Authors: Camille Taylor
No Law (Law #3) (13 page)
Carey waited as Dmitry gently placed the crate on his dining table—one of the few items of furniture in his utilitarian apartment. He clearly wasn’t much of a decorator and had only furnished his place with the bare necessities. His life obviously revolved around his computer equipment and not wondering if his drapes matched his sofa.
She immediately had her hands on the box, instantly forgetting the French fries she’d been munching on. She hadn’t been interested in eating but given that she hadn’t eaten anything since dinner the night before, Dmitry had insisted. He had stopped at a drive-through and bought them both a meal, Dmitry devouring his within minutes while maintaining full concentration on the road. She’d been amazed at his ability all the while picking at her fries, ignoring her burger, which had found its way into Dmitry’s stomach.
It had been oddly intimate. Even more than the burning kiss he’d given her earlier that she could still feel the lingering effects. She’d never once been so completely devastated by a kiss and her knees wobbled at the memory.
Now she stared down at the crate, the wood rough beneath her hands. Her fingertips tingled with anticipation. What was inside? What had the mafiya illegally imported that was worth killing Brian over? The list of possibilities was staggering. The crate was plain, with only the address label and Customs barcode sticker marring the wood. It was as innocuous as it could be.
Dmitry stepped beside her, his eyes on her, burning her skin. His taste was in her mouth and her lips were bruised from his lavish assault. Her blood boiled and her entire body was sensitive as arousal coursed through her. Erotic images appeared in her mind and she fought for control. Her breath rushed out all at once and a shiver overtook her, starting at her head, trailing down her spine and ending in her toes. She carefully pushed all thoughts of a naked and sweaty Dmitry out of her head and turned to him expectantly.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
She had to admit she hadn’t felt this excited since she was a child and Christmas Day arrived and she would go downstairs and discover all the new treasures her parents had gotten her. She wasn’t sure if she could contribute the emotion to the box or to Dmitry. Just the way he was looking at her now she was surprised she didn’t burst into flames. She resisted the urge to fan herself and attempted to concentrate on the crate. There would be plenty of time to explore and deal with her feelings—and raging hormones—later, when she could properly focus and give her entire attention to working out what the hell was going on with her.
“And ruin my manicure?” she teased, her voice higher than usual as she tried to relieve the feeling of butterflies fluttering around her stomach. She would’ve placed her hands on her stomach to calm her rioting belly but for some reason they remained glued to the wooden crate, almost as if it provided her life force and without it she would die.
She knew that was ridiculous, after all, it was just a box, but something inside her screamed that this was important and should it come to it, she would open the box with her teeth. Nothing was about to stand between her and the contents of this crate. It was clear to her that Dmitry knew she would do it as well when he rolled his eyes at her obvious attempt at calming herself. He glanced over at her delicate fingers with their white and pink nails placed protectively over the crate. His gaze moved from her hands to her wrists and up her arms and rested on her breasts. Her chest rose and fell steadily.
He silently moved over to his desk on the other side of the room, past his sofa and television, and retrieved a flathead screwdriver from a set of drawers attached to the large dark stained desk before making his way back to her. She stepped back as he invaded her space and frowned as she watched fretfully, fearful he might do something to damage the contents.
He must’ve sensed her unease and sent her a comforting, yet slightly sexy smile. Her heart beat kicked up a knot and she had trouble breathing. She was thankful when he returned his attention to the box and she could breathe properly again. She nibbled anxiously at her lower lip as he placed the flathead between the lid and the base and with all his strength pushed down until the lid popped up, the nails dangerous points from where they’d been pulled from the wood. He continued the procedure with the other three sides until the lid was just merely sitting lightly on top of the crate. Dmitry put the screwdriver down and stepped back.
Anticipation vibrated within her, her eyes wide and totally focused on the crate. She moved it to the table, and peered inside. She stopped breathing, but this time her lack of oxygen had nothing to do with her close proximity to Dmitry, although in the back of her mind he was always there. She seemed to know exactly how far away or how close he was. It was a little frightening and somewhat exhilarating, since she’d never experienced anything remotely close to how she felt now, not even with her husband. Dmitry set her body alight with desire, as if flames licked over her skin every time he looked at her.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She had not been expecting
this
. She blinked as if to clear her vision while the world around her melted away. It was not the first time she found herself completely absorbed in her work. Elena had been right, she could become a little fixated, and right now such an obsession sat right before her. This item had been lost for almost a century.
All her life, she’d never believed she would be lucky enough to view such a precious antiquity. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch it. She couldn’t believe her luck. She had half been expecting some macabre decapitated head or even some counterfeited bills; that seemed more like their style. Nestled amongst a few sculptured glasses and protective stuffing was one of the most beautiful and coveted pieces of Russia’s history.
She rubbed the palm of hand on her jeans, wiping away non-existent dirt and sweat. She was frozen in amazement, practically crackling with electricity.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, reverently lifting the Fabergé egg from its protective nest. The egg, measuring roughly nine inches tall and four inches in diameter, had a golden base and was decorated with diamonds and pearls.
“Where the
hell
did they get that?” Dmitry asked.
“That’s my question precisely. If I’m not mistaken—and I don’t believe I am—I’d say that this is the Empire Nephrite of 1902. One of the eight missing Imperial eggs last seen in 1922.”
Fabergé eggs had been a standard gift for the last two Romanov Czars, Alexander the Third and Nicholas the Second. The Imperial eggs were made by Carl Fabergé exclusively for the royal family and were given to the wives of the Czars each Easter starting back in April 1885 with each egg containing a surprise hidden inside.
The Empire Nephrite Egg had been Nicholas the Second’s gift to his mother, Maria, and had been housed in the Gatchina Palace up until the Russian Revolution in 1917 when it was moved to the Kremlin Armory.
“So I’m assuming it would be worth big money?”
She nodded. “When the last egg was sold, it went for almost ten million dollars.”
Dmitry whistled. “So why all the secrecy of sending it attached to another verified shipment? Why not just ship it to the States and declare it?”
“The Ministry of Culture tends to be very picky as to what it lets out of the country. Russian Imperial treasures are one thing that would be an absolute no. I don’t think even the mafiya has hands that reach that far.”
Actually, the Ministry would do just about anything to keep the egg in the country. Especially if she was right and it was
the
Empire Nephrite Egg. She could imagine the coup this discovery would be for every museum around the world and in particular to Russia. To have one of their national treasures returned would be a day to remember.
She placed the egg on the dining table and stepped back to admire it, almost tripping on Dmitry who had moved in closer for a better look. It was beautiful, as all of Fabergé’s designs were. The sparkling diamonds caught the light and cast colored reflections across the room making her gasp.
Inching closer, she recalled viewing Fabergé eggs before. Hamilton Museum was lucky enough to have one on display, not an Imperial egg but still a Fabergé. She had seen firsthand how they opened to reveal their surprises and she knew she had to open the egg to see what might be inside. Not knowing ate away at her.
It was commonly believed the Empire Nephrite egg’s surprise was a medallion portrait of Czar Alexander the Third, the frame made from nephrite, which she knew would be long gone. She had no hope whatsoever of finding it there, but perhaps over time someone else had hidden something equally as elusive or precious inside. She reached out, once more holding her breath. She heard him chuckle at her obvious delight and decided to ignore him. She undid the latch and slowly lifted the top of the egg back to look inside to find…nothing. Nothing but golden yellow velvet lining. She let out her breath in a rush of disappointment, a wry smile appearing at her lips as she shook her head.
“That was rather anticlimactic, wasn’t it?”
Carey closed and redid the latch. His body heat warmed her as he stepped closer. She turned around to find him crowding her and her flesh heated as desire coursed through her, arousal following. A throb started low and intensified to an unquenchable ache as she stared into Dmitry’s grey eyes, darker now with heat, and her breath caught in her throat. He looked positively primitive as his hands went to her hips, clamping down hard as if to hold her still. Not that he needed to; she wasn’t about to go anywhere.
There was nothing wrong with fooling around, sharing pleasure, so long as she left her heart out of it. Dmitry had the ability to completely destroy her, but only if she allowed him. She would give him her body, her mind, but not her heart. Never her heart. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
His mouth descended on hers and fireworks exploded within her. He kissed her and she met him with equal fervor, the world around them dissolving until it was just the two of them. Dmitry broke off from her lips to begin kissing the side of her mouth, her cheek, down her throat, and she threw her head back, allowing him access as she braced her hands on the table behind her and felt herself knock something.
Dmitry caught the Fabergé egg before it fell to the ground, where it would’ve smashed into a million pieces.
Carey’s breath rushed out in relief and Dmitry figured she was probably thanking God or offering up her firstborn. He gently placed the egg back into the crate before turning back to Carey, wondering if the moment was lost. Her gaze followed his movement, guaranteeing the treasure was safe. He ran his stiff fingers through his hair as he waited for her to give him a sign to continue what had been interrupted. She’d had quite a scare and he didn’t want to be insensitive even though his body throbbed in pain.
He counted each and every one of her pulse beats. He wanted to put his lips to that pulsating vein and taste the smooth creamy skin he knew he would find there. She was just too damn sexy, and she’d stolen his heart and refused to give it back. This woman, this redheaded aggressive minx, had done one hell of a number on him and she wasn’t even trying. He recalled their kisses, still feeling the aftereffects. Would he survive something more? He wanted to find out.
Carey smiled seductively before stepping into his arms, her perfume tickling his nose and he was momentarily distracted. His hands found their way back to her creamy skin as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, pushing him back. He took one step, then another, until he came to the back of the sofa. Resting his buttocks against it, he pulled Carey into him, hard. He hadn’t been expecting her to come so easily to him and misjudged his strength, causing himself along with Carey to topple over the back of the sofa. He cushioned her as much as possible as they first hit the cushion of the sofa before landing on the floor with Carey on top.
She sent him a look that seemed to say she was happy with the position and leaned down to kiss him. She broke just long enough to drag his shirt over his head before returning her lips to his skin. She pressed kisses down his chest, into the mat of dark hair she found there and teased his nipples with her tongue. Her hands moved restlessly over his body before finding the zipper to his jeans. He stilled her hands, wanting to take it slow. He was already hard, his body pulsating painfully. He worried that her slightest touch would send him rocketing towards climax.
He raised her arms above her head before pulling off her shirt, revealing her lacy white push-up. The offending piece of fabric joined his shirt on the floor as he tossed it to the side. He sat up bringing Carey into a sitting position with him, her legs straddling his as he undid the clasp to her bra, freeing her beautiful breasts. He was pleased to note she was as aroused as he was, and sucked a hard bud into his mouth and nibbled gently as she gasped, her rosy nipples already sensitive. His left arm wound around her back to support her as she arched, thrusting her breasts—much to his pleasure—into his face.
He rubbed the right nipple with his free thumb, back and forth. Her skin was flushed and she moaned as he pushed her gently back so that she was sitting on the floor between his legs, his hands undoing her jeans and pulling them, along with her panties down her hips before discarding them on the floor. He pulled her back onto his lap and kissed her senseless. His hand rested on her bottom cheek and he squeezed.
“Now,” she begged, and he shook his head.
“Not yet. There’s still more of you to touch.” His hand slipped between her legs and found her moist center. He swallowed hard as he slid his finger along her folds before lavishing attention on her clit. He heard her moan in response, her eyes darkening with the passion he was awakening within her. She pulled back, her hands once more on his zipper. He lifted himself off the ground to accommodate her and she removed his pants with quick, ruthless tugs. Bending down, her hair fluttered against his hard and pulsating shaft. His penis jerked as her tongue touched him, sliding in a continuous motion from the base of his erection to the tip before lightly blowing on the head.
Her hand cupped his sac and massaged him. She moved her body up his and whispered huskily, “See, it’s not nice to tease.”
“Noted.” He retrieved a condom from the pocket of his jeans, and Carey took the packet and tore it open with her teeth. He jerked when she rolled the latex over his length before positioning herself over him. The head of his penis gently rubbed against her entrance and perspiration beaded on his forehead, his entire body stiff with the force it took to control himself as she slowly descended on him, allowing him to fill her completely. She began to move, her inner muscles tightening painfully around him with each new stroke.
He could feel himself drawing closer, his mind blank except for the need for completion as she continued to move up and down on him, faster and deeper. His whole body was taut and he knew the moment was not far off. He grabbed her waist, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he flipped her over onto her back before thrusting, once, twice, three times into her before his world shattered, sending both of them into a white-hot oblivion. He felt her come, their mingled shouts of satisfaction echoing throughout the room as he collapsed on top of her.
He rolled to the side, pulling her close. After a moment of silence as he caught his breath he said, “That was…there are no words for that.”
Carey smiled as she placed her hand on his chest. Her fingers lazily roamed his torso. It was erotic and sweet at the same time.
“You’re probably going to have carpet burn in the morning,” he added.
“Well worth it,” she said.
He smiled, kissing her. He lifted the hand that was slowly driving him wild and so soon after the best orgasm of his life. He was amazed at how perfectly they’d come together. Could he ever be without her in his life?
He hoped he never found out. Carey was everything he could ever want and he was thankful she’d come into his life. He kissed the soft delicate skin of her palm before letting both their arms drop gently to his side. Her hand went to his arm and slid up slowly, as if she’d die if she wasn’t touching him. Her fingertips ran over a slight imperfection of his skin the size of a penny and Carey stopped her leisurely exploration and traced the scar. She frowned.
“What’s that?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Just a scar.”
Carey half sat up, the frown still on her face.
“That is not nothing, Dmitry Ivanov. It looks like a—” She glared down at him. “That’s a bullet wound. You were shot?”
He moved his hand through her silky hair and smiled at the concern in her voice. “Two years ago, while trying to escape a man bent on framing me for stealing a highly classified security protocol.”
She once more traced the scar with her fingertips before leaning over him, crushing her breasts against his chest as she placed a kiss on the scar. He placed a hand on her back to hold her in position. He quite liked the feel of her pressed against him.
“Lucas was right. Women love a good scar.”
Carey’s eyebrow rose. “And have you had much sympathy?”
He shook his head. “No. Actually, you’re the first one to comment. My batting average has been low this season.”
Carey rolled her eyes before smiling wickedly, her hand sliding down his chest to his now sated member. “Well, then, we’re just going to have to get those numbers up, aren’t we?”