Nick turned to her, jaw muscles jumping. “Vassily wouldn’t hurt Katya Artsemova, no. He loved her. But Katya Artsemova has been dead for over fifteen years. He thinks he loves you because you look so much like her, but you’re not her. When the craziness in his head dies down and he realizes that, who knows what the fuck he’ll do?”

“You come back to the van, Iceman,” Di Stefano said, his voice cold and steady. “You will not compromise this part of the mission before it’s begun, I hope that’s clear.”

“Or what?” Nick asked, swiveling back to him.

“Or I’ll fucking cuff you, that’s what.”

Nick bared his teeth. “You can fucking try. And you watch your fucking language. There’s a lady here.”

“Shit.” Di Stefano’s teeth clicked together in exasperation. “I don’t want to get into a pissing contest with you. I want your word that you’ll wire her up and get out.”

Nick touched her hand. “Charity? This is up to you. Do you still want to do this? Because I’m dead set against it. We’re listening in on Worontzoff’s study and we’ll keep the beam on until the last possible minute. We’ve tapped his phones. We’re going to photograph everyone coming in and going out. Maybe we can put a snake mike in. We don’t need you to do this.”

Di Stefano opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly not wanting to influence her. Because, of course, they did need her.

Vassily’s mansion was huge. Most of the times she’d been to see him, he was in his living room, which had the largest hearth in the house, not his study. It was entirely possible that he would be meeting with his people there instead of the study. It was entirely possible they would meet after five, which is when the sun went down. They needed eyes and ears and it looked like she was it.

Charity didn’t in any way underestimate the danger, though she was also certain that Vassily wouldn’t hurt her. Nonetheless, she was walking into a room full of criminals, with no training to deal with violence should it erupt. On the other hand, she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Nick would be as close to her as he could get.

She didn’t have to do this, and yet—she did. Charity trusted her moral compass and her needle was pointing at true north right now. She was in a position to help her country and she was taking it. How could she refuse? The deep calm of knowing she was doing the right thing came over her.

Even her nausea had abated and she felt well, for the first time in days. Of course, she’d been grieving over Nick’s death, and seeing him in front of her, looking strong and vital and angry, completely wiped her grief away.

The front door closed quietly and Nick rounded on her. His hand shot out, curling around her neck. He bent until his forehead touched hers, eyes a fiery, deep blue. “I don’t want you to do this,” he whispered.

Charity stepped back, but he just followed her. A couple more steps and her back was against the wall, Nick’s long, lean body pressing in against her.

“I know,” she answered. “But I have to.” She took a deep breath and asked the question that was haunting her. “After—afterward.” She swallowed. There was no moisture left in her mouth, her lungs felt empty. It was hard to speak. “Afterward, will I see you again?”

It was painful to humiliate herself like this, but her need to know overrode her embarrassment. If he said no, he was leaving as soon as his job here was over, she’d crumple to the ground.

Her knees stiffed, her spine stacked back up. No, no she wouldn’t. Prewitts didn’t fall to the ground. They took what life dealt them, and did the best they could.

It was as if he hadn’t heard her. “You are staying twenty minutes, not a second more. The instant you step outside of Worontzoff’s house, I will be at your side and I’m not leaving you, ever again.”

A low growling noise came from Nick’s throat, the noise a dying, wounded animal would make. He bent down to her, eyes blazing, mouth open. Her own mouth opened, instinctively, helplessly, for his kiss. But he stopped a breath away from her lips, eyes burning into hers. He was panting, his breath hot on her cheek. A trickle of sweat fell down his temple to plop on her neck.

It was impossible to think of anyone calling him Iceman. He looked like he was ready to explode into a fireball.

“I came back from the fucking dead for you, Charity, so no, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to live with you here or in another house; I don’t care. I’ll do something—maybe I’ll run for sheriff. I don’t care about that, either, as long as I’m with you and we can raise our child together. Is that clear?”

She could almost feel the waves of his strong male will beating against her. There was no way she could resist him even if she wanted to. But she didn’t. Living with him for the rest of her life, raising their child together, sounded like heaven.

“Yes, very clear,” she whispered.

He brought his mouth down to hers again, stopping at the last second, then pulling back. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then rose again.

“I can’t kiss you,” he said starkly. Deep grooves bracketed that beautiful mouth. “I can’t send you in there with your mouth swollen with kisses. We can’t make love, either, though I’m about ready to burst out of my skin.” He angled his lower body to rest against hers and she could feel his erection against her stomach, hot and hard. “I can’t. I can’t guarantee I won’t leave any signs on you. But when this is over I’m taking you to bed and I’m going to fuck you breathless.”

“Okay,” she whispered, watching his eyes.

As if it pained him, he let go of her neck, one finger at a time, and stepped back. It was like a force field suddenly switching off, or the planet’s gravity disappearing. She stumbled, in free fall.

Nick’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her against him again.

She wriggled a little because her back was pressed against the wall and he was pressed hard against her. She felt his penis ripple as he drew in a sharp breath.

“Jesus,” he muttered. He stepped away reluctantly. One step, two. He turned to the briefcase and came back with the electronic doodads in his hands, wires dangling.

He reached his hand out and he slowly unzipped her track suit jacket, then stepped back, pulling in a deep breath, eyes closed.

She stood there, feeling the cold in a little strip along her chest where the jacket was open.

Nick opened his eyes again, face stark. He put his hands on her chest, watching her carefully, then slowly opened his hands. Up over the balls of her shoulders, sweeping the jacket down. His jaw muscles were jumping, his forehead beaded with sweat. He looked down at her for several long moments.

Charity stood straight, arms at her side, not knowing what to do. She’d been naked with Nick so many times and so joyfully. But that had been Nick Ames. She still didn’t know how to react to Nick Ireland.

He lowered his head until his forehead rested on her shoulder. She could feel the dampness and heat of his skin against hers. They stood there, unmoving, for five minutes, ten.

Charity couldn’t think with Nick so close to her, pressed up against her. He seemed to suck up all her emotions and thoughts. Mind utterly blank, her body took over. As if she had no volition of her own, her hands rose hesitantly, up the outside of his black parka, to finally hold him in an embrace. His whole body shook, a long tremble that seemed to rise from his black boots and encompass his tall, strong body.

One big hand moved from her back to cup her breast. Such a familiar feeling, Nick’s hand on her breast. In an instant, all the feelings that had been kept at bay, somehow remote from her, flooded her in a wild rush. Arousal, anger, fierce joy, agonizing pain.

He thumbed her nipple and the pleasure was electric, bolting through her system like lightning.