The infamous cat burglar Natalia Pavlovsky, better known at "The Cat" has been stealing a concentrated set of Faberg Eggs around the globe for Cuba. The team from U.N.C.L.E. suspect there's more that meets the eye and discover that hidden in one of...
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The house was massive. It had its own ballroom. Gaby couldn't help but stare in awe at the high ceilings and marbled floors. The hall where everyone gathered was outfitted with a dance floor for guests to enjoy. People mingled with each other while a live band played on a temporary stage. Gaby grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sipped the cool, bubbly liquid while she looked around. Fancy, she thought to herself. Of course it was. Her eyes took in all the smartly dressed party-goers as they laughed and danced together. She imagined that most of the guests were people of means. The room smelled like money, both old and new.
Illya and Gaby furtively watched Solo and Natalia from the dance floor. It had taken Gaby a few minutes to realize just how much of her costume jewelry Solo had stolen from her. She wouldn't admit it to him—his ego was big enough for them all—but she was impressed. She hadn't felt him take her ring at all. "I want to hear what they are saying," she said, looking up at Illya.
The Russian operative moved with her awkwardly as they danced. He was unsure of where to place his hands, so he held her in a strange waltz that seemed out of place with the jazzy ambiance. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Remember, we were just robbed by Cowboy."
He was right. They needed to keep their distance while Solo worked his real mark. Their robbery was only a means of getting the Cat's attention. Gaby studied Natalia shrewdly. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she liked Natalia's style already. The woman was keeping Napoleon on his toes. Gaby could tell by his body language. The cool Napoleon Solo, serial womanizer had finally met his match.
Gaby pursed her lips and strained her ears so she could hear. It wasn't working. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She untangled herself from Illya's artless embrace and did a little two-step until she was closer to Solo and Natalia. Illya hesitated in his spot before joining her.
Illya glanced nervously around the ballroom. He noticed an older couple watching them a few feet away. Their unskillful dancing was beginning to attract some looks. Not good. "I told you not to draw attention to ourselves," he said, taking her back into his arms. "I am the man. Let me handle this."
Gaby lifted a well-sculpted brow. "Oh, really? And is this how men hold women in Russia?" She looked down at their awkward stance. "You don't want us to draw attention, but you aren't holding me like a man who is here with his new bride." Gaby unhitched her hands from Illya's and placed them on her hips, curling his fingers around her slender frame. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer to him. "There. Now you look like a man in love."
Illya swallowed hard. They were close now. So close, he could smell her perfume. It was the scent he had picked for her when they went shopping for their cover. He enjoyed dressing her. He enjoyed having her as his woman...even if it were only temporary. Illya continued to clutch her hips as she inched them closer to Solo. He was two left feet and stiff shoulders, but Gaby was soft and limber as she danced in time to the music. Illya fought to keep his attention on Solo and not the rhythm of her body, the warmth of her through the fabric. He squinted his eyes as if to help him hear better. He could only pick up bits and pieces of the conversation over the sound of the music. He thought he heard something about a jewel. That wasn't the mission. What the hell was Cowboy up to?
