The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove Read Free Page B

rebuked himself for complicating her unpleasant situation. “I apologize, Elena. Here.” He slipped the glasses back into place, pushing her halfcurtain of hair aside with his fingertip. He caught his breath at the full sight of her strained, upturned face. The strength and balance of cool, unadorned porcelain presented themselves as a backdrop for a tempting but disciplined mouth and light blue eyes under the dramatic wings of coppery brows.
    Those eyes, covered with the awful glasses once more, troubled him. He’d seen trapped, wary hope too often not to recognize it in her searing gaze. “If you want to stay in America, I’ll help you,” he whispered.
    He still held one of her hands as he had while they were dancing, but the wonderful warmth was gone. She stiffened, withdrawing. “I do not understand English.” It was an angry, mechanical defense.
    “I’m not with the government—either yours or ours. This isn’t a trick. I enjoy helping people in, uhmmm,
problem
situations.”
    “Speak Russian!”
    “I want to help you. I think you want my help. Here.” Turning her so that Kriloff’s view of their hands was obscured, he slipped a hand inside his jacket and quickly produced a pale gold business card bearing only a phone number. Pulling her close and smiling pleasantly for anyone who might be watching, he brushed his mouth over hers while his hand darted inside her jacket. Deftly his fingers slid between the plain white buttons on the front of her blouse and tucked the business card between her bra and the luxurious swell of a breast.
    Just as quickly he stepped back, feeling confident, aroused—and worried. She looked shocked and upset, her chest rising and falling swiftly. The magnetic blue eyes stared at him, analyzing and assessing. Her hand rose to her throat, fumbled, grasped the front of her blouse over the spot where he’d inserted his fingers, then flattened. She looked to Audubon like a kid in grammar school who was trying to find her heart for the pledge of allegiance.
    Audubon sensed the KGB agent before the man stepped between them, nodding to Elena Petrovicand speaking in low, urgent tones. She shuddered visibly and looked toward Kriloff. Her hands fell to her sides. Her head sank and she leveled her gaze at the carpet again, becoming the meek pigeon from before.
    Audubon fought a reckless desire to snatch her away, no matter what the consequences. It was possible he’d made a mistake in judging her, but he was willing to take that chance. He stepped forward, began to raise his hand, then halted.
    How could he risk a scandal that would endanger his work, as well as all the people who worked for him? Raging inside, he forced his face into a pleasant expression. He would have to find a way to help her that was not immediately confrontational … or perhaps even obvious.
    “Da svidahniya, Mystyer Audubon
,” she said in a subdued voice.
    “Good night, Elena.”
    The man escorted her across the ballroom and out the doors. Kriloff still stood at the head of the receiving line, pumping hands and glaring over people’s heads. Audubon met his challenge with a cold smile, letting seven generations of blue-blooded patrician arrogance rise to the surface to help make his point.
    He wondered what the crowd’s gossips were whispering about this scene. Then he laughed at their overt stares and plucked the boutonniere from his lapel, jauntily twirling it by the stem as he walked from the dance floor. The silky petals brushed the tops of his fingertips, and he looked down in surprise. “What the hell?” he asked out loud, and stopped in his tracks.
    The tightly furled little rose bud was now in glorious full bloom.
    “You shouldn’t have done that.” Sergei moaned, wringing his big hands as he walked down the hall with Elena. “Now we probably won’t be allowed to goshopping for souvenirs tomorrow. You’ll be confined to your room until we leave for home!”
    Sergei was as fussy as a