Page 81 of Lethal Obsession

“Nice place.” It’s Alexei who eventually breaks the silence. His eye rakes slowly back up my bare legs and along my torso, until finally meeting mine. “Very nice outfit.”

“It’s just what I wear for practice. It’s hot now, and I don’t like using the air conditioner because the noise interrupts my playing, so . . .”

His smile widens as I speak, and I taper off when I realize I’m babbling. I’m horribly aware that hectic color is slowly rising up my neck.

“You do look hot.” Folding his arms, Alexei leans back against the table, still grinning. His movement catches the light, and I stare at the dark shadow at the edge of his bandanna.

“You’ve dyed your hair.”

Alexei lifts his chin in acknowledgment.

“And you’re not wearing your eye patch.”

He gives a wry tilt of his head.

“I didn’t know you ride a motorcycle.”

His lips twitch. “And now you do.” He props his hands on the table. “Are you going to come down the rest of those stairs, Ofelia?”

Oh, the way he says my name.

Low and rasping, pronouncing every syllable the Russian way: Ah-FAY-lee-yah.

I take the last few steps slowly, barely trusting my legs to carry me, grateful for the cool tiles beneath my feet. I sidle into the kitchen with my back to the sink and lean up against it, directly opposite him, my hands gripping the edge of the tiled counter hard enough to mark my fingers.

I realize, too late, that the movement pushes my breasts hard against the silk cami, clearly highlighting my hard nipples. Alexei’s blue eye drops to them like a laser. I fold my arms over myself, but not before I have the satisfaction of seeing his sharp intake of breath, the sudden hardening of his smile.

“Would you like something to drink?” My voice is slightly breathless. “Coffee or tea? I’ve got juice or wine . . . ?”

“It’s a bit early for wine, even for me.” Alexei hasn’t moved at all, and although his eye is on mine, there’s a dark edge to it that sends heat licking through my body as if he were already touching it. “Water is fine.”

I open the fridge and take out the carafe, horribly aware that my cami shorts barely cover my ass as I bend down to take a glass from the cupboard. When I straighten up, Alexei’s smile has disappeared entirely, and his eye has narrowed and darkened even more.

He doesn’t move when I put the glass on the table beside him, forcing me to be so close that my hand brushes his leather jacket as I pour. I lift the carafe, astonished I haven’t dropped it, given how much my hand is trembling.

When he doesn’t reach for the glass I pick it up and hand it to him.

“Thank you.” His fingers cover mine, remaining there long enough to turn my entire body to liquid fire before I slide my hand away again.

I back away from him like I’m in a drugged haze, pathetically grateful I have a counter to cling to. “I heard that you’re using a fake identity.” I swallow on the dryness in my throat.

Alexei inclines his head. “Ken Thompson, at your service.” He raises his glass, grinning wryly at my choked laughter. “It’s Mickey’s little joke. Ken Thompson was the primary creator of the original Unix operating system, back in the ’60s.”

I shake my head. “My brother and his geek jokes.”

“Yup. Him and Lars together are a dangerous combination when it comes to jokes.” I don’t miss the slight edge to his tone when he refers to Mickey and Lars together. “Anyway, for the next few months, at least, Ken Thompson it is.”

The next few months. A faint thrill goes through me.

“So you’re hiding out in Spain?” I know better than to ask why he can’t go back to the US. You don’t grow up in families like mine without knowing that when it comes to business, there are some questions it’s best not to know the answers to.

“Not in Spain, exactly.” Alexei crosses one long leg over the other. “More like anchored just off the coast. I’m here illegally, as a matter of fact. Came ashore on the tender in the early hours, before Spanish customs officials woke up.”

I laugh softly. “And the bike? Where did you get that from?”

“Lars was thoughtful enough to put a couple aboard for me.”

“Are you here in the Guapa, then?” I’m more than familiar with Alexei’s yacht, having seen a thousand photos of it on the Darkside.