The Professional (The Game Maker #1)(35)
Author: Kresley Cole

Sevastyan reined around and sped back for me. He seized my reins, forcing Alizay to trot alongside.

More lightning flashed overhead, and another bolt struck even closer. The drizzle turned to a freezing downpour with drops so big they thumped my head. The temperature felt like it was plummeting by the minute. Soon my breaths smoked through the curtain of rain.

Sevastyan narrowed his eyes in the direction of the stables. Then, as if making a command decision, he turned us in another direction.

Over the rumbling, I said, “The stables are the other way!”

“I’m getting you out of the lightning,” he called back, spurring his horse.

Onward we rode. In movies, getting caught in the rain with a hot guy was always sexy. I was freezing, certain I looked like a drenched cat, and terrified of being electrocuted. To add insult to injury, my riding pants were creeping up my ass by uncomfortable degrees.

Once we emerged from the edge of the woods, the rain was so thick that I could barely make out a house in the distance. As we neared, I saw it was about as large as the bungalow I’d shared with Jess. The rough-hewn style—exposed-beam walls and a wood-shingled roof—was completely different from every other structure I’d seen at Berezka.

To the side was an overhang for the horses. By the time we dismounted under the roof, my legs were so stiff that Sevastyan had to catch me. Steadying me on my feet, he barked, “Inside.”

Leaving him to take care of the horses, I entered the windowless interior. I removed my soaked gloves, rubbing my hands for warmth as I peered around me. The overcast light coming from the doorway illuminated a quaintly rustic room.

Realization dawned. This was a banya. A sauna house. I’d read all about them!

Russians took their saunas very seriously. There were rituals and social etiquette surrounding the banya. Creating the best mist—with the finest steam droplets—was considered an art.

The first room, the pre-bath, had pegs to hang clothes and a supply of towels, sheets, and liniments. Deeper inside was the steam room. Polished wood benches stretched along the walls. At one end of the room was a small blue pool. At the opposite end were a firebox and rock chamber.

A water bucket and ladle stood beside the rocks. Veniks—tied bunches of dried branches and leaves—hung from a nearby rack, like mini brooms. Wetted down, they were used to strike the skin to improve circulation.

For some reason, the firebox was already lit, spilling light across the area. The rocks radiated heat, making the air warm and humid. It smelled of cedar and vaguely of the birch veniks—like wintergreen, forest, and leather mixed together.

Realization dawned once more. I was going to be trapped in a banya with the most desirable man I’d ever imagined. A man I couldn’t have sex with—without risking permanence. A man I wasn’t even supposed to be fooling around with.

Though freezing, I whirled toward the exit, ready to brave the storm.

Sevastyan ducked through the doorway, rifle in hand. “Where do you think you’re going?” Once he shut the door behind him, I could scarcely hear the thunder outside the insulated sauna, even as it rumbled the ground and walls.

It was as if we were within a moist, firelit cocoon, separate from the world.

As he shook out his black hair, he propped his gun against the wall, then placed a bar over the door.

Why would he lock it? Between chattering teeth, I said, “We n-need to ride back. Or call for someone to p-pick us up.”

He discarded his gloves as he headed to a wall cabinet. I heard the clink of glass, and then he turned back to me holding a vodka shot. “Drink.”

I accepted the glass but hesitated. Though I was eager to get warm, I knew better than to be in a sauna with this man—while drinking vodka.

“Natalie, drink. You don’t even realize how cold you are.”

At that instant, my teeth decided to chatter with a vengeance. With a mulish look, I chugged the burning liquid. When I set the glass down on a shelf, rim first, he gave me a satisfied nod and took my hand, leading me back toward the fire. While I watched, he stoked it even hotter, then ladled water over the rocks.

Steam hissed, floating through the air. It surrounded us, caressing my face. “If we stay h-here, something might happen.” Something sinful.

Like the two of us stripping down to nothing, so we could lick droplets from each other’s skin.

“Happen?” He strode toward me, removing his coat on the way.

I backed up a step. “You know, between us.” He’d gone so long—why would he blow his perfect record now?

He raised his brows, eyes devilish in the firelight and mist. “Can’t control yourself where I’m concerned?” His voice was a deep rasp.

Resist him, Nat. “Maybe I can. Doesn’t mean I have to prove it by hanging out in a freaking sauna with you.” When he stalked closer, I demanded, “What are you doing, Sevastyan?”

“Getting you out of those wet clothes,” he said in a tone that brooked no resistance.

What the hell? Had the countdown clock finally zeroed out? My breaths shallowed as I recalled his restlessness, his piercing looks and mounting tension, as if he’d been about to strike.

Because he had been?

But why now? Why today? And in what . . . manner?

I pictured those indecipherable warnings he’d cast my way. Was I brave enough to face whatever it was he’d been warning me from? “And what if I refuse to take off my clothes, huh?”

“Pet . . .” Now every time he called me that it reminded me of his words: collar and keep you. He reached for my jacket, his gaze gone molten. “There’s one thing you should know.”

How could a single heated look make shivers dance over my entire body? “What’s that?”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Chapter 18

“Hold on!” I tripped back from Sevastyan as he advanced on me through the billowing steam. He seemed bent on getting me out of my wet clothes.

Hanging out in a sensual sauna, naked, with an off-limits enforcer who happened to make my mouth water: what could possibly go wrong?

And Sevastyan had been all too prepared to take advantage of the storm. The sauna fire had been lit before we’d even arrived. He’d hinted around about planning my seduction, which made me wonder . . . “What’s gotten into you, Siberian? I know the rules—we’re not supposed to be trifling with each other.”

In a low tone, with words like a promise, he said, “I have no intention of trifling with you.”