Free Red Midnight by Heather Graham

Russian guard. Jarod Steele’s touch was doing nothing to repair the weakness in her legs. If anything, she felt more immersed in quicksand; the heat and pressure of his powerful chest and long-sinewed legs behind her was dizzying and engulfing. She was once more keenly aware of the scent of elemental strength and masculinity.
    The border guard made a last comment to Jarod and turned crisply to continue onward to the next compartment.
    “You’ll have to come into my couchette,” Jarod said quietly, releasing his hold and prodding her gently. “Our friend will be back in a minute to lock the doors until the rest of the train is searched.”
    For once, his tone was merely gentle. But at this point, had he shouted the order, Erin would have meekly complied.
    She moved uneasily into Jarod’s couchette, noticing from the disheveled bedding that he, too, had been hastily aroused from sleep. Unwilling to allow her vision or mind to dwell upon the rumpled sheets and blankets, she wandered nervously to the unshaded window—apparently the guard hadn’t seen fit to rake his couchette apart—and stared out into the blackness of the night. It was thick forest land that set the boundary separating Finland from the U.S.S.R.
    The loud retort of a bolt clanging shut on Jarod’s door was so unnerving that Erin literally jumped and spun around to face Jarod with wide eyes.
    “Relax, Miss McCabe,” Jarod said, gentle amusement tinging his voice of husky velvet. “This is all quite in order, I assure you.”
    “Oh,” Erin murmured, swallowing and lowering her eyes. She was calming down enough to panic again. It had taken her until now to realize that her strange rescuer was dressed in nothing but a brown velour robe, one that bared long, heavily muscled and thickly haired calves, ridiculously appealing feet—of all things!—and a shade too much of a taut, muscled chest, clearly outlined in the loose V of the robe as was another attractive swatch of coarse, curled dark hair. A few of those were also turning silver, Erin noticed; she was suddenly swamped with the obsession to reach out and touch, feel that silver within deepest black.
    Unconsciously she began to play with her bracelets. She was beginning to feel claustrophobic, and the cabin seemed to shrink, making her aware of the larger-than-life presence of Jarod Steele. Her heart was beating at a deafening pace, and she was finding it difficult to breathe. His energy, his virility, permeated space and air. His icefire gaze, even when amused, seemed to have the ability to pin her down, to strip her of both clothing and soul, and it terrified her.
    “Relax,” he repeated very quietly, leaning against his door and reaching into the pocket of his robe for cigarettes and lighter. He shook two from the packet and lit both, finally leaving his stance to walk over to Erin and put it into her trembling fingers. She didn’t like him so near, but the cigarette helped. She inhaled deeply, then returned her vision to the blackness of the night.
    Erin finally managed to clear her throat and talk. “I don’t think I understand,” she murmured, not looking at him as she questioned him. “You mean all that was customary? Where was he taking me?”
    “It was customary that he search your couchette and belongings. Rules and regulations on what may enter the country are very strict.” He hesitated a moment and then continued. “He was taking you to a female guard to be searched. He must have decided you looked suspicious—and you were trying to bring fruit into the country.”
    “I wasn’t!” Erin protested. “I forgot I had the stinking bananas! And I can hardly believe I look suspicious!”
    She felt Jarod’s eyes on her in calculation as he exhaled a long plume of smoke. “A young woman traveling into the Soviet Union alone? Eschewing the more normal, controlled routes and entering through Finland? A young, attractive, American woman…. He wasn’t quite sure what you were up