Free Assassins in Love by Kris DeLake Page A

that was it. She was mad and she hated the way he had made her feel, so cheap and used.
    She had to remind herself of that because she also loved the way he had made her feel—all night long.
    Maybe she could turn into one of those women who didn’t care how their lover treated them because the sex was so very good.
    Yeah, right. And maybe she could step out of an airlock and breathe without any special equipment.
    Speaking of breathing—or thinking of it, anyway—she made herself take a deep calming breath. She had to get control of herself.
    And as she breathed, she had a thought:
    How had he known she would be here? Or had he known? Had he been frequenting the ballroom all along?
    She doubted that, given the discomfort on his face.
    Which meant that he knew she was here.
    Which meant that he had been following her from the moment she got on this ship.
    The son of a bitch.
    She felt the anger slide over her. She grabbed onto it like a lifeline, using it to cancel out the attraction.
    Then she squared her shoulders, and walked across the ballroom, keeping to the shadows so he couldn’t see her.
    For once, she would have the element of surprise.
    For once, he wouldn’t know what hit him.
    And then she would find out who he was, and what he really wanted. Once she knew that, she could make her next move.
    She could figure out just how much of a threat this Misha/Rafael de Brovnik really and truly was.

Chapter 11
     
    Misha hated dancing. He really and truly did. The very idea of going into the ballroom made him uncomfortable.
    But Rikki had gone into the ballroom, and she wasn’t leaving. He had watched her icon for a good fifteen minutes before he headed there. He had hoped that she would go elsewhere, a bar or one of the portside pubs. But given her reaction to his suggestions about drinking the night before—and hell, given her reaction to the tiny bit of alcohol she had consumed—he had a hunch that drinking of any sort was low on her priority list.
    He usually avoided cruise ship ballrooms. Even on a ship this large—one of the largest in the fleet—the ballroom seemed stuffy. On some ships, the ballroom actually was stuffy, but here it couldn’t be. The environmental systems and the design of the room wouldn’t allow air to overheat or get stale.
    Still, it felt that way to him. On the first night, he had gone inside, stared at the room in awe, and then had gotten overwhelmed and left. Most passengers stuck with the awe. The ballroom was one of the largest rooms on the ship, extending upwards three stories, in addition to taking up a space as big as the lower-class dining room.
    Maybe he found such places stuffy because he found dancing unnecessary. It was one of those activities he would never pursue if it hadn’t been for his job.
    But, weirdly, he had to dance a lot for his job. He had become a spectacular dancer. He had become good at a lot of things he never liked or expected to like. He had rather thought he would like dancing, but then he did it, and he loathed it.
    It was a complete waste of time.
    Tonight, he wouldn’t be able to avoid dancing. In fact, he needed to dance.
    He wanted to talk to Rikki. He also wanted to touch her, but he didn’t want to think about that.
    He had set up the tracking program on a small screen he wore on his wrist. The screen was black and the band itself was black flecked with gold. It went with his amber jewelry and his black clothing. Still, he kept his wrist covered so no one realized how much hardware he wore.
    Just like no one would know he carried two weapons, one—a small nearly weightless laser pistol—in a pouch built into the seam of his waistband, and the other a knife made of bone that he kept in a specially built part of his boot.
    Whenever he wore the boots, he carried the knife.
    It was the laser pistol that was unusual, and he wasn’t sure why he was carrying it. Apparently he trusted Rikki even less than he had just twenty-four hours ago.
    He