His apartment is small but clean and elegantly appointed. It's open concept with a granite countered peninsula separating the kitchen area from the living room. One wall features a desk with a half-dozen monitors that each display several different video feeds, including one of the front doors.

So that's how he knew I was out there ringing the bell.

He kicks his boots off by the door, so I do the same, shrugging out of my woolen coat.

"Would you mind if I took a shower?"

I don't actually need the shower, but it's part of my seduction act. Again--I'm not an expert with this particular game-that was Anya's gig. But getting naked and wet has to be a step in the right direction.

Maykl lifts his chin in the direction of the bedroom and follows me in with the suitcase, flipping on the light. He has a giant, king-sized bed in the center. It's rumpled like I got him out of it to answer the door. There's a dresser against one wall and two end tables. Otherwise, it's pretty basic. It smells like him–of leather and aftershave and that uniquely masculine scent I caught when we were in the elevator together.

I purposely don't take my suitcase or any change of clothes into the bathroom. That way I can come out in a towel. Maybe accidentally drop it.

As it turns out, the shower is amazing. The stall is a beautiful walk-in with white marble or quartz walls and small iridescent glass tiles on the floor in blues and greens. The showerhead is large, and the spray of warm water is powerful.

I must be more aware of my body from thinking about having sex with the gatekeeper because everything feels so sensual. I bite back a moan of pleasure as I step under the water. It feels so good.

I spend a long time under the spray. He has a razor in there for his face, and I use it to clean up my bikini area and shave my legs and armpits. I wash and condition my hair. Soap every crack and crevice.

All right, maybe I'm stalling.

What if I don't know how to seduce a man? I'm usually the one being hit on, not the other way around.

I close my eyes and channel Anya. After her initial trauma, she learned to claim power in what she had–which was only her body. She was forced into the role, but after that, she embraced it. Learned how to make it work for her. Of course, she had to because after our father was murdered by the bratva four months later, our mother stayed in bed for the next three years.

I think Anya truly believed she was bettering her life and Mika's when she came to America with her bratva boyfriend.

I turn off the water and towel dry then walk out of the bathroom as I squeeze the towel around my hair.

Maykl's not in the bedroom. I walk into the living room where I find him on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table, watching television. He pauses the show when he sees me but otherwise doesn't give me the reaction I expected.

His eyes narrow as he takes in my nudity. "Kira."

I cock a hip. The tail of the towel falls across one breast. I pretend to be completely unaffected by my state of undress. "I don't mean to keep you from your own bedroom," I say in a soft voice.

He picks his feet up from the coffee table and rises. "Are you trying to seduce me?" There's a note of danger in his voice. A reminder that I'm playing a game that could have life-threatening consequences.

I'm glad Stepanov is waiting for me to check in. If I don't call or text, he will know to send his FBI contacts in after me.

Maykl advances on me. His sheer size and bulk make it hard to hold my ground. Especially naked and without a weapon. I drop the towel completely. I'm already too far in this to not be bold. "Is it working?"

He stops inches from me. Looks down at me from a power stance. "No." The word is no more than a growl, but I notice his pupils are dilated like he's turned on.

He catches me around the throat but doesn't squeeze. His narrowed eyes search my face. "What are you up to, little warrior?"

I would expect my fight instinct to come into play. I'm trained at hand-to-hand combat. I excel with a firearm. But something about Maykl's loose hold around my throat feels far more sexual than threatening.

Like he's showing me how he'd be in bed. Dominant. Attentive. Gentle when he needs to be. Rough when he doesn't.

Moisture leaks between my legs. My nipples stiffen to tight buds. His gaze dips to one of them, and he brushes the backs of his knuckles over it.

"I'm just"–I draw in a sharp breath when he takes my nipple between his knuckles and squeezes–"showing my gratitude."

He shakes his head. "No. You want something. What is it?"

I know the secret to a good lie is to stick as closely to the truth as possible. That's what I'd done in the lobby when he was quizzing me, and it seemed to work.

"I don't have any resources available to me here. No network. No contacts. I can't afford to stay in a decent hotel for more than a couple of nights." I lift my gaze to his and hold it. "I'd much rather stay here. I'm making friends."

"So you thought you'd suck my dick, and we'd be friends?" he shakes his head. "Sorry, little warrior. I'm not that easy to play."

"You haven't had my mouth on your cock yet."