Russian Heat by Rhyll Biest

Russian Heat
    RussianHeat
    Pink Petal Books, an imprint of Jupiter Gardens Press, publishes romance novels where the relationship is primary. It doesn’t matter if you want to read super erotic or sweet inspirational books. Pink Petal Books believes that love is a beautiful thing, no matter what form it takes. For more information about Pink Petal Books visit http://www.pinkpetalbooks.com/.
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    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
     
    RUSSIAN HEAT © Rhyll Biest, 2012
    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
    Cover Art ® 2012 by Winterheart Design
    Edited by EM Petrova
    ISBN# 978-1-938257-18-6
     
    Originally published in the DANGEROUS MEN, DANGEROUS PLACES anthology
    Cover Art ® 2011 by Winterheart Design
    Edited by EM Petrova
    ISBN# 978-1-938257-06-3
    Print Publication Date: April 2012
    Electronic Publication Date: April 2012
     
    This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Jupiter Gardens Press,
    
    
     Jupiter
    
    
    
    
     Gardens
    
    
    , LLC.,
    
    
     PO Box
    
     191
    
    , Grimes, IA 50111
     
    For more information to learn to more about this, or any other author’s work, please visit http://www.pinkpetalbooks.com/
     
    Also by the author
    Personal Best (in the Boys of Summer anthology)
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Russian Heat
     
    Rhyll Biest
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    A thunderous explosion rocked the snow-dotted mountains, the blast jerking Jane Ransom’s head up from the hypodermic she held poised.
    As the rumble echoed across the mountains and shook the dirt under her feet, shale and pebbles slid down the incline and cloven hooves scrabbled around her, raising a cloud of dust. Panicked fleeces flashed by, a blur in her peripheral vision as the ewe between her knees began to struggle, joining in the nervous bleat of the flock.
    Tightening her aching legs around its girth, she locked the bicep turning its head at a thirty degree angle and held on long enough to finish swabbing the puncture site and collect her blood sample.
    Her back twinged as she freed the ewe and straightened, the ripe smell of lanolin-rich wool fading from her nostrils.
    Her hundredth customer done and dusted, despite the half-hearted shelling rattling the
    
    
    
     Vodsk
    
    
    
    
    
     Pass
    
    
     all day. Another hundred samples and she could confirm the epidemic pathogen type in these parts.
    Adrenalin from her struggle with the ewe kept charging through her veins, addling her brain and making her slow to notice the way Vlad had raised his rifle and Slava was scoping the west ridge with binoculars. Hired guns they might be, but their training and instincts were excellent, and she’d learned to pay attention when they paid attention. And follow orders. Like the one Slava issued now. He eyed her and pointed at the all-terrain vehicle in a familiar grating gesture.
    Muttering, she stashed her blood-filled vacutainer in her storage box, grabbed her sharps bucket and high-tailed it to the safety of the armour-plated Zhiguli.
    Yuri sat behind the wheel, a battered, hand-rolled smoke dangling from his lower lip. His rollie filled the car with tobacco fumes pungent enough to make diving back out into the war zone a temptation. Barely eighteen, downy fluff coated his top lip and he swam inside his body armour, unlike the