His Christmas Assignment. Lisa Childs

him.

      She wasn’t running now—which was good, since it had taken Milek too long to take over for him on protection duty. And the club was crowded, so crowded he had to push his way through a crush of bodies to reach the bar.

      For a moment he thought she’d slipped away, but then a man moved and he saw her sitting on that stool, her long legs crossed. She had painted her lips as red as her dress, and they were curved into a smile as she looked up at the man standing over her.

      Garek’s blood heated with jealousy and anger. He’d arrogantly thought she had come to the club to see him. But what if she’d actually come here for a date?

      He wouldn’t have brought her to a place like this. It was too loud. He would have taken her someplace quiet and intimate—like her bedroom.

      He wanted to take her there now. He pushed forward and wedged the other man aside with his shoulder. His maneuver brought his thigh flush against hers. His body tightened with desire.

      “Hey!” the guy protested.

      Garek turned to him and for once he dropped the mask of humor and let his true feelings show. He also lifted his arm just enough to reveal the holster strapped beneath it.

      The guy lifted his hands and backed up. “I had no idea she was yours. Sorry, man.”

      “I am not his,” Candace called after the man.

      But either he didn’t hear her or he didn’t believe her because he hurriedly disappeared into the crowd. Before turning toward her, Garek summoned the grin and the cocky attitude he had always shown her. “I just found out a few hours ago you were back,” he said casually, as if his heart wasn’t pounding erratically with each breath he took.

      He stood so close to her that he could feel it when she breathed in; her breast swelled and pressed against his arm. “I wouldn’t have figured this for your first place to hit.”

      She turned back to her drink, running her fingertip around the rim of the martini glass. “You don’t know me,” she said. “So how would you know what kind of places I frequent? Maybe I’m a regular here.”

      In her sexy red dress, with her black hair fluffed up and her lips painted—she looked like the other female club patrons. But she wasn’t any more comfortable than he was in his undercover assignment. She visibly fought the discomfort though, lifting her chin as if she was ready to take a blow, and her brilliant blue eyes glared at him.

      “I could be a regular,” she insisted.

      He laughed. He couldn’t help it. He loved her prickliness. That was probably why he’d spent the past year provoking her—trying to get a reaction from her. Trying to get her attention. He had missed her. He’d missed her so damn bad.

      “I know you,” he said. He’d made a point of learning everything about her—while being careful to reveal very little of himself to her.

      She shook her head in denial. “No, you don’t. But I know you.”

      She had to talk loud—because of the music. But there was still the danger that someone else might overhear her. It was better if no one knew how close they were. Or had been...

      Nobody could know what she really meant to him. Not even her. So he lost the grin, and he drew on another mask—one of coldness. “If you actually knew me,” he said, “you would have known better than to show up here.”

      “I didn’t show up here for you,” she said, her tone so disparaging he almost believed her.

      He glanced toward the crowd into which the guy had disappeared. “That loser wasn’t your date, was he?”

      She lifted her martini glass. “He bought me this.”

      “So you’re just here to pick up guys?”

      She shrugged her naked shoulders. “Why not?”

      Because she belonged with him.

      “So that’s why you came back to River City?” he asked. “To pick up strange men in bars?”

      She glared at him again, her eyes narrowed. “You say that like you doubt I can.”

      He hadn’t meant to challenge her. He knew she could pick up any man she wanted. Even him...

      And he had no business letting her affect him. But his body ached with wanting hers. “I say that like I wonder why you’d want to,” he clarified.

      “I think it’s safer picking up strangers than taking a chance on a man I know.” She sighed. “The men I know always disappoint me.”

      He opened his mouth to argue, to point out she hadn’t given him a chance. For a year she had ignored him or fought with him. When he had finally gotten close to her, she had run from him.

      “Maybe you didn’t really know them,” he said.

      She met his gaze and held it for a long moment before nodding in agreement. “Maybe not...” She wriggled down from the stool, and her body pushed against his.

      He remembered that night—remembered how close they’d been, nothing between them as skin had slid over skin. His breath caught in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. But he could hear the warning Milek uttered in his earpiece. “You have a problem.”

      He’d already known that. But he glanced up and noticed Viktor had stepped from his back office into the heart of the club. If he saw Candace...

      She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear and murmured, “Or maybe I’ve known them too well...”

      He shook his head. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come back. You would have kept running.”

      Anger flashed in her blue eyes. She didn’t deny, though, she had run.

      He stepped aside, so that she could get past him. And he advised her, “Run, Candace, run...”

      She called him a name no lady should even know. But she was Candace. She’d fought in a foreign country. She’d fought in her own country. She was the toughest woman he knew. But when she walked past him, he noticed the faint sheen in her eyes. He had hurt her, and he hated himself for hurting her. But instead of reaching for her, he curled his fingers into his hands and resisted the urge.

      He had to let her go.

      And go she did. Her head held high, her chin up, Candace walked past him as if she didn’t know him. As if she didn’t care...

      Had she cared? Had whatever Stacy had said to her compelled her to come back? To try to help save him from himself, or from Chekov?

      And had he just thrown away whatever chance he might have had with her?

      Like he’d resisted reaching for her, he resisted watching her walk away. Instead he lifted his head and met Viktor Chekov’s gaze. The man had avoided prison for so many years because he didn’t miss anything. He knew how to find and exploit the weaknesses of his enemies.

      Had he just discovered Garek’s greatest weakness?

      * * *

      Candace’s eyes stung. But it wasn’t with tears. It was the cold that was getting to her. While she’d retrieved her long jacket and winter boots from coat check, she still wasn’t warm enough. The winter breeze penetrated her jacket and chilled her to the bone.

      She should have used the valet parking. But she’d wanted easy access to her vehicle in case she’d needed it. Two blocks and an alley away wasn’t easy access, though. She shivered and blinked. But it wasn’t against tears. She was blinking away snowflakes.

      They fell heavily, wetting her hair and dampening her jacket—chilling her even more. But maybe it was Garek’s words and his attitude that had chilled her most.

      He hadn’t wanted her to come back.

      She’d tried to pretend that night had