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“Everything to your satisfaction, ma’am?” he asks.
“This will do.” I take a hundred from my purse and slip it into his hand.
“Why, thank you, ma’am.”
“Please put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door on your way out,” I order.
“Yes, ma’am.”
When the door closes behind the bellboy, Yan and Ilya work fast. They use the hammers in their tool belts to crack open the crate while I inspect the suite. There’s no one hiding inside and no cameras I can detect. I take the handheld scanner Yan has zipped up under his jacket to check for bugs and transmitting devices. By the time I’m done, the twins have leaned the painting on the wall in the living room and discarded the crate on the balcony, making sure they’ve left the sliding door unlocked.
“It’s clean,” I say when the scanner light comes up green.
“We’re out of here,” Ilya announces, moving to the door.
Yan grips my hip, hesitating. “Take off the glasses,” he says in a strained voice. “I want to see your eyes.”
The request unbalances me. It throws me out of my role, and when I remove the sunglasses and place them on the coffee table, I’m Mina. I’m Yan’s. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, an instinctive knowledge of belonging passing between us.
Checking his watch, Ilya says, “We have to go.”
There’s nothing Yan can say without jinxing the operation, certainly nothing like, “It’ll be fine,” or, “I love you.” Love was never part of the plan. My heart aches knowing I’m inevitably going to hurt him, but it’s a new love, a young love. He’ll get over it. He’ll carry on, maybe find someone less damaged to care about. And yes, I want that for him. I want him to be happy. God knows, he had little enough of happiness growing up.
With a squeeze, Yan lets go. Ilya smiles at me before exiting into the hallway. Yan follows in his brother’s steps, but stops in the frame.
“Go.” I wave him out. There’s no time for second thoughts. Timing is everything. The hotel security will already be waiting in the elevator.
He gives me one last look laced with something like longing and uncertainty, and then he’s gone. The door closes with a click, locking me into silence.
Right away, my body tingles with energy, like it always does on a mission. It’s the adrenaline. Yet despite the physical high, I’m calm and focused. The job makes me feel like I have a purpose other than being Yan’s sexual distraction. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to get back into action until now.
It only takes me a moment to assume my role again. I straighten my dress and check my lipstick in the mirror. I’m pushing a curl behind my ear when the knock I expect sounds on the door. Donning my sultry face, I open the door to an entourage of men in dark suits. Dimitrov stands in the center, flanked by two bodyguards with earpieces and holstered guns. A short man with gold-rimmed glasses and mousy hair hovers on his left. With his willowy frame and pinstriped suit, he stands out from the rest of the muscled, black-clad clan.
He must be the art expert.
“Right on time.” I hold out a hand. “I appreciate a punctual man.”
Dimitrov’s murky-brown eyes zoom in on me like I’m the piece of art up for auction. “Miss Petrova.” He kisses my hand, sneaking some tongue into it. “I’m ecstatic that my manners please you.”
The wetness of his slimy tongue sends an internal shiver of repulsion through me, but I hide it behind a smile. “I can’t wait for us to do business.”
The hunger on his face is savage and blatant. “Then I have to offer my excuse for making a lady like yourself wait while my men sweep the room.”
I step aside. “Please tell your men to go ahead.”
As agreed, two guards enter the suite to check for bugs, wires, and weapons. A third pats me down after Dimitrov apologizes for the disrespectful but necessary treatment. I hold my breath as the guard sweeps his palms over the body pads on my hips and around my thighs, but they’re good quality. The porous material is designed to absorb body heat. Through clothes, they feel as warm to the touch as skin. The guards return from searching the bedroom and bathroom, giving Dimitrov a nod.
“The painting is there,” one of the men says on his way out.
My tone is seductive. “My turn.” I twirl a finger to indicate Dimitrov should turn around.
“Where is your bodyguard, Miss Petrova?” Dimitrov asks with a raised brow.
“Indisposed. And please, call me Natasha. If I may call you Casmir?”
“By all means, Natasha.” He lifts his arms with a mocking smile. “Feel free to search me thoroughly.”
I don’t hesitate to pat him down. Natasha wouldn’t be shy to touch him. On the contrary. I linger near his groin. The touch almost makes me gag, but I do a good job of hiding it. He’s muscled. In good shape. His regard is sharp, his mind fast. He’d make a dangerous opponent in any combat.
