Wild Men of Alaska 04 - Wild Men of Alaska - Four Book Bundle

covered with that little bit of fabric, she found the jeans Sergei had stripped off her flung into a corner. She yanked them back on along with the socks. Her bra was ruined. Sergei would have to pay for that. She’d loved that bra. She slipped into one of Sergei’s flannel shirts she rummaged from a drawer. This one had a blue and black checkered pattern. It was soft and roomy and smelled like him. She hated that she wanted to snuggle into it.
    Did she really care more for this man than just wanting him dead?
    A twinge she didn’t want to investigate centered around her heart at the thought of him actually dead. She glanced back to the window and the white-out conditions. How much longer would he be?
    She shook her head as though to rearrange her scrambled thoughts back into their rightful slots. Why did she care?
    Could he be right about Perry? Had her partner set them both up?
    She rubbed her hands over her face, twisted her hair into a loose knot and secured it with two pencils she’d located in the small desk by the window. Then she got down to business.
    She searched the room, starting with the rest of the desk. There was nothing of consequence. No computer, hidden documents, weapons. Other than the pencils she’d already helped herself to.
    She moved on.
    She did a full sweep of the room. Nothing. Just clothes, blankets, towels. Nothing personal other than the books that she’d done a good job of destroying. She didn’t bother with the bathroom since she’d already been through it once. She left the room and did a quick exploring of the upstairs. Much as she figured, there wasn’t anything. The rooms were obviously used for paying guests.
    She headed down the stairs on quick, quiet feet, keeping her ears tuned to any changes within the log building. The wind whistled outside, and snow spit at the windows. She couldn’t see anything out of them with the blizzard.
    He’d been gone a while now. Should she...?
    Oh my hell, you are not going out there looking for him.
    The kitchen was her first stop. As with any dwelling, the kitchen always housed the most interesting objects. She helped herself to a handful of nice, decent cutlery and one sinfully-sharp Ulu—an Eskimo knife mostly used for filleting fish. It was a third of a circle in shape with a bone handle that fit nicely in her palm. A long curved blade used for slicing muscle meat from the bones of salmon, it was wicked cool.
    Yeah, that could come in handy.
    The chef knew her knives. As Kate explored the downstairs section of the lodge, she stashed them in places just in case she needed them later. One thing she’d learned as a spy, always be ready to defend yourself.
    Her life was all about putting up walls and arming them with deadly things. The filleting knife was hard to let go of as she hid it inside a stunning vase, glazed in the colors of the Aurora Borealis, and displayed upon the large hearth of the fireplace. She hated not having a weapon on her person. Being tied and strip-searched again was not in her future. She really wanted to hate Sergei for what he’d done to her, wanted to use the violation as fuel against him, but was finding that harder and harder to do. Probably because part of her had enjoyed his touch. More than part of her. He hadn’t needed to be so gentle with how he’d conducted the search. Leaving her wanting had burned more than the actual act of the strip-search. Probably because if the roles had been reversed, she’d have done the same.
    The thought of tying Sergei to a bed and stripping him naked, allowing her hands to search every inch of his skin, had her rooted in place. What would it be like to have free access to his body? To do with him what she wanted?
    Oh, so not thoughts she wanted to be having.
    Slowly she sank down on the leather couch, her toes curling on the rug, and her hands fisting in her lap. She gazed unseeing out the French doors. Snow had piled up on the deck in alarming amounts. Wind swirled flakes into a mass that became a wall. If Sergei didn’t show up soon, he wasn’t going to be able to. He’d be stuck out there unable to find his way back. She didn’t know how he could see a foot in front of him as it was. It would take nothing to get turned around, step off a cliff and fall to his death, or slip on ice and break a bone, and then freeze to death out there in this.
    Why was she more worried about Sergei struggling through the storm than making him pay for Perry’s death?
    She’d