocks and an alley away wasn’t easy access, though. She shivered and blinked. But it wasn’t against tears. She was blinking away snowflakes.

They fell heavily, wetting her hair and dampening her jacket—chilling her even more. But maybe it was Garek’s words and his attitude that had chilled her most.

He hadn’t wanted her to come back.

She’d tried to pretend that night had never happened. She hadn’t realized that he would want to pretend the same thing—until she’d looked into his face and seen no memory of their encounter in his eyes. He had looked at her as if he’d never seen her naked.

As if that night had never really happened...

Had it?

Or had she dreamed it all?

Garek Kozminski had her doubting herself all over again. She’d thought she’d known him so well. But maybe she did. Maybe that was why he’d pushed her away like he had. He didn’t want her too close.

Not because of Tori Chekov. Just like she hadn’t seen any memory of their night on his face, she hadn’t seen any love for that woman on his face. He had lied to Logan about his reason for working for Viktor Chekov again.

Why? What was he really doing for the gangster?

For the past year she’d been claiming he hadn’t changed—that he was still the criminal he’d once been. Of course she’d had no evidence to back up her suspicion. She wasn’t even sure why she’d been so desperate to believe the worst of him. Because he’d irritated and frustrated her? Because she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge or give in to the attraction she’d felt for him?

But maybe she had been right about him after all. Had he gone back to his old life in every way?

She stepped off the sidewalk to pass through the alley to where her car was parked on the other side—on another street. The snow was deeper between the buildings as were the shadows. Her boots slipped on the snow-covered asphalt, but she regained her balance, catching herself before she fell.

She uttered a little gasp of surprise and relief, grateful she hadn’t fallen. Despite her jacket and boots, she wasn’t dressed warmly enough to take a tumble in the snow. So she slowed her steps, moving more carefully as she continued into the alley.

Maybe the person behind her was moving just as carefully or maybe the snow had cushioned his footsteps—because she didn’t hear him until his shadow fell across her. She barely had a moment to reach for her purse, to fumble for her gun, before he attacked.

Her purse fell from her shoulder, dropping—with the gun still inside—into the snow. She couldn’t use it to protect herself. And with her limbs numb from the cold, she wasn’t certain she could move quickly enough to fight off her attacker. He was big, his hands strong—as they wrapped around her neck. She couldn’t see his face, though. He wore a ski mask, but it wasn’t in deference to the cold. It was as a disguise. So she couldn’t identify him.

Why had he bothered? It was apparent he had no intention of letting her live.