Page 32 of Ford

The wind caught RJ’s dark hair, twined it around her face. York resisted the urge to reach up and tuck it behind her ear. She had pretty lips and a determined set to her expression as she stared out toward Red Square.

She was pretty, in a natural, not-forced sort of way. The kind of pretty that seemed easy, the girl next door. As if she didn’t have to try.

Maybe that’s why she stood out. Russian women were breathtaking, but they spent hours on their makeup, their clothing, their appearance. And sure, that was a generalization, but he had firsthand experience.

Tasha never left the flat without her face and heels on, and he’d always felt a little low-class next to her. Then again, when a kid grew up in Siberia on the edge of poverty, a woman like Tasha was out of his reach.

And maybe RJ was too, in a different kind of way.

RJ was innocent. Sweet.

And hello, definitely out of his reach becausewhat was he thinking?

“Let’s go,” he said and started to get up.

But she put her hand on his chest, pushed him back down. And then, in a second that had him blindsided, she stepped close to him, grabbed his face and…kissed him?

He couldn’t move, the action so crazy he didn’t know what to think. But there she was, her arms sliding around his neck, deepening her kiss like they might be lovers out for a moonlight stroll.

He wanted to push her away. Wanted to unwrap her arms. Wanted to ignore the softness of her lips, the sweet way she coaxed his mouth to submit.

Wanted to…kiss her back. The thought rose inside him, crested over him, and swept away the walls of resistance. He found his hands coming up to wrap around her waist, to pull her closer, and surrendered to the urgency of her mouth.

He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty, but he drank in the unexpected nourishment, the camaraderie of her kiss. She smelled of the night, rich with the thrill of danger and the sense of the unknown, and tasted a little of the tea she’d drunk, tangy. He wanted to weave his fingers through her silky hair…and really, he didn’t care why she was kissing him. Just that…

Whywasshe kissing him?

He was coming back to himself with that thought when she leaned back and met his eyes.

He was breathing a little too hard for his own taste.

She smiled, something of triumph in her eyes, and leaned into his ear, as if she might be trailing kisses down his neck. “Are they gone?”

His skin tingled at the whisper touch of her lips. But, are who…what? He pulled away from her, looked around.

Two militia officers had strolled by, their backs now to him as they continued down the park.

She glanced their direction, then back to him. Stepped away. “Sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Uh huh.

“I figured it was what Sydney Bristow would do.”

He stared at her, not sure if she was making a joke. Words, he needed… “Good job.”

Oh, he felt like a klutz. Especially when she took his hand again. “Back to the metro?”

Please.Preferably at a full-out run.

They walked in silence back to Arbatskaya, got on the metro, and took it back out to the ring, then around to the purple line.

He couldn’t look at her, not with the taste of her still on his lips, the memory of her molding her body to his.

She kissed like she’d meant it.

And it had all been a lie.

He didn’t know what to do with his emotions, the ones that had him both wanting to dump her as quickly as possible and…

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