The Russian Seduction Read Online Free PDF Page B

the time constructively. She reviewed the documents she needed to deliver, ensured her familiarity with every aspect of her instructions, tried to anticipate any curve balls Kostenko might throw at her.
    Still gridlocked in a logjam of trolleybuses, filth-caked minivans, and the sleek SUVs driven by Moscow’s wealthy New Russians, she snapped open her compact and brushed her hair. She outlined her mouth in pale lipstick, slicked a coat of mascara over the lashes fringing her turquoise eyes. Then, firmly, she stopped herself from any more primping.
    This wasn’t a date, after all.
    While she cultivated a polished look, she’d always preferred to downplay her feminine assets in the office. Bad enough that colleagues who barely knew her assumed her accomplishments were due to her redoubtable father the Undersecretary, or her serially-unfaithful ex-husband—who would still make Ambassador before his next post. When she was working, she didn’t want her gender taking center stage.
    Of course, in this career, she was nearly always working.
    But the current international emergency wasn’t about Alexis or her insecurities. The recent incursion by the Russian navy into the territorial waters of their neighbor, the former satellite state of Ukraine, was only the latest crisis in a complicated U.S.-Russian relationship. President Cartwright herself had expressed grave concern with the Russians’ recent chest-thumping, and Alexis wasn’t about to let the ball drop on her watch.
    She glanced up as the driver cut his engine and switched on his flashers—double-parking illegally, with Russian bravado, in front of the classical high-pillared hall that housed the world-famous Bolshoi Ballet.
    “I don’t believe this!” she murmured, shivering as she emerged onto the icy pavement. Still no sign of Kostenko. Thankfully, the scowling driver thawed enough to grasp her arm against the real possibility of a bone-breaking spill on the uneven pavement.
    Maybe the captain was going to stand her up after all. What were the odds he’d try to head off her demarche with a high-end ballet ticket? He’d probably seen in her dossier that she patronized the arts. Wasn’t that more likely than the prospect of Victor Tarasovich Kostenko, renegade captain of the Russian navy, talking global security while watching Swan Lake ?
    Well, if he’d wanted to throw her off-balance, he’d definitely succeeded, though she’d never let him know it. She was still wondering if he’d even show up as they squeezed through the crowd into the venerable theater. Gripping her briefcase, Alexis felt anticipation and nerves knotting her stomach as her driver opened the door to a private box.
    Left and right the paneled walls reared, framing the dazzling expanse of red-and-gold stage curtain—five stories high—embossed with the two-headed Russian eagle. Beneath chandeliers blazing with light, a glittering throng of spectators milled on the parterre below, their hushed whispers rolling toward her in an ocean of sound.
    Yet somehow the opulent surroundings seemed tame and overdone behind the dark solitary figure who stood straight-backed at the rail, overlooking the crowded tiers like a general reviewing his troops.
    He pivoted at her entrance, the electric light flashing on his epaulets like an officer’s salute, gold against stark black. Playing up the sun-bronzed column of his throat, barely civilized in his loosened collar and tie—more deviations from regulation. Bars of shadow sliced under his Slavic cheekbones, making him look relentless, even cruel.
    She hadn’t expected him to smile. What rational human being would smile at the imminent prospect of a stiffly-worded harangue on his country’s aggressive conduct? Yet his cool eyes kindled with gaslight fire, raked from her lipstick to her sexy boots as if he didn’t miss a trick. And despite the layers of clothing that insulated her against the coldest Moscow winter in living record, Alexis could feel