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“Where’s Raketa?”
“Still in bed.”
“You let her stay there alone?”
Gunner spun around from the coffeemaker. “You don’t get to think about her in bed. In fact, don’t say another word about her. Not even her name.”
“That’ll make it tough for me to give you the solution to her problem.”
“Don’t dick with me.”
“Since you are, essentially, my boss, I’ll go ahead and tell you how the woman whose name I am forbidden to mention can get United Russia to let her go.”
“If you’re going to suggest Kuznetsov as a bargaining chip, forget it. She won’t go for it and neither will I.”
“Not to mention that Whittaker would skin me alive.”
Gunner would think about why everyone but him seemed to know about Shiv and this woman later.
“Get to the point.”
“I’d rather wait for…you know who. She was the one who made me think of it in the first place.”
Did this man not realize how much closer he came to death with every word he spoke?
Gunner growled in his direction and went back down the hallway to rouse Raketa.
“Good morning,” she said, stretching her arms over her head, causing her nipples to pop out from under the sheet. Gunner couldn’t help himself from taking a taste.
She ran her fingers through his hair. “I am in a surprisingly good mood today, considering I have a five million dollar bounty on my head and, in addition to that, my own father wants to kill me.”
“About that. The asshole in the kitchen says he has a solution. Something he said you made him think of in the first place.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“By the way, I made sure he wasn’t going to suggest Kuznetsov.”
The smile left Raketa’s face, but she didn’t look sad. “I love you so much, Gunner.”
He covered her mouth with his, demanding his tongue’s entry, and kissed her hard. “So much” didn’t scratch the surface of the depth of his feelings for her.
He broke away from their kiss and pulled her from the bed. “Put this on,” he said, tossing her a robe.
“Does every house on every island in America come with one of these?” she asked as she tightened the robe’s belt around her waist.
—:—
“Azarpassillo,” Striker said when she and Gunner walked into the kitchen.
“What about it?” Gunner asked.
“There’s your answer.”
Raketa stepped between the two men. Why did Striker insist on pushing Gunner’s buttons?
“You don’t think United Russia wants that money flowing their way instead of Petrov’s? We’re talking billions of dollars. Why do you think Petrov is so anxious to get his hands on your money?”
“He has to prove to the Iranians he has enough capital to get the deal done.”
