Lying and Kissing(17)

I turned and looked at him.

It wasn’t Luka.

“...hi,” I said. It was all I could think of.

The guy grinned. He was about my age and had sandy-colored hair that fell in tangled curls. “Hi!” he said enthusiastically. “American?” His accent wasn’t nearly as strong as Luka’s.

“Yes.”

“It’s cold here, yes? Want to get coffee?” He nodded to the side. A little way down the path, there were stalls set up selling tea and coffee, and you could skate right up to the counter. He was cute, in a rosy-cheeked, farm boy sort of a way.

An arm clapped around my waist and spun me around. I’d forgotten, for a second, that I was still balanced on a couple of metal blades and I nearly fell, but the arm tightened and held me.

I looked up into Luka’s eyes.

“Hey,” said the other guy. He sounded halfway between angry and friendly, as if he wasn’t sure which would get the best result.

Luka glanced at him over my shoulder. My stomach plummeted about a thousand floors and then exploded into a deep, dark heat. The look said she’s mine.

I heard the other guy skate away.

I remembered that I was meant to be acting surprised, but the whole thing had happened so fast that I didn’t have to act. I just stood there, my back resting against Luka’s muscled arm, and blinked up at him. Up being the operative word—I’d almost forgotten how big he was.

“You don’t need to go for coffee with him,” said Luka. “You are coming to lunch with me.”#p#分页标题#e#





He asked my name, even though by now he’d have got it from the background check his bodyguard did. So we were both acting.

It occurred to me that he might suspect. Maybe my fake background hadn’t been convincing enough. What if he’d approached me not because he wanted me, but because he sensed I was a spy and wanted to interrogate me? We were in a public place now but, as soon as he got me alone….

“Arianna,” I said. “Arianna Ross.” It’s disconcerting, saying a different surname after your real first name. Like being suddenly married.

“Luka,” he said. “Malakov.” He was studying me very intently, his ice blue eyes searching mine. Because he liked me, or watching to see if I’d slip up?

I had time to take things in, now. Despite the cold, he wore no coat. He was in ice hockey gear, minus the padding. Several paces behind him, I could see the bodyguard from New York, the one with the scar on his cheek, watching me suspiciously.

Luka asked me what I was doing in Moscow and I spun him the vacation story. I asked what he did and he said he bought and sold things, internationally. Closer to the truth than my story. Then he reached out and touched my cheek. It was only a brush of his fingers but, immediately, I felt that connection again. The heat of him throbbed into my exposed, frozen skin and I wanted to close my eyes so that I could savor it. How could just a touch from this guy feel like the best thing in the frickin’ world?

I had to remind myself to breathe.

“So...you said you wanted to take me to lunch?” I asked.

“No. I said you are coming to lunch with me.”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times. “Are you always this...”—arrogant? — “presumptuous?”

He stared down at me, his gaze burning me up. “I remember my bedroom. Don’t you?”

I felt myself flush.

He leaned close. “Still want to play with monsters?”

I didn’t answer but, as he drew back and watched me, my expression must have been answer enough.

“Which hotel are you in?” he asked. “My driver will pick you up.”

I told him and he said to be ready at one. And, just like that, he dropped his arm from my waist and skated away.

Did he know? Was that why he was so certain I’d agree?

Or did he detect my other secret? That, whenever I was near him, I wanted to get even closer? That I’d press myself so hard to him that we’d merge, if I could. If that was it, that was almost as scary as him knowing I was a spy. Because that dark heat inside was something I didn’t even understand myself.



 



Back at my hotel, I sat on the bed and stared at the screen of my new cell phone. The contact name said Dad.

I knew it was just a cover, but it didn’t stop the deep, cold ache inside me every time I saw that name.

I hit the button and Adam answered. I told him excitedly how I’d met a guy at Gorky Park and we were going for lunch. He did a pretty good job of sounding fatherly, telling me to be careful and asking which sights I’d seen.

I knew it was unusual for my handler to be someone as senior as him. His group must have hundreds of covert ops on the go—why was he taking such a personal interest in this one? Because he believed in me? Because he saw something in me that Roberta couldn’t? I liked that idea.