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knowledge that she came on to my boss leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It shouldn’t matter. Esguerra’s always been a chick magnet, and I’ve never minded that. It amuses me, in fact, the way women throw themselves at him, even when they suspect what he’s really like. Even his new wife—a pretty, petite American girl he kidnapped almost two years ago—seems to have fallen for him. It’s only logical that Yulia would try for him—or at least that’s what I told myself as I watched her eye Esguerra all through the meeting.
    If she wanted him, she was welcome to him.
    Except he didn’t want her . It surprised me, that last part, even though over the past two years I haven’t actually seen him hook up with any woman. He would just go to his private island all the time. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I learned he kept his American girl there, the one he ended up marrying. The girl—Nora—must’ve been taking care of his needs all along. Must still be taking care of them exceptionally well, given that Esguerra didn’t spare Yulia so much as a glance.
    I was tempted to forget the interpreter as well—except he asked me to frisk her. She stood there shivering in her elegant coat, and I got a chance to feel her, to run my hands over her body in search of weapons. There were none, but her breathing changed as I touched her. She didn’t look at me, didn’t move, but I could feel a slight hitch in her breathing and see her pale cheeks brighten with a hint of color. Up until then, I didn’t think she was aware of me as a man at all, but that moment made me realize that she was—and that she was fighting the attraction for some reason. So when Esguerra turned down her invitation, I made the impulsive decision to take her for myself.
    Just for one night, just to appease the craving.
    It wasn’t difficult to get her address—all it took was one call to Buschekov—and then I showed up on her doorstep, expecting to see the same put-together, confident young woman who flirted with my boss.
    Except that wasn’t who greeted me.
    It was a girl who looked barely out of her teens, her beautiful face devoid of any makeup and her tall, slender body swathed in a decidedly inelegant robe. She let me into her apartment after I explicitly told her what I wanted, but the look in her wide blue eyes was that of a hunted rabbit. For a minute, I doubted whether she wanted me there at all; she seemed as nervous as said rabbit confronting a fox. Her anxiety was so palpable, I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming to her, if I’d somehow misread either the extent of her experience or the level of her interest in me.
    Just one touch, I told myself as she took my coat. Just one touch, and if she didn’t want me, I’d leave. I’d never forced a woman in my life, and I didn’t intend to start with this girl—a girl who seemed oddly innocent despite her corrupt Kremlin connections.
    A girl I wanted more with every second.
    I told myself I’d stop with that one touch, but as soon as I touched her, I knew I’d lied. Her creamy skin had been baby soft, the bones of her jaw so delicate they were almost fragile. My hand looked brown and rough against her pale perfection, my palm so big I could’ve crushed her face with one hard squeeze of my fingers.
    She froze at my touch, and I could see the pulse beating at the side of her neck. When I’d patted her down earlier, she smelled expensive, like some fancy perfume, but that was no longer the case. Standing there in front of me, her cheeks colored pink, she smelled like peaches and innocence. Logically, I knew it had to be some soap from her bath, but my mouth still watered with the urge to lick her, to taste that clean, fruit-scented flesh.
    To see what was hidden under her big, unsexy robe.
    She said something about a drink, or maybe it was coffee, but I barely heard her words, all my attention on the strip of pale skin visible at the top of her robe. “No,” I said on