WILD MEN OF ALASKA

chapter NINE

Kate had to take her opening.

Twice now she could have taken him out, sliced through his neck, cut open his belly, and yet she hadn’t.

What the hell was wrong with her?

His mind games had not worked.

Perry was innocent of all Sergei claimed. Sergei was the dirty one. The double agent. The killer. Not Perry. Never Perry.

Sergei reached for her, and she slid away, and then bounced back in easily. She could have sliced through the upper muscles of his thigh, but she didn’t. She growled in frustration as tears blinded her. Then he took her down. It was almost a relief to have him slam her hand to the hardwood, forcing free her grip on the blade.

He growled as he picked it up and looked at it. Then her. “Ivan made you this?” One arm was across her throat, his other hand locked around her wrist, while his body pressed her into the floor. “How the f*ck did you get one of Ivan’s kerambits?”

She flattened her lips. He growled again, deeper within his chest, sounding so much like the bear he’d been nicknamed by his enemies that fear scuttled up her spine. Still, she refused to answer.

She’d survived water-boarding. What could he possibly do to her?

The dare must have shone in her eyes, because he lost his last thread of control. No longer the cool predator, he was the untamed animal, and she was about to meet his wrath.

He stood and jerked her to her feet. Twirling her around and wrapping his arms around her middle, he hefted her onto his side. From this angle, with both his arms anchoring hers around the middle, and her feet to the side, she couldn’t get enough leverage to kick out at him. She squirmed as he mounted the stairs, hoping to throw him off-balance. He squeezed those bands of muscled-steel tight enough around her ribs, preventing air into her lungs. Stars twinkled in her vision as she fought to breathe. Next thing she knew, he swung her onto the bed and followed her down.

Cursing in Russian, and keeping a tight hold of her, he opened the night table and pulled out a length of rope.

Did this guy have rope planted in every room?

“No,” she gasped as he looped an end over her wrist and tied it to the log bedpost.

“No is too late,” he gritted out, grappling for her other hand as she fought and bucked under him to no avail. He quickly had her other hand tied to the opposite bedpost. He tested the knots, seeming satisfied with her spread before him.

“I vant to see you escape these,” he taunted. His dark eyes were mere slits in his chiseled face. His jaw was a rigid line of verdict, and his nostrils flared with exertion. A final growl and he crawled off her.

He didn’t speak as he stalked into the bathroom. She heard water running, realizing when a drawer opened and closed with a slap, that he was bandaging the wound she’d inflicted on his arm. A seed of regret bloomed to life, and she did her best to stomp it out of existence. Pretty easy to do with her strung between bedposts like she was. While Sergei was cleaning himself up, she took stock of her situation.

The nylon rope was tight and strong, not giving her any leverage to even move off her back, the knots out of reach of her fingertips.

Sergei reentered the room, not looking any calmer, though no longer bleeding. His brows were a line of condemnation. A few short, determined strides and he was back at the side of the bed.

“Vhen you blame me for this, just know I vould never have treated you so given the choice.” He reached for her leg, and she kicked at him. “Don’t make me tie your ankles, too, Katja.”

Her heart pounded hard in her chest. She had to have her feet free or there was no chance of her ever getting away. Sergei fished his switchblade out of his pocket, and her muscles tightened up like wire. How had she forgotten that he still had that on his person? Why were her emotions flying so wild that she made costly mistakes like this?

Hello, she was currently tied to a bed with The Bear standing over her.

He flicked the knife open, climbed onto the bed, and straddled her hips. “Mel is going to kill me for ruining her sweater,” he muttered before slicing the cable knit from her body.

She lay there on the bed in her black bra. She’d gotten her breath back, but couldn’t draw air to save her life. His fingers grabbed a shoulder strap and sliced through it and the other, then he carefully slid the knife between the valley of her breast and cut through the middle of her bra, baring her breasts. They received a courtesy glance as though he couldn’t help himself, but it was the bra itself he was focused on. She squirmed underneath him and he squatted farther on his haunches, anchoring her lower body to the mattress.

He turned the modified bra over in his hands, his fingers searching and finding the other kerambit she’d hidden in place of the underwire. He arched a brow at her. “Ingenious. I don’t believe this is standard issue.”

She refused to speak. Not that he cared as he investigated further, mutilating the bra with the switchblade. He suddenly went very still, and she knew he’d found the tracking device.

He held up the small round disc the size of a quarter that had been in place of a nipple cover. “Who is monitoring your movements, Katja?” he asked, his voice more deadly than she’d ever heard it.

A chill skittered over her skin and it had nothing to do with being bare from the waist up.

“I need you to answer me,” he said.

She met his eyes. “Go to hell.”

He stared at her for a very long time. She glared silently back at him. Finally, he dismounted her hips and got off the bed. Crushing the homing device with the blunt end of his switchblade on the end table, he slipped the knife back in his pocket, and examined the remains, making sure they were no longer in working order.

Slowly he turned back to her, his hot gaze traveling over her body, her nipples hardened because of the cool air, not because of the intense scrutiny of his eyes.

“Vhat else are you hiding?”

He smoothed his hand over her knee, down to her calf to her ankle. Her muscles jerked in her legs as one by one he rolled down her socks and inspected them. He tossed the socks to the floor, and then leaned over her and released the button to her jeans.

“Don’t,” she said, the word more of a dare than a warning.

He met her eyes for a moment, and then they flicked down to her waist as he lowered her zipper.

“Sergei.” She hated the want laced within his whispered name and prayed he hadn’t heard it.

He shut his eyes, and then tossed his tousled black hair out of them. Both of his hands fisted around the fabric at her hips, and he yanked off her jeans in one hard move.

She’d gone commando.

He cursed. It didn’t matter what language he’d sworn in, she knew that word, but somehow he made it sound more dark and seductive than it should have been.

Heart pulsing in her throat, she’d never felt as naked as having this man strip her bare.